Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As cautious as Venomshank was around most mortals, especially in relation to Sword, there did come the point where he realised that the boy did need to see the world outside of their training arena. He was hopelessly naïve, and that would be just as dangerous as if he didn’t know how to defend himself, so it was with some reluctance that Venomshank left the small bit of safety he’d carved for the two of them, and struck out into the wide world.

Sword was sitting on his shoulders, a rare bit of informality for them, and he was looking around in wide-eyed wonder, pointing at signs or posters or bits of graffiti and babbling excitedly in a mixture of High Inphernal and regular language. Venomshank would nod along, occasionally turning to answer a question, but kept his head on a swivel, his eyes sliding over the Inphernals moving around them, trying to ascertain if they would be a threat or not.

He caught a few casting dirty looks, but he would shoot back one in return that was just hard, and they’d scowl and move off. Venomshank hoped that most of them had the sense not to go toe to toe with a deity; for he did not wish to bring any more unwitting inphernals into his army, especially in a tumultuous time of peace.

Of course, he was heading to somewhere. He wasn’t just going to set Sword down in a random spot in Crossroads and let him run free to get attacked by some random inphernal with a grudge. There were very few people he trusted enough to look over Sword. One of those was Firebrand, but given recent events, he wasn’t sure his brother would cope well with the news of a new child in the family, and Venomshank wanted to keep Sword’s lineage fairly secret until he was ready. The second was Ghosdeeri, but the stuffy library of the old archivist would not be conclusive to what he wanted to achieve. That left Zuka, his dear old friend. He did hope he wouldn’t mind them dropping around.

Zuka lived in the second layer, but worked in the first, Venomshank knew that much from the few times they’d caught each other when he’d gone out into Crossroads on his own. Venomshank presumed that meant he lived quite comfortably, which was good, years of conflict had battered the poor man, so it was good he was enjoying some comfort in his old age.

Venomshank made sure to triple check the address, before coming to a stop before the smooth, unassuming door. He sighed, the sound echoing on the inside of his mask, then dropped down, letting Sword awkwardly clamber off his shoulders, landing unsteadily on his feet. Venomshank steadied the boy with one hand, before standing to his full height and dusting down his jacket.

“Now.” Venomshank said, keeping his tone measured, “You be on your best behaviour, alright?”

Sword nodded, shifting his helmet and looking to the door.

“Good,” Venomshank said, dusting off his shoulder, then walking to the door and rapping his knuckles three, neat times on it, then stepping back, his heels coming together with a click. He had to wrestle back the urge to repeat that sound. He waited, his gaze flicking up to scan between the various buildings that loomed up around them, cutting the sky into a geometric river of ice grey.

The door finally clicked open, and Zuka answered. He clearly wasn’t expecting visitors, wearing a slightly grease-stained t-shirt, and his thinning hair still messy from sleeping. He stopped, stiffening slightly when he saw Venomshank.

“What do you want?” he growled, straightening his back and glaring up at Venomshank.

“Can I not visit an old friend?” Venomshank said, trying to keep the tinge of hurt out of his voice. He’d always chalked up Zuka curtness during their few brief meetings as him being busy, but maybe there was more to it.

“S’pose not.” Zuka snorted, before glancing over to Sword, “Who’s this?’

“Sword, my current apprentice.” Venomshank said, placing one hand on Sword’s shoulder. The boy smiled, waving his hand at Zuka before holding it out.

“Hello, it’s nice to meet you Mr…?”

“Zuka, B.Zuka.” Zuka said, holding his own hand out and shaking Sword’s. The boy was a lot more enthusiastic than Zuka, and Venomshank feared for a split second he’d pull the older inphernal over. Eventually Zuka did tug his hand free, muttering, “Yeah, nice to meet you to kid.” before looking over at Venomshank, “‘He mortal then.”

“I don’t see why that matters.” Venomshank replied, a little curtly, before sweeping one hand towards the threshold of Zuka’s dwelling, “Shall we head inside - no use having this conversation out here.”

Zuka grumbled, but stepped aside, gesturing for them to head in. Sword glanced up at Venomshank, at which he gestured for the boy to go onwards.

A smile split Sword’s face and he tumbled forwards, vanishing into the hall. Venomshank followed, dipping his head carefully to avoid bashing his skull on the doorframe, then stepped fully inside. Sisyphus fluttered through the door just before Zuka shut it, landing on Venomshank’s shoulder.

“I’m not psyched about this alright.” Zuka growled over his shoulder, before stepping towards what Venomshank assumed was the kitchen. Sword was standing in the middle of the hall, playing with the edge of his cloak, and looking over his shoulder towards Venomshank.

“I understand.” Venomshank said, “But you are one of the few people I trust enough to bring Sword around.”

“Right,” Zuka grumbled, flicking his gaze towards the stairs, before turning back to Venomshank, “There’s really no use standing around. C’mon.”

Venomshank dutifully followed Zuka as he walked to the next door, pushing it open into a kitchen space with a small table set up for two places. Sword tailed them, clinging close to the end of Venomshank’s coat tails, most of his earlier excitement fading into apprehension. Venomshank didn’t blame him, this was all very new to him.

Zuka pulled up a chair, and Venomshank took the one opposite him. Sword stood awkwardly at his side, while Zuka glowered at him from across the table.

“How old is he?”

“I turned fourteen just last week.” Sword offered up, a little of his enthusiasm returning.

“Alright.” Zuka said, looking over to Sword, “And you’ve known your mentor for the entirety of that?”

Sword nodded.

Zuka made a noise of consideration, before turning to look at Venomshank.

“So, what’s the story there then?”

“It’s not- not something I wish to share just now.” Venomshank said, having prepared this exact conversation hours earlier, and carefully running through the script.

“Fine.” Zuka said, before glancing past Venomshank.

Venomshank followed his gaze, eventually stopping on a young Inphernal standing at the door and glaring into the room, one arm wrapped around their chest.

They couldn’t have been much older than fourteen themselves, but even then their cheek was mottled with old burn scars, and one of their arms was reduced to a stump, much like Zuka. Their horns were also similar to Zuka’s, except the blue was a shade or two lighter and more of a pastel cornflower, and there was an additional fork on each of them. Their gaze was sharp, and their hair was burnt in patches.

“Who are you?” they demanded. Their voice was a little too loud, sharp, and accusatory.

“This is Venomshank, one of my old colleagues.” Zuka said, “And this is his apprentice, Sword. You two, this is Rocket. Took him in recently.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Rocket.” Sword said, walking over to the young Inphernal and holding his hand out. Rocket looked at it with a sneer, then batted it away.

“What the hell are they doing here then?”

“That’s an excellent question.” Zuka said, his gaze turning to bore into Venomshank’s neck.

“As I said, I wanted to visit an old friend, we haven’t had a proper talk in a while.” Venomshank replied, turning to face his old friend. He wished dearly that this didn’t feel so much like an interrogation. Sure, him and Zuka hadn’t gotten along at the best of times back in his hayday, but they had built a level of rapport. At least Venomshank had hoped for that at least.

Zuka stared at him for a second, steely gaze raking over his features, before sighing and sitting back in his chair.

“Fine,” he grumbled, before turning to Rocket, “You two go and do whatever. I’ll stay here and talk to Venom.”

Sword nodded enthusiastically, and turned to look at Rocket with a wide smile on his face. Rocket snorted in return, and turned to stalk off, heading back to the stairs. Sword trotted behind him, clearly trying to start a conversation with Rocket as he went.

“So,” Venomshank said, as Rocket and Sword vanished upstairs, “You’re a father now.”

“Mm,” Zuka grumbled, “I found him hanging about near Playground - ‘sounds of it he got thrown out.”

“Thrown out of Playground?” Venomshank said, looking over to Zuka, “Surely not! That takes a lot of work to do, especially if he’s native spawned!”

“Yeah, well, he was. Currently won’t say why.” Zuka said, with a heavy shy, “All I can understand about it is that you can do some serious damage with the right explosive gear.”

“I gathered.” Venomshank said. He himself had seen Zuka in action during his hay days as a fighter in the ranks of Blackrock, capable of demolishing entire city blocks in waves of rippling fire and smoke. He supposed a young inphernal in the anarchistic wilds of Playground with a gear even a fraction of the strength of that would cause enough of a ruckus to catch the attention of whatever scant police force Windforce employed.

“Look, either way he’s still getting settled in - poor boy still hasn’t taken his guard down.” Zuka said, glancing towards the stairs again, “I’ve been doing my best to get him settled down here, but it is a struggle.”

“Isn’t it always with children?” Venomshank said, his voice filled with wistful reminiscence, “Of course, Sword likely isn’t half the trouble that young Rocket is.”

“Probably,” Zuka snorted, “Do you even let him outside half the time?”

“As long as he is within my line of sight and doesn’t stray too far from the bounds of our property he can go outside as much as he wishes.” Venomshank replied, keeping his tone measured, “He is promising in his training, though that being said… I still don’t think he is quite ready to stake out on his own without supervision. This is my next best option to ensure he isn’t a complete shut in.”

“Mm,” Zuka grumbled, “So, what’s the story with you and him - thought you had trouble spawning your own kin.”

“I do.” Venomshank said, “And it’s… complicated. I’ll simply say that he came to me when he was very young, and it’s been my duty to keep him safe, and keep him mostly unknown during that time.”

“Fine,” Zuka huffed, “Be vague. It’s what you’re all worth anyways.”

“Sorry?” Venomshank asked, just making sure he had in fact heard that right.

“It’s nothing.” Zuka grumbled, “Forget I said anything.”

“Right,” Venomshank said, with a heavy sigh, “Look, I must reiterate to you that I’m doing this to keep Sword safe.”

“And why’s that again?”

“You’re seeing what’s happening with Firebrand and his child,” Venomshank explained, a hint of desperation slipping into his tone, “I don’t need that level of publicity, neither does Sword, for all my hopes for him - he is still just a boy right now, and with everything happening… I don’t want him to be shoved into a spotlight he can’t live up to.”

Zuka stared back at Venomshank, his expression unreadable and his jaw working, before he leant back with a sigh.

“Fine. That’s a secret that will stay between you and me.”

Venomshank bowed his head in thanks, before settling back and looking to the off white of the ceiling, then brought his head down to focus on Zuka again.

“I knew I could trust you, friend.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Zuka grumbled, crossing his arm across his chest, “But outside of… current events , anything interesting happening with you?”

“Can’t say so, no.” Venomshank said, “I don’t get out much these days. You know how mortals can be.”

“You say that like I’m not mortal.”

“Let me rephrase that, you know how the public can be. I’d rather not be hounded by someone asking my opinion on current affairs that I, quite honestly, have no business in.” Venomshank said.

“It is your brother though,” Zuka said, dusting off his shoulder.

“Me and Firebrand never really got along.” Venomshank replied, with a heavy sigh, “Me and him - we have very different desires when it comes to interacting with the public and working with faction governments, and he…” Venomshank paused, trying to condense his feelings about Firebrand into something understandable. But it was really hard to do so, it was essentially boiling down hundreds of years of communication into a few words. “... Let’s just say we never got along.”

“And was any part of that due to the fact you had a habit of stealing things from his hoard?”

Venomshank stiffened at that, his hand flying to his throat where a collection of silver necklaces sat just under his collar - a handful of which had come from Firebrand’s old hoards.

“Well-” Venomshank spluttered, “He doesn’t use half of that stuff - and pure silver and gold is very hard to come by these days. I don’t suppose why I couldn’t get some use out of them.” he paused, thinking on it for a second, “And how do you know about that?”

“He talked about it when I met him.” Zuka said, “Seemed more annoyed than anything. Though I’m sure nothing of value was lost because of it.”

“I wouldn’t allow it.” Venomshank said, dropping his hand to the table, “Somebody spent a lot of hard earned time on that piece and it is my duty to show off its beauty as intended. It’s no use to anyone stuck in some dusty chest somewhere.”

“Yeah, sure.” Zuka huffed, “Either way, how do reckon this whole thing with Firebrand is going to end up.”

“Not well.” Venomshank sighed, “As powerful as he is - as we all are - he underestimates mortals too much. If his advisors can keep a close eye on his actions… maybe things won’t end up quite as tragically as they may do… but I also doubt that.”

“Mm,” Zuka said, turning to glance out of the small window behind him. It didn’t really show much of a view, just the dark grey of the alley behind it - but its sole purpose was to light that space - which it did readily enough.

“And what are your thoughts on this whole thing?” Venomshank asked, looking up to Zuka.

“Look, I don’t know.” Zuka sighed, “I guess I don’t really care. Sure, it's tragic for their kids, but…” he huffed, running his fingers through his hair, “It doesn’t really concern us, does it?”

“Firebrand rules Crossroads.” Venomshank pointed out, “He’s what keeps order and makes sure no… corrupting ideas, get in here and lead to wider conflict. With him gone… I’m not sure what that would mean for this place.”

“I’m sure it wouldn’t descend into complete anarchy immediately.” Zuka reasoned, “There’s a lot of jurisdiction in place, and it's not like Banland’s police is unheard of.”

“You do make a good point.” Venomshank mused, “I’m just worried, that’s all. I had some nasty run-ins with the Church when it was first starting up, and I don’t want to have any repeats on home soil.”

“Fair enough,” Zuka said, slumping forwards again, bracing his hand against his knee, and fixing his gaze back on Venomshank. The vibrant blue of his eyes had faded significantly over the years, leaving only a thin ring of it around his pupil as a reminder of what was - same as how the colour clung to the ends of his horns. Instead a steely, storm cloud grey consumed the clear blue, sharp and cutting, yet still so tired.

“Either way,” Venomshank sighed, “I just hope this all blows over well. I don’t want the public anymore riled up - especially after last time something major happened.”

“And that was?”

“I believe it was Darkheart - or maybe Illumina. It was a massive disagreement between them - led to the first Lost Temple civil war actually. Took several decades for the public to calm down enough for me to be comfortable interacting with them again. Happened long before you were spawned of course.”

“I’ll believe you on that.” Zuka grumbled, “If I know anything about Lost Temple is that love tearing eachother apart at every opportunity.”

“Wasn’t always like that.” Venomshank said, “But I’m sure you don’t want to hear about the storied politics of another faction, especially after what happened.”

“What, with the ambassador programme?” Zuka said, “Yeah, I’d rather not dwell on that disaster.”

Venomshank nodded, glancing to the walls of the room, which were each painted a soft white. He returned his gaze back to Zuka.

“Speaking of, how are you doing? I understand this retirement wasn’t your decision.”

“I’m fine.” Zuka said, with a heavy sigh, falling back in his chair. His one hand came to rest on his shoulder, “Sure, adjusting to this was a pain - but I’m fine.”

“That’s good to hear.” Venomshank said, “What happened was a bit of a shock to me too.”

“I’m sure it was.” Zuka said with a sigh, before standing up and walking over to one of the cupboards, “‘You want a drink of anything?”

“Mm, oh, I’m fine.” Venomshank brushed off, and Zuka shrugged.

“Suit yourself.” he grumbled, before busying himself with pouring out a glass of water.

As he did so, Sisyphus nipped at Venomshank’s ear, and he turned, glancing at the crow from the corner of his eye. He chuckled raspily, lifting one hand to ruffle the back of the bird’s neck. Sisyphus crowed again, before fluttering off where he’d been perched on Venomshank’s shoulder and landing on the table before him, turning around to preen his wings.

“I see the bird’s still in good condition.” Zuka said, setting down a glass of crystal-clear water and slumping back down in his seat.

“Oh, yes, he is.” Venomshank said, reaching out to stroke over the feathers a top Sisyphus’ head, instead, the bird snapped his head up and grabbed one of his fingers, tugging on it playfully, “Just a boisterous as ever, even after that wing sprain a bit ago.”

“Oh, and what’s the story behind that?”

“Ah,” Venomshank said, as Sisyphus lost interest in his finger and turned back to preening, “Well, I believe he was playing with Sword, the two have a… brotherly dynamic, I think you understand.”

“Vaguely.”

“Well, as I said, they were playing with each other, entirely reasonable for young inphernals, of course, and Sisyphus must’ve misjudged how tight of turn he needed to take and struck his wing against the corner of a wall. Then he must’ve twisted it on the way down. Bloody hurt didn’t it.” Venomshank explained, before dropping his head to attempt looking the crow in the eyes. Sisyphus promptly responded by pecking at the green glass of Venomshank’s mask, and he pulled his head up, ruffling the feathers on the back of the bird’s neck, “Either way, couldn’t fly for over a month – went a little mad, I think. Not that I blame him of course – his one purpose is to be able to fly.”

“Yeah,” Zuka said, glancing to where the clock was ticking on the wall, “Look, it’s close to lunch now, and I’m sure Rocket wouldn’t take kindly to you to staying here.”

“Ah, of course.” Venomshank said, standing up, “Well, it has been excellent to catch up with you. I do hope we can do this more often.”

“Yeah, sure.” Zuka grumbled, standing up as well, “I’ll see you out, shall I?”

“Of course.” Venomshank said, bowing his head. He held his hand out, letting Sisyphus clamber onto it and transferring the bird onto his shoulder.

Zuka walked past him, heading back towards the door. Venomshank dutifully followed, once again dipping his head to clear the door comfortably and coming to a stop before the one leading back outside.

“Alright,” he grumbled, “Call the young one down then.”

“Of course,” Venomshank said, clearing his throat before turning to the stairs again, and calling up with a voice he hoped wasn’t too loud, “SWORD! WE’RE LEAVING!”

“COMING!” Sword called from somewhere deeper in the house, before there was the drum of feet and he practically tumbled down the stairs, eventually coming to a skidding halt by his father’s side.

“Well,” Venomshank said, as he turned to the door, “As always, it was wonderful meeting up with you again. Hopefully we shall see each other soon.”

“Yeah,” Zuka said, opening the door, “Pleasure.”

Venomshank dipped his head, before taking Sword by the shoulder and guiding him out. The boy did turn, waving behind him and calling, “Bye Mr. Zuka.”

“Bye kid.” Zuka sighed, before shutting the door behind him.

“Well, did you have fun Sword?” Venomshank asked, looking down to Sword, he looked up in return, nodding enthusiastically.

“Yeah! Rocket was alright – I want to get to know him more!”

“Very well.” Venomshank said, “Though, training tomorrow, remember?”

“Of course,” Sword said, turning to look ahead of himself. Venomshank chuckled, affectionately ruffling the crest of Sword’s helmet.

“Good, good.”

Chapter Text

Zuka strode out of the house, jamming a cigarette between his teeth and coming to a halt against the wall of the building. He sat there for a second, chewing on the end of his cigarette, before sighing and pulling his lighter from his pocket, holding the shaking flame to the end of his smoke.

He took a long, deep draw, the bitter tang of smoke filling his palette and lungs, before he blew the cloud into the still, evening air. The sounds of Crossroads were muted, and it wasn’t just his failing hearing, the muggy uncomfortable heat of summer kept most people indoors in their comfortably air-conditioned homes, especially at the late hour. That being said, the group of younger inphernals across the street were having a rather noisy drinking session at the top of one of their buildings. Zuka didn’t really care what it was about. You didn’t come to Crossroads to stick your nose in other people’s business.

Well, most people didn’t anyways.

Why had he come back? That was an excellent question. Sure, Zuka had no idea about the kid – Sword or something – but even so, he’d done his best to make it very clear that he wanted little to do with Venomshank the few times they had run into each other after Zuka was unceremoniously forced out of his position.

Zuka took another drag.

That was the problem with Venomshank, he was always so effortlessly persistent. Would always find a way to get his way if he wanted something. Made it hell to make contracts with him back in the day, especially with how… flighty he turned out to be. He was also always caught up with what was happening in his little world that he barely had time to consider what was going on around him.

Sure – he had his concerns around the public and how they perceived him and his family, but for the most part that seemed to function mostly as an excuse for him to keep himself separate from the population. He had a fiercesome reputation, and the rumours of what he had done were almost impossible to disentangle from the legends and the truth.

Another thing about him, was that he was so, nice. Zuka had no clue why that bothered him. Maybe he expected a war deity to be, well, war-like , but he wasn’t. He was gentle, kind, kept to himself, mostly served as a distant watcher in most conflicts. He was somehow too empathetic.

Zuka hissed lowly, smoke winding up from between his teeth. His fingers tightened around his cigarette, claws trying to tear at the thin paper of the thing.

He wished it was simple. He wished he could just roundly tell the deity to shove off and he would listen. But he wouldn’t, so the best way to get rid of him was to push him to the side and hope that he got the message. Which he wouldn’t. Probably wouldn’t. Ah, who knew at this point.

Zuka tossed the cigarette butt to the ground, stamping it out under his heel and huffing out the last dregs of smoke from his lungs. The back of his throat tasted of tar and ash, as it had for so much of his life, thanks in no small part to the efforts of many higher-ups, but now it was his own choice, his own comfort.

There was a crash from the building opposite, and a bunch of drunk hollering and laughing. Zuka slid his gaze up to the oasis of orange light, at the moving shapes that stumbled around, helping up their friend and pointing up into the sky, all still guffawing loudly.

A window down the street snapped open, and a shrewd faced inphernal with ivory horns shot their head out, glaring towards the source of the noise, before ducking back into the shelter of their home.

Zuka sighed, reaching into his pocket to pull out another cigarette.

He’d gotten used to it here. Sure, it was a far, far cry from the safe, sterile environment of Blackrock, but it was nice, he didn’t mind the business, the hustle and bustle, and it was arguably safer. Plus, the weather was a lot nicer than Blackrock, or any of the other factions really, which all lurched to various extremes in his experience.

Zuka certainly wouldn’t miss the days of travel, danger and conflict. He could settle down, nurse what was left of his body and hearing and maybe settle into a quiet retirement. His old bones couldn’t handle any more excitement, he’d had more than enough for one inphernal.

The door swung open next to him, shortly followed by the thuds of feet hitting concrete.

“Rocket,” Zuka warned, “I thought I told you to go to bed.”

“Well, you’re out here.” Rocket said, dropping to the ground next to Zuka and leaning against the wall, “Why can’t a join you?”

“Because as I said, you need to get some sleep.”

“And you don’t.”

“Don’t give me that attitude kid.”

Rocket responded by sticking out his tongue and not moving.

“Look,” Zuka said, shifting slightly to face the younger inphernal, “I don’t like you being out after dark, you know this.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s dangerous and young inphernals are easy pickings, I know this old man. Kinda, what happens in Playgrounds.” Rocket said, rolling his eyes, “What I can’t get behind is you inviting that- that guy into our house. He could be dangerous.”

“He’s an old friend, Rocket.” Zuka said, keeping his tone calm.

“Yeah, and who knows, your old friends could be really dangerous for kids like me.”

“Don’t start.” Zuka said, pointing warningly at the kid, “Venomshank isn’t one of them, okay? As much as I don’t like him, I don’t think he’d hurt a kid, even if he had to.”

“Alright, so that’s basic decency.” Rocket said, with a shrug, “I still don’t like him, or that kid of his.”

“What, Sword?” Zuka said, “How come?”

“I dunno, he’s weird. Like he’s never seen another Inphernal other than his – whatever that dude is to him.”

“Mentor.” Zuka said, before chuckling, “And I don’t doubt that. Venomshank is pretty… well he’s pretty private.”

“Mm, thought so.” Rocket said, before slumping down to sit on the pavement, “I just don’t like them.”

“Neither do I.” Zuka said, “But I guess I have to be cordial. I’ll try to keep our meetings brief.”

“Yeah, I hope so.” Rocket grumbled, crossing his arm over his chest and glaring to one side.

“I hope so to kid.” Zuka said, before there was another shout from the building across the street and the thump of someone falling over.

Rocket jolted up, his hand flexing open and sparks of blue light flashing down his fingers.

“Don’t,” Zuka spat, nudging the boy’s leg with the side of his shoe, “It’s nothing, no need to pull gears out.”

Rocket glanced over to Zuka, but clenched his fist, the glowing sparks fading back to nothing. He crossed his arm back over his chest and stared angrily upwards.

“Then they shouldn’t be causing anything.”

“They’re not.” Zuka said, “Just celebrating.”

“Right,” Rocket snorted, “Just celebrating, right.”

Zuka sighed, settling back and staring up to the dark sky. It was clear night, and you could just about see a handful of stars tossed about in the darkness. It was nothing like it could be, what with the swell of amber street lights that reached out to touch the sky.

Somewhere, far off, a train rushed along to one of the factions, the humming of metal ringing out into the clear night air.

“C’mon, let’s get you up to bed.” Zuka said, tossing aside the cigarette which had practically burnt to a stump and crushing it under his heel.

“Do I have to?” Rocket whined, and Zuka snorted.

“Yes, you have to.” he said, “You need your sleep.”

“So do you, old man.” Rocket said, and Zuka snorted.

“That attitude will get you nowhere.” he said, “Come on, get inside.”

Rocket rolled his eyes, but headed to the door. Zuka followed, turning to close it behind him, casting one more look out into the night, before swinging the door shut.

Chapter Text

The sky was a rolling cauldron of black and grey cloud, occasionally pierced by the opening of small chasms that expanded to the blue beyond, but were quickly swallowed in the rest of the shifting charcoal sheet. The air was thick with the earthy scent of petrichor and ozone, the scent seeping into every surface it found. The sound of thunder thrummed the air, and the bright flashes of lightning split the sky, far off on steely grey waters that stretched to the distant green horizon of Thieves’ Den.

It would rain soon, Venomshank could tell that much, but he reckoned they had a good hour before the storm proper hit, so they could get a decent amount of work in. Afterwards, well, he wasn’t sure. Maybe read with a warm drink, or reorganise his study for the fifty-second time, or maybe just sit outside in the shelter of the makeshift porch and watch as the storm rolled over. He had no doubts it was sent their way from Playgrounds.

Sword seemed to be nervous at the approaching storm, glancing to the heavens, and then flicking his gaze back to his more earthly concerns. His fingers worked at a bit of loose leather on the grip of his sword, prying a strip of it slowly free.

“Alright,” Venomshank said, drawing his own blade and standing in an open stance, “I would like you to try a few lunges.”

Sword dropped into a light stance. Footing was a little weak, stance put his centre of balance too far forwards, but his grip was perfect. He then dived forwards, loosing one hand from the hilt of his blade and swinging it behind him. Venomshank braced himself, his fingers tightening around his own sword, before Sword bounced off the ground, moving for a downward stroke. He was putting way too much weight into it.

Venomshank’s wrist flicked, deflecting the blow with ease and sending his apprentice skidding to one side, almost losing his footing.

“You’re putting too much weight into your lunge.” Venomshank said, “You’re currently charging. You should be able to duck from a lunge.”

“Right,” Sword said, regaining his footing, then plunging forwards, his blade extended out in front of him. It was definitely more of a lunge, but once again he was pressing his full forward momentum into the strike.

Venomshank sidestepped him easily, and the poor boy almost immediately over-balanced, crashing to the floor with a dull thud.

A peel of thunder ripped through the air, causing the feathers on the back of Venomshank’s neck to prickle. The storm was definitely getting closer.

“You’re still putting all your effort into it.” Venomshank said, walking over to where Sword had fallen and roughly helping him back to his feet, then dusting him off with one hand, “As I said before, you should be able to pull from a lunge with little effort.”

“Right,” Sword said, looking a little sheepish.

“Don’t worry, it’s an easy mistake to make.” Venomshank replied, “Just remember that they’re most effective when your opponent has their guard down, or as a way to get under their defences.”

“When their guard is down – got it.” Sword said, dropping to pick up his weapon, and returning to his stance.

“Your footing’s weak.” Venomshank pointed out, “Remember, rest back on your heels, low stance.”

Sword dutifully shuffled his position, and Venomshank settled opposite him.

“Now,” he said, “Try again.”

Sword steadied himself. His stance was much better, not perfect, but passable, and his brow knit together in concentration. He was considering his options, good. Then he plunged forwards again, zigzagging across the small space between them, coming to a short stop and jabbing forwards with his sword. Venomshank caught the attack with relative ease, crying;

“Much better, much better.”

A small smile spread over Sword’s face, and he followed that lunge with an upwards slash that just barely clipped the nose of Venomshank’s mask, then a sideways slash that Venomshank caught against the edge of his blade, then guided away from himself, and parrying with his own, very loose slash.

He tempered his strength a lot fighting Sword, waiting until the boy was old and skilled enough before using his full strength and speed, as often times that was too much for even the most skilled of swordsmen, and certainly too much for a fledgling like Sword. So, most of the time, he kept to slow, slightly predictable lunges and parries, and kept it in mind that Sword’s blade had a cutting edge and wasn’t half as long as his.

Sword was doing fairly well today, however, keeping his strikes more varied, though as the fight went on, he continued to put more and more effort into his strikes, attempting to get Venomshank to drop his guard. That was proving to be rather difficult, and Venomshank considered intentionally dropping it once or twice, but decided against it, given Sword wouldn’t learn anything from being given an easy victory.

Eventually though, Sword attempted a particularly risky lunge, diving over the top of Venomshank’s guard. He was almost surprised at first before side stepping and grabbing Sword’s arm, twisting him over to land on his back.

A flash of brilliant white light, searing across the sky and clearing in a moment, then vanishing just as fast.

Venomshank paused, tilting his head and slowly counting. It was about ten seconds before the roll of thunder vibrated in the air, singing through his ears. He cringed back a little, the sound shaking its way to his bones, before he flicked his head down to where Sword was, hands pressed to the sides of his skull.

“Are you alright?” Venomshank asked, and Sword drew his hands back, nodding.

“Don’t- I don’t like the sound of thunder.”

“Neither do I.” Venomshank said, helping the boy to his feet, “Now, what you did just there was exceptionally risky. I wouldn’t attempt it unless you were certain your opponent couldn’t counter it.”

“Mm, oh, yeah, of course.” Sword said, glancing off to the sky, then flicking his gaze back to Venomshank.

“It’s still a ways off.” Venomshank assured him, as he swept down his own front, turning his eyes to the still darkening sky. It had shifted from charcoal grey, to a brooding blue black, and any inference that there could be anything other than that oppressive blanket was quickly crushed. The scant streetlights around them had begun to flicker on, casting their weak glows as whatever sunlight was choked from the very air.

“Right,” Sword said, a little nervously.

“One more bout.” Venomshank said, “Then we can go inside. Deal?”

Sword nodded, then paced back a few steps and resumed his footing.

“Weight on your heels.” Venomshank corrected, and Sword did as he asked. There was a second as they held still, the slowly picking up breeze rustling through the air. Then Sword dived forwards, attempting a low cut aimed at Venomshank’s knee.

Venomshank caught the blade, a little surprised at the choice, but rolling with it anyway. If Sword was able to keep him on his toes he would fare well on the field of battle. That was the largest part of this whole thing, making sure Sword could manage himself when out on his own - so that he could think and fight for himself.

Sword followed that creative move up with a decidedly less creative one of a simple forwards strike - but baby steps. Nobody could be divinely or infinitely creative all the time.

There was rhythm this time. Sword was actually conserving the energy he leveled into his strikes, but he was a little hesitant. Taking to long to consider each one, Venomshank began to press on that, moving his blade to hit at weak spots and forcing Sword to either parry or dodge, just to ensure he didn’t get too placid.

Then, once again, Sword struck forwards, his blade flashing in another flicker of lightning. This caught Venomshank off-guard for once, and he lashed his blade a little too fast in the parry, clipping Sword’s ear in the process.

The boy staggered back, and Venomshank started, letting his blade fall. He knew it was just a small cut, not nearly enough to deliver even a lethal dose of any of the venoms and poisons laden into his blade, but even so, there was still the chance that it could’ve. It was bleeding a hell of a lot for a simple ear wound, anyways.

“Oh, sorry fledgling.” Venomshank stammered, sheathing his blade and walking to Sword’s side.

He was clutching onto his ear, wincing slightly as a thin trail of red snaked down his neck.

“Let me see.” Venomshank said, and Sword carefully unfurled his fingers. The wound was neat, just a small chunk taken from the soft tissues of the ear, and from the looks of it - the worst thing that had gotten into it was an anti-coagulant. Which could be problematic later, but wasn’t pressing now.

“It’s alright.” Venomshank said, as the first patters of rain began to strike the concrete, “It’s probably going to bleed a lot, so if it doesn’t stop in the next hour - tell me.”

Sword nodded, glancing to the sky again.

“In the meantime, let’s get you inside and cleaned up.” Venomshank said, turning his gaze up to the breaking sky. A droplet of water splashed against the glass above his eye, running down to pool at the bottom of that goggle.

“Alright,” Sword said.

“Don’t run.” Venomshank warned, as he began to stride towards the safety of where they called home.

“Wasn’t planning on it.” Sword said, with a sheepish chuckle, that told Venomshank he had planned to do the opposite.

They got inside just as the heavens opened, and Windforce’s gift to Crossroads settled down on its cliffs with a gentle ease.

Chapter Text

Venomshank slipped carefully from shadow to shadow, his boots ringing out against the unforgiving pavement. It was the middle of the day, but the kind that cast stark shadows that most people clung to in the scorching, late summer heat, which had gotten all the worse with the thick, muggy humidity from the persistent storms.

Safe to say there was not an insignificant amount of sweat pooling in the back of Venomshank’s shirt and he was panting for breath in the stuffy confines of his mask. He’d had to stop to wipe the condensation off the inside of the goggles on more than one occasion because he couldn’t see thanks to it. Safe to say he’d considered calling this excursion off on more than one occasion, but if he did, they’d probably be out of food for the next week.

Because that was the reason he was out here in the first place, a supply run. Gathering what was necessary for the months ahead, which for Venomshank meant weaving his way through the alleys of Crossroads and finding the handful of trusted stores he knew wouldn’t ask prying questions.

The newsletter with the greying horns and the kind of cold, stern face that told Venomshank they had seen it all, and who tapped their talons loudly on the counter if you were taking too long. The small herb shop that was run by a sweet faced Inphernal who was always happy to help, and seemed to have unending enthusiasm for spices. The rather quiet general store that held some of the best cold cut meats and cheeses Venomshank had found that wasn’t from a proper cheesemonger or butchers, and who had a rotating cast of staff whose mouths seemed to be wired shut from how little they talked.

By the time Venomshank had to slink back up to the more crowded parts of Crossroads, the several satchels he’d brought with him were fit to burst, and the straps bit into his shoulders, the cloth beneath them damp with sweat. Luckily, the heat seemed to keep a lot of people off the streets, instead cooped up in air conditioned and dehumidified apartments and homes, so the crowds were nowhere near as bad as it would normally be on this day. Especially with the sun beaming down directly from the heavens.

That wasn’t to say that there weren’t Inphernals about - no there was still plenty, wearing loose fitting clothing that allowed them to keep cool, many of them holding drinks or iced treats, mostly chatting amicably amongst themselves. Some of them lounged in what little shade was there, fanning sweat stained shirts and glancing around miserably.

Venomshank stilled, lifting one of the satchel straps off his shoulder, then fanning himself with one hand. He knew it would be perfectly reasonable to take his jacket off in this heat, probably would be better actually, but he didn’t want to go through that tedium right now. He’d just have to weather through it for a few more minutes.

He began to move again, once again sticking close to the walls of the street, dipping into alleys when they were an option and didn’t hinder his movement to where he needed to go. At this point he was craving to be able to step into the cool, calm comfort of some store or other, but he had to be certain that it was one that he trusted, couldn’t have any untoward gossip being spread.

As he did continue his wandering, his goggles once again beginning to fog, he accidentally bumped into and Inphernal. It startled him as much as he was sure it startled them, and he turned to apologise.

“Very sorry,” he stammered, before ascertaining who he’d actually bumped into.

It was hard to tell at first, but it was Zuka. His jacket was tied around his waist and he was instead wearing a slightly sweat stained tank top, showing off the rippling sky-blue burn scars that twisted along his biceps, parting slightly off-white fur. His hat was pulled down low over his eyes, shading them alongside dark sunglasses.

“Oh,” Venomshank said, “Surprising to see you out here Zuka.”

“Could say the same.” Zuka said, “Especially in that jacket, how are you not boiling alive.”

“Oh, I am.” Venomshank assured him, “But too late for that now. But it’s a supply run.”

“You mean shopping.” Zuka said, arching one brow.

“Yes, that.” Venomshank said, shifting a little uncomfortably. His heels were aching from standing up all day, “And you.”

“Much the same.” Zuka said, “Rocket’s been complaining to the stars and back about the heat, so I guess I’m getting something for him.”

“Ah, that’s good.” Venomshank said, nodding his head.

“Yeah,” Zuka said, “Anyways, it’s uh, lovely weather, isn’t it.”

“Oh, it's positively ghastly.” Venomshank said, “Windforce is making her stance on current events very well known.”

“Yeah, I can tell that.” Zuka said, “Just makes it hotter for us afterwards.”

“Well, that’s not technically true-”

“I know how humidity works, Venom.” Zuka grumbled, pinching his nose bridge, “You know what I meant.”

“Yes, yes, sorry.” Venomshank said, shuffling his feet a little and adjusting his bag strap again.

“Well,” Zuka said, “Hope this ends soon, anyways. Still not used to the heat.”

“Me as well.” Venomshank sighed, “I do foresee a cold winter though.”

“Or maybe one that’s mildly tolerable.” Zuka said, “Depends on whether or not our wayward monarch settles down or not.”

“It does.” Venomshank said, an ominous shiver slipping down his spine as he said that. He decided that it was nothing.

“Look, I’ve got places to be.” Zuka said, glancing away, “And I’m sure you do as well.

“Yes, yes, you’re right.” Venomshank said, “Well, until we next see each other.”

“Until then.” Zuka grumbled, throwing his hand up in a weak attempt at a goodbye gesture as he turned to walk off.

Venomshank awkwardly returned the gesture, turning himself, but not walking off, instead slipping into an unoccupied awning and reaching to the back of his mask. He popped open the locking clasps with one thumb, then carefully undoing the buckles and letting the mask fall into his palms. He pulled his head back, gulping down a lungful of air that felt blissfully cool compared to the micro sauna he’d been baking in until then.

He sat there for a minute, letting the somehow miraculously cool air wash over his face. Eventually he did reach into his pocket, pulling out a silk handkerchief and wiping some of the sweat off his face, then carefully drying off the insides of his mask, which made it the third time he had to do this, and he hated it more than when he was wearing it.

The sun was the kind of searingly bright that had him squinting even in the shade, and the stench of hot concrete and sweat was almost unbearable. In short, he was between a rock and a hard place, and he’d choose the rock any day.

He pushed the mask back onto his face, redid the buckles and made sure it was properly locked.

Back to work again, he supposed. Just one more place he needed to go, a small bakery run by a younger inphernal who was incredibly quiet, and who Venomshank suspected was mute in some way. That went smoothly enough, with minimal further drama, and he was off on his way again, back through the winding streets and alleys on a clear path home.

It had pushed to two o’clock by the time he got to the familiar set of winding alleys through rundown buildings, and was very grateful to return to even a slightly air conditioned home.

Chapter Text

Venomshank seemed to have some sense to come by later in the day this time. Last time, it had been at the point of the weekend when neither Rocket or Zuka was really awake, but this time it was more like three, so both of them were wide awake. Did make it more difficult for Zuka to find an excuse to get Venomshank to leave, but he was sure he would manage this time.

Even so, he steeled himself as he walked to the door, ready for whatever was to come. Likely wouldn’t be much of course, but even so, it was more time spent with Venomshank that he didn’t really want to spend with him. But he had to.

And sure enough, when he drew back the door, there the deity was, the brilliant midday sunlight shimmering off the dark leather of his mask, and green glass eyes winking playfully. Sword was at his side, dressed much the same as before, a loose red shirt and a ridiculous helmet – though he’d shed the cloak he’d worn from last time. Venomshank was still trussed up in his heavy, swamp green jacket with the stupid shoulder tassels and the stupid sleeve ruffles about the wrist.

“Good afternoon Zuka,” Venomshank said, with that bright, cheery voice he always seemed to have when talking to him, “I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

“No, no you’re not.” Zuka grumbled, glancing to where Rocket was sitting on the couch, eyes narrowed as he glared at Venomshank.

“Ah, excellent.” Venomshank said, “May we come inside then?”

“Sure,” Zuka sighed, despite wanting to say the opposite. Made it easier for him.

He stepped aside and let Venomshank in, leaning back against the wall to rub his face in irritation, before stepping forwards to shut the door behind them as they stepped inside.

Sword looked around expectantly, before eventually seeing Rocket, a smile breaking out over his face.

“You go off then Sword.” Venomshank said politely, and Sword ran towards Rocket. Zuka sighed, shifting from his spot and walking past Venomshank. He stopped by the thermostat, adjusting the air con to go a little cooler, then pushed open the door to the kitchen.

“C’mon,” he grumbled, “Get settled down if we’re doing this.”

“Of course,” Venomshank said, following Zuka, then drawing up a chair at the table. Zuka took the one opposite it, slumping down with a tired sigh. He looked up at Venomshank, sat perfectly still hands clasped neatly over the table, the picture of poise and piety, and grumbled,

“You can take that off you know.”

“Take what off.” Venomshank said, flicking his finger between his mask and chest.

“The jacket.” Zuka said, “Seriously, if you’re gonna be roasting alive in it, take it off.”

Venomshank shrugged, “It’s not as hot today, I see no need to do as such.”

Zuka sighed again, leaning back against his chair and giving a tired, disbelieving eye to the ceiling.

“Fine, can’t make you.” Zuka said, tipping forwards and resting his arm on the table, “So, what did you want to talk about?”

“Not sure honestly,” Venomshank said, “I just supposed I wanted to see how my good friend was doing. Didn’t really say anything about that last time.”

“I’m doing well.” Zuka said, already dreading the coming conversation.

“Ah, excellent.” Venomshank said, “Say what are you doing now? I know you work in the first layer, but I’ve never gotten more than that.”

Ah, an easy question, good.

“Well,” Zuka said, “I sell replacement gears. It’s not a very profitable business, but some of them can get pricey if they’re exceptionally fancy, so it’s enough to keep the roof over our heads for now.”

“Oh, replacement gears.” Venomshank said, and Zuka felt a sudden twinge of panic. Would Venomshank be one of those ‘gear purists’ that believed that replacement gears were the work of evil or something.

“Quite a noble cause I think.” Venomshank concluded, and any worries were smoothed away, “I’ve always admired that flexibility, to be given something by the universe and reject it for something else.”

“Yeah,” Zuka said, “Just, realised there weren't many places to help with that outside of Blackrock and a few shady places elsewhere so… decided to help.”

Venomshank made a noise of agreement.

“And you still get to travel, don’t you?”

“Yeah, course I do.” Zuka said, “Don’t do it often of course. Roads are hell to navigate at the best of times, so I have most of the suppliers delivered by train.”

“Oh, you drive?” Venomshank said, looking up.

“Yeah,” Zuka said, shrugging, “Thought I might as well. You?”

“Oh, no, could never get my head around the things.” Venomshank said, waving one hand vaguely in the air, “I’d much rather walk. Or fly.”

“Right, yes.” Zuka said, glancing around for the black crow he knew Venomshank was rarely seen without, “Where is he?”

“Sisyphus? Oh, he’s with Sword.” Venomshank said, before glancing over his shoulder, “I think.”

“Right,” Zuka said. He was honestly, often perplexed about how Venomshank seemed to be able to lose track of something as connected to him as his wings. As if a major part of his being could just be forgotten about like a set of car keys.

“He has a mind of his own.” Venomshank brushed off, turning back to the conversation. The green glass of his eyes glimmered slightly, almost playfully. Zuka didn’t know how that was possible.

“S’pose so.” Zuka said, then glanced at the sink. His mouth was dry and he needed something with ice in it right now, “You want anything to drink?”

“Oh, I’m fine.” Venomshank said, and Zuka sighed, standing up again.

Zuka pulled a glass from the cabinet, setting it down heavily on the counter. He debated whether it was better to put the ice in first or after the water, and settled on the former, there wouldn't be any awkward splashing or overflowing then.

The ice tray was luckily about half-full, so Rocket hadn’t been sneaking ice cubes away to eat as is.

“On second thought.” Venomshank called, “I actually wouldn’t mind a glass of water.”

Zuka gritted his teeth, sighing, before looking over his shoulder as he set down the ice tray.

“With or without ice?”

“With, if that’s not too much work.”

“Coming right up.” Zuka grumbled, as he went to grab another glass for himself. He put three ice cubes in each, then filled them each with tap water. He placed his own on the table first, then slid the other over to Venomshank, and collapsed back onto the chair.

Venomshank was carefully prying open one of the clasps of his mask, before shifting the whole thing and taking a sip from his glass.

Zuka was disappointed for a split second.

He didn’t know why.

He’d seen Venomshank without his mask on before, and he’d looked… average enough. A face that was somewhere between rounded and gaunt. Nose broken with a jagged scar across it. Couple of piercings he’d never thought to question. Fairly average stubble, that still somehow managed to look exceptionally well cared for.

“Thank you for this by the way.” Venomshank said, flashing a nervous, slightly toothy smile.

“Yeah, ‘least I could do.” Zuka grumbled, swallowing a mouthful of ice cold water.

“It is still appreciated.” Venomshank said, before clearing his throat, “Now, anything else you want to talk about?”

“Not really,” Zuka grumbled, shrugging, “You?”

“Well,” Venomshank said, running his finger along the edge of his glass, “I suppose I did really want to just catch up with you. We cut it off rather short last time.”

“Sure we did.” Zuka muttered, rolling his eyes and taking another gulp from his drink. The cold made his teeth ache slightly. Something to worry about later, he had worse problems at hand.

“Well, either way, I just wanted to ensure that you were doing well. That retirement is treating you well.” Venomshank chuckled nervously, before gulping down a mouthful of water.

“It’s not really retirement,” Zuka grumbled, and Venomshank waved his hand.

“It might as well be, and you know it.” Venomshank said, “The quiet life in Crossroads.”

“I guess.” Zuka said with a shrug, “Do you recommend?”

“For a regular mortal? I’m sure it's perfectly pleasant.” Venomshank said, “Not quite the wilds of the factions, is it?”

“No, it's not.” Zuka said. He remembered visiting all of the factions clearly, even now. The frosted peaks of his home town, with air so cold it could freeze your ears off if you weren’t careful. The flat, craggy expanses of Lost Temple, and the sun that seared through even the thickest of furs to leave you red and raw with sunburn. Beautiful Thieves’ Den, rich with nature and air that made it feel like you were drowning. And lastly Playgrounds, the windswept city with more murders than citizens. And in the centre of it all, pleasant Crossroads, still dangerous, but mitigated and with relatively normal weather. Well, until this summer’s cycle of storms and heatwaves.

“Indeed.” Venomshank said, “I’m glad for it, honestly. Even with what’s happening recently, everything is settled here. People don’t seem to be as volatile.”

“Probably something to do with the fact that it takes a lot of effort for outlaws and cultists and what-have-you to sneak in.” Zuka said, “And Firebrand.”

“Yes,” Venomshank said, “Which is why I’m so worried for the future.”

“Yeah,” Zuka said, “Though aren’t you a deity? Can’t you just, command a following or something?”

“I wish it were that simple.” Venomshank said, rubbing his fingers on one his sleeves, working along a single line, “But it really isn’t. Most of the public doesn’t hold the same respect for us, and I know how they can be.”

“Right,” Zuka said, dropping his gaze to the melting ice cubes in his glass.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to squirrel away some place in Thieves’ Den or Blackrock, maybe even Lost Temple, but it's not really plausible for me right now. Plus with Sword’s track record it's more likely the environment would get him before other Inphernals.” Venomshank assured, leaning back in his chair.

“Oh, does he not know when danger’s looking him in the face?”

“Very much so.” Venomshank said, looking over his shoulder towards the living room, “He’s stubborn too. And too curious for his own good sometimes. I love him dearly, but sometimes I do wonder. Doesn’t help that he trips over his own feet sometimes.”

“But he shows promise.” Zuka prodded.

“Of course he does.” Venomshank said, looking back over to Zuka, so fast that the myriad of trinkets he hung from his ears and horns rattled, “A fair amount at that. Just need to get him to properly hone it.”

“Mm,” Zuka said, “I suppose that’s what it’s like with most people.”

“Indeed. Say, how’s young Rocket.”

“He’s doing well.” Zuka said, a little more guarded now, “Still hasn’t quite settled in. But he’s alright, for the most part.”

“Ah, good good.” Venomshank said, “For as much as I love my dear sister, I don’t really think she’s that great of a ruler.”

“So I’ve heard.” Zuka grumbled. He’d never dealt with the strong-willed deity of storms and wind personally, but her name and legacy always preceded her. Most talks with Playgrounds looped through her, even if that was more vestigial platitudes than anything. At the end of the day, Zuka would always much rather deal with Lost Temple than Playgrounds - for as eager as Lost Temple was to tear each other to shreds, they had some level of jurisdiction. Playgrounds did not.

“Probably shouldn’t say much, I reckon she’s throwing in her cards on the ‘not happy about things’ pile right now, what with the storms and such.” Venomshank said, glancing to the window, “Always on a swift southerly wind.”

“Yeah, gathered that.” Zuka muttered, before a thought occurred to him, “Can you do anything weird with the weather?”

“Me? Not particularly. Sometimes I can sway it, mostly creating a particular shade of overcast - maybe make a sickly breeze, and it takes a lot more effort than it's worth, so I only do it if I really need an effect.” Venomshank said, waving his hand, before sipping his drink, “Not that I really want to change the weather most of the time. I’m a deity of the ground and I am quite happy with being such.”

“Deity of the ground?” Zuka questioned, and Venomshank chuckled.

“I sleep best with six feet of earth on my chest.” he replied, “Something to do with the undead I suppose. Safe and snug in their final resting place. Well, until I pull them out, but using the corpses of the already dead is a rare occurrence for me.”

“Most of them are bitten then.”

“Most of them weren’t mortal in the first place.” Venomshank said, “Some of them, admittedly, are the results of my feral episodes, but most of the time when I bite someone, there are more immediate problems than zombification.”

“Like what.”

“Necrosis. Bleeding out. Paralysis.” Venomshank said, flashing a cautious grin that bared the very fangs which wrought these deadly effects, “List goes on but those are the main ones. The zombification is really only-”

“I get the picture.” Zuka said, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “In short, keep away from those fangs of yours.”

“Yes. Yes, something to that effect.” Venomshank said quietly, leaning back in his chair gulping down the rest of his drink. He cracked a somehow unmelted ice cube between his teeth.

“Actually,” he said, gulping loudly, “I do think I should be off. I’ve bothered you enough for today.”

“Mm.” Zuka said, a sense of relief settling in his stomach. And, something else that was almost a little like disappointment.

“Yes.” Venomshank said, standing up and roughly adjusting his mask. He dusted off his jacket front, causing the ridiculous chains he hung on those stupid jacket clasps of his to jangle, before he pushed the now empty glass towards Zuka.

“I thank-you for the drink.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Zuka grumbled, standing up and straightening his back. Something near his shoulder popped.

“I’ll see myself out.” Venomshank said lightly, reaching his hand out as if to place it on Zuka’s shoulder, but pulling back.

“You do so.” Zuka said, going to slump back into his chair. He sighed, rubbing his eyes as he listened to Venomshank call for Sword, briefly chat with him, then open and close the door to leave.

Rocket padded into the room shortly after.

“Good talk?” he asked, with the tone he took up when he really wasn’t happy with something.

“I guess.” Zuka said, dropping his hand onto his chest, “Does it matter?”

Rocket shrugged, walking past Zuka and pulling open the cupboard, retrieving a glass.

“I just don’t like Sword.” he concluded, without any preceding rant. He opened the fridge to retrieve the ice tray.

“Yeah, course kid.” Zuka said, turning to look towards the now shut door, “Just, don’t use all the ice this time.”

Chapter Text

Venomshank slowly flipped through his collection of vinyls, neatly trimmed claws running over smooth, laminated card as he tried to settle on one for the ‘mood’. His hair was still damp from showering, and he’d retreated to the safety of his room for the rest of the night. Sword was fed, and should be safely off to sleep himself, and it wasn’t like Venomshank would be exceptionally loud at this late hour. It was just a quiet night alone.

“What do you think?” Venomshank asked, glancing over to Sisyphus, “Bauhaus or Siouxsie? Maybe Sisters of Mercy?”

Sisyphus fluttered from his perch, landing heavily on Venomshank’s shoulder, and looked over the records, his sharp gaze flashing over the presented collection. Eventually he stooped, neck extended and pecked at one of many black covers in the collection. Venomshank slid the small sliver of onyx card out of its place, appraising it for a second.

“Bauhaus it is then.”

Venomshank teased free the vinyl, carefully holding it in the pads of his fingers and dropping it down onto the player. He assessed it for a second as he spun the edge with one finger, carefully blowing off any dust that may have settled in the grooves, before settling that it was in good enough condition, and moving the needle to gently rest on the edge of the disk, and setting it off.

After a few moments of crackling feedback, the first rattling notes of Bela Lugosi’s Dead started up, and Venomshank collapsed into his chair, carefully transferring Sisyphus onto the back of it. He sighed, stretching his arms out, before settling down and rubbing one hand along his bare chest. His fingers slithered through the coat of thick, downy feathers that covered it, eventually coming across the familiar texture of a pin feather and rubbing it free.

He continued to do this, unfurling feathers that needed a little help opening, plucking free those that were ready to come loose, and generally letting those stuck close to his skin air out so they wouldn’t become uncomfortable later. Sisyphus helped, mostly fussing with the feathers on Venomshank’s neck and shoulders, before turning to preen his own in alternating bouts.

Venomshank found his thoughts turning to Zuka. He was still unsure on how he placed their relationship. He did trust Zuka, almost implicitly, as he’d never done anything to prove he was much of a double-crosser, even when he’d thrown his lot in with Darkheart during the early days. He’d been, cordial, for the most part, talked amicably, gave a polite nod when they saw each other, and generally didn’t stir up much of a fuss.

Venomshank wished he’d known him more.

The Inphernal had always been off on one mission or another - faction outreach, secret mission from Blackrock, something ordered by Firebrand or another of the deities with say in the council. He had been a very busy man, and Venomshank felt like every conversation they had was on borrowed time. Then Sword happened and he had to leave any formal conversations to raise the boy.

Even with that, he’d fought alongside Zuka once, somewhere in Lost Temple, late at night so the midnight chill was thick in the air. He’d fought like a wild animal, destroying swathes of rocky cliff under ceaseless rocket fire and when the enemy had gotten close enough, using a particularly lethal looking combat knife to quickly dispatch them. Venomshank had hardly lifted a finger, just keeping his flanks and back covered with his soldiers, and keeping a safe distance from the fireworks display.

In short, Zuka was an inphernal that could fight, and seemed to keep his word. He was trustworthy. Very trustworthy. Perhaps the most trustworthy mortal in Venomshank’s recent memory. It was no small wonder he had a son now, especially an adoptive one. Even if he’d been more brash in his younger years.

Venomshank remembered that distinctly, for as Zuka aged closer to his thirties, it seemed the wild, destructive streak in him faded, getting replaced slowly with stern conviction. Or maybe eroded would be the better word.

He’d seen it many times, older inphernals that lasted long often ended up with beaten down spirits, years of conflict and fighting and surviving slowly scraping away the fight they had until the name they had for themselves was all they had, and was enough that nobody would fuck with them. Zuka was no exception, perhaps he was even a prime case of that.

Venomshank didn’t mind the Zuka that was now of course, he’d hardly known the Zuka of the past to grieve his transformation, and it was still the same inphernal. New wounds, new appearances, but still, fundamentally, the same inphernal at core. Unless you got into Ship of Theseus arguments - which Venomshank did not believe in. The energy coursing through one’s veins assured you the same man stood at your side each and every night.

Sisyphus nipped at the soft flesh near the base of his neck, and Venomshank jolted, looking over to the bird.

“What is it?” he asked, ruffling the feathers on the back of the bird’s neck, “Can’t reach a spot?”

Sisyphus crowed in response, nipping at his fingers.

“Or maybe.” Venomshank chuckled, a smile breaking out over his lips, “You’re jealous that I’ve gotten all introspective without you.”

Sisyphus made a noise that could have almost been a confirmation, turning to nibble at one of Venomshank ears, which lay bare of the usual jewels he would play with.

“I am right, aren’t I?” Venomshank said, ruffling the bird’s head affectionately. “And what of it, I wonder. Do you think we’re wanted, with Zuka?”

Sisyphus turned, preening his wing thoughtfully, before turning and crowing, pecking again at Venomshank’s neck. Venomshank got a pulse of thought, somewhere between an uncertain no and a maybe.

“Do you really think so?” Venomshank asked, “I do want to speak with him more.”

A buzz of agreement, and another hesitant maybe.

“Hm,” Venomshank intoned, shuffling in his chair, and digging through the feathers on his upper arm. His claw ran absently along one of the many old battle scars that lay there, little more than a raised seam in his skin. How had he gotten that one? A lucky slash, a slip in his guard, a very unfortunate bit of shrapnel, some other form of misadventure? He couldn’t remember. It had to be at the very least several decades old – most of his where these days, but he guessed this one was at least a couple centuries old.

A very small, very silly part of him considered he’d gotten it during his fight alongside Zuka, but that wasn’t right – the only injury he’d sustained then was a twisted ankle from slipping down a cliff face, and that had been almost a day after that skirmish.

“I do really want to get to know him better.” Venomshank voiced aloud, Sisyphus back to preening his back. He gave a low, burbling crow, before returning to shifting through the feathers on his back.

Venomshank snorted softly, moving down to trawling through the feathers on his lower arm. He had it in his power to visit Zuka anytime he saw fit, and he knew that very well, he just didn’t want to be too much of a bother. Even with that, there was no use dancing around the fact that he did want some form of relationship with Zuka. He was trustworthy, he wasn’t going to cause too much trouble, he knew about much of what Venomshank would be talking about, he was about a perfect friend for him as it got. Especially these days.

He’d speak with him more.

Chapter Text

The summer heat made the top layer of Crossroads very drowsy, especially as the day faded into afternoon, and the dividing walls began to cast a shadow that crept into the shelter on this side of Crossroads. The bustle of construction workers had faded completely over the last week or so, and whatever they were erecting in the town centre lay half finished, only arching skeletal struts that twisted in weak supplication to the clear blue sky.

The air con was on full blast, and a fan spun gently in one corner, doing its best to keep the small shop cool. Zuka didn’t get many customers on the best of days - it was a niche business after all - and especially so on a day like this. So, he’d set up shop, made sure his supplies were in order, and kicked back.

He kept his hat low over his face, occasionally rolled a cigarette on the desk and smoked it, placed the customary closed sign on the window when he left to grab himself another bottle of water from the fridge, cleaned the counters once, and tried to read a book for ten minutes before giving up a trying to get a little extra sleep.

He hadn’t really been sleeping well.

Even with a tightly air controlled room the heat was stifling, and he could never seem to get cold enough. His fur was built for keeping heat in he supposed, but he was only what - forty-five percent fur at this point? The rest were all burn scars - but they didn’t have anything left in them to sweat did they, so cold showers to try and soak down to the skin was his best bet.

There was also the matter of his thoughts. He hadn’t been able to get Venomshank out of them. No matter where he directed his attention, it was like they circled back to him. He didn’t know why. It was often mundane things, thinking back to misty conversations they’d had before, in the far past - flashes of other interactions, that sort of thing.

He supposed that the deity’s visit had begun to trench those up, old memories that he’d put to one side as unimportant. Small things really, brief discussions, one-on-one conversations between meetings, a silent figure standing over him as he slept in a war torn desert - keeping watch, a joke that only he had laughed at, low from his corner of the hall where he curled, only occasionally throwing in his opinion.

That had been the thing he remembered most about Venomshank. He’d been quiet, but not in the way that the others had been quiet. Illumina had been quiet in an almost calculated way, as if he was balancing all the moving pieces in his mind at once and trying to figure out where things fell. Darkheart had been quiet in a similar way, but it had been more malicious, and when he did speak it up - it was to throw the apple of discord into the centre of the ring. Venomshank was quiet in a slightly more… personal way. Like he would rather be elsewhere, that he was wrapped up in his own little world, not even paying attention to the conversation, only speaking when he was called on to throw in an opinion - which usually fell into camp of keeping well out of difficult affairs and letting them boil over on their own, only intervening to supply much needed aid, and then one day he just vanished.

Zuka remembered that. He remembered the awkward shuffles, cleared throats and glances to the now vacant seat. Nobody knew why he’d left, just that it was some important business that was quickly smoothed over by the other deities.

And thinking back on it now - the dates lined up. Sword was the reason that Venomshank had swiftly exited Zuka’s life - and was the reason he’d just as quickly returned.

Zuka sighed, shuffling the position he was in and fanning the collar of his shirt. It was well past midday by now, but he was already craving something cold to eat. He knew that the various ice-cream parlours about the place would be selling well anyways.

Same couldn’t be said for him, however. The last proper customer had been about a week ago - though the deposit they’d placed down for their gear would be enough to keep him and Rocket floating by for the rest of the month.

Almost as if his thoughts willed it, he heard the ringing of the bell as the door opened, and the click of steel-soled boots on cold tile as somebody stepped into the store.

Zuka sighed, looking up to call his usual welcome to the prospective customer, but stopped when he saw who it was - his heart leaping in his chest.

“Venom- what the hell are you doing here?”

“Ah, it’s good to see you Zuka.” Venomshank said mildly in returning, tipping the brim of his cap in a show of respect.

“You didn’t answer my question.” Zuka pointed out.

“Sorry,” Venomshank said, dipping his head once again, “I just wanted to come up here and see what you were talking about last time we spoke. It is a rather nice place.”

“Yeah, sure it is.” Zuka sighed, slumping back into his chair, “But it isn’t exactly a tourist destination."

“I wasn’t planning on viewing it as such.” Venomshank said, a slight, wry chuckle in his tone.

“Mm,” Zuka grumbled, running his gaze away to the register.

“Business has been alright then.” Venomshank prompted, and Zuka glanced back to him.

“‘S’been alright.” he grumbled, “Nothing grand of course.”

“Of course, of course.” Venomshank said, nodding his head slowly. He shifted a little awkwardly, still glancing around before turning back, “Say, how’s young Rocket doing?”

“He’s doing fine.” Zuka sighed, drumming his talons on the table.

“Ah, excellent, I do hope he’s coping with the heat.” Venomshank said, pulling into a rather stiff standing position.

“Yeah, he’s more used to it than I am, I guess.” Zuka said, with a shrug, “You and Sword.”

“Sword has a good chunk of Lost Temple blood in him.” Venomshank said, “He’s coping well enough. I on the other hand… well, it depends.”

“Would help if you removed the jacket.”

“I’m well aware of that fact.” Venomshank said, making no moves to act upon said knowledge.

Zuka grumbled slightly to himself.

“S’pose you don’t really get heat exhaustion in the same way, do you.”

“Well, something to that effect.” Venomshank said, “It is still awful of course, I more so get irritable of a certain temperature, but that could be due to any number of factors.” he paused to mutter something under his breath, but he was too far away for Zuka to have the faintest clue what it could be.

“Sorry?” he said, and Venomshank started.

“Nothing for you to worry about, it’s silly anyways.” Venomshank replied, waving his hand dismissively.

Zuka narrowed his eyes at Venomshank but didn’t press further. There was really no use stringing out this conversation any longer than it had to be.

“Look, seriously, why are you here?” Zuka sighed, running his hand through his hair as he leant heavily on the desk.

“I’ve said before,” Venomshank said, extending his hand then sweeping it over the air, “I wished to see what this place was like. I also wanted to further speak with you.”

“Yeah, alright, fine – maybe when I’m off work next time, kay ‘Shanks.”

“Ah,” Venomshank said, something in his demeanour falling, “Sorry, yes, I should’ve known. It’s no bother.”

“Yeah,” Zuka said, feeling a twinge of, was that guilt, at the deity’s more battered down appearance. He didn’t know why. His feelings were to be none of Zuka’s concerns, not really.

“Well, best be off then.” Venomshank said politely, shifting to play with the edge of his sleeve and glancing outside, “I know when my presence is not needed.”

Sure you do. Zuka thought, rolling his eyes. Something in him felt very bad for doing that. He didn’t know why.

“Well, see you later I suppose.” Zuka said, and Venomshank nodded awkwardly.

“See you later, friend.” he said, dipping his head, then turning and striding out, in a way that seemed a little out of it.

Zuka watched him stride out into the sweltering sunlight outside, seeming almost lost. He seemed surprisingly small for such a powerful deity, one who Zuka had personally seen finish off large swaths of inphernals by barely lifting a finger, and had heard even greater stories about.

Part of him considered actually heading out after him and apologising. But he shook that off quickly. Venomshank’s feelings were none of his concern as far as he was aware.

He did still watch Venomshank as he shook his head fiercely, before turning on his heel and heading swiftly towards the northern exit back out into the lower rings of Crossroads. Even after he’d long vanished from sight the urge to go after him still burned somewhere deep in Zuka’s chest.

He sighed, standing up and pulling out one of the old oil rags from under the counter. He supposed there were some grease stains on some of the guns that needed addressing. He should get to that.

Chapter Text

The amber brush of sunset stained the sky with long strokes of flame as the glowing eye of the sun fell to the lake, sending embers rippling along its surface. Rose tinged close to the horizon’s edge, just beyond the distant shadows of the Blackrock peaks. Trees hissed and rustled in the small park, their now dusty foliage silhouetted black against the darkening sky. The heat was still smouldering, and all around the chirruping song of crickets and cicadas could be heard.

Most mortals would either be asleep or at home now, as even as the days lengthened into Autumn, the night was still only a fraction of what the day was.

Venomshank’s boots crunched on the dry grass as he moved. The storms had become a lot sparser now, and the heat was getting even worse. He was sure if tensions kept going like they were, they’d be in the mid-thirties by September, maybe even earlier. At least the heat eased slightly in the evenings, so Venomshank had that to go off.

What he wasn’t as psyched for was the state the plants he was hoping to find would be in. His digitalis collection had recently spoiled due to the humidity, and he’d heard from somewhere that growths of belladonna had been found, and he’d been meaning to get his hands on some to grow himself instead of just getting the berries on the black market.

And usually this place would have hundreds of flowering foxgloves, especially at this time of year, but currently there was only a handful with dry, papery leaves and withering flowers that had lost most of their colour, and likely most of their toxicity. Which was disappointing, Venomshank quite enjoyed the occasional foxglove tea.

He sighed while analysing one of the nearby plants, the leaves crumbling under his touch.

“The heat is doing both of us no good is it?” he mused, crumbling one of the leaves in his palm, and glancing to the flaming sky, which was now getting tinged with deep indigo.

Venomshank was worried for a lot of his collection. The rains and high humidity had done the rainforest plants - which was most of his collection - very good, though the humidity had led to a mould outbreak that had taken out some of his preserved samples, which was rather annoying. Now, it was the desert plants that were truly thriving in this weather, and he didn’t have nearly as many of them that he was attached to, compared to other specimens he possessed.

"Can you figure things our already." he muttered to the still air, glancing back over to the red disk of the sun as if boiled away over the lake.

He knew what had happened was tragic. Heck, Venomshank was sure he'd act in much the same way if it was Sword on the line, but at the same time… Venomshank just hoped that Firebrand could come to some kind of peaceful resolution. Venomshank himself was scant on the details, but he'd heard the rumours last time he'd slunk out to coil in the corner of a darkened bar. People were talking of fire and ruin, and all out war cracking over Lost Temple like a hatching egg. Well, worse conflict anyways. The fires of the Lost Temple civil war had been burning for almost a decade at this point.

Venomshank stood up, scanning over the dying flowerbeds, trying to spot anything of worth that still clung there. Nothing immediately jumped out to him, so he continued on his way. He decided to head towards the stream that cut through this small patch of parkland, as it usually had some kind of tasteful algae growing at its edges, and it had become horribly polluted as of late, meaning it held any number of potentially poisonous chemicals.

A bird cackled from one of the nearby trees, where the leaves of what would have been a particularly handsome alder lay prematurely brown, some even falling around its base in a sparse blanket. Venomshank looked up to where it was squatted amongst the branches, beady eyes flashing in the dying light.

"I'd say you agree with me." he said lightly, before turning back towards his usual path.

The stream wasn't too far off, a thin thing cordoned off by concrete walls that were slicked with trailing tendrils of algae, now black and dead in the scorching heat. The stream itself had been on the verge of bursting its banks just a week ago, but was now a dried trickle, crawling its way in a thin sheet over a layer of still green muck.

Venomshank wrinkled his nose in disappointment at the display, standing on the edge of the small bridge that crossed over it. He didn't really want to drop down to the river bed in these boots, especially not with this weather meaning the mud would dry to the steel immediately, and may lead to rusting, which was how his last pair had gone out in the end. Even so, he wasn't going to find much else here, now, so he might as well.

He ended up crouching by the edge, pulling one of his less used poison vials out of his pocket, and stretching down to scoop up some of the water and held it in the dying light. He could see some of the dark particulate swirling in it as the water settled, but couldn't tell if it was various parasites or just mud. There was also a slick oil slick sheen across the surface, which put some of Venomshank's hopes up.

"Well," he muttered to himself, "Here goes nothing."

He'd already loosened the straps on his mask before he'd left, mostly because he had a very good feeling that nothing bad would happen this evening, and he probably would need to move it at some point to trail an unknown poison. Just like now, as he swirled the water one last time, and tipped a small amount into his mouth, letting it well around his tongue.

Almost instantly his palette was beseeched with a collection of harsh, acrid chemicals, various pollutants to numerous to name, but none of particular interest or potency. Sure, Venomshank would not recommend a regular mortal down a glass of water from this stream, but it was certainly unremarkable, and he spat the mouthful aside into the grass, and tipped out the rest of the vial with it.

He sighed heavily, tucking the vial back into his pocket.

Well, this was fruitless. He should have expected as much really, the heat was not doing anything for the local wildlife, especially the one's that had weathered through the fierce storms. Venomshank had found with some sorrow that an oak he'd watch grow from a sapling had been felled in the winds recently, and was now getting dutifully cleared away by the city council to be turned into various wooden amenities.

Venomshank stared quietly at the stream as it trickled over its bed of grasses, and then dropped his gaze to the dried curtain that cloaked the sides. It was certainly a lot thinner, but there was still enough to harvest a decent amount if he wanted. And sure, he was no master of deducing various types of algae, but maybe there was something worth collecting here after all.

He pulled a dagger from up his sleeve and twisted it in his palm. It was one of his older ones, with a notched blade from years of use as a knife rather than a dagger, but it would do. He got to scraping away a small amount of the dried plant matter, then lashed his tongue over the blade to catch them on the flat side. It tasted foul and bitter, but nothing particularly toxic.

Venomshank swallowed regretably, sliding the dagger back into its sheathe and standing up. Should have expected as much, honestly. This whole excursion had come to nothing, and with the sun setting, it was probably best that he get home. Sisyphus would be getting antsy, and he wasn't entirely comfortable leaving Sword alone for so long, even with his wings to watch over him. So he turned on his heel, and began the brisk walk back home, readjusting his mask as he went.

He found his gaze sliding to the sparkling city lights that rose up towards the centre of Crossroads, and he wondered about Zuka. Maybe going to see him at work had been a bad idea. That was probably it right? And it had been a risky move on his end. The top layer of Crossroads certainly wasn't populous, but it was the place that gave the whole city its name. Hundreds of inphernals passed through it on the daily, and any number of them could have recognised him.

There was always the heat. It certainly wasn't cool in the day, and a long day in these heatwave tempratures? Well, he was sure that could make anyone irritable.

Venomshank had already planned to continue his visits, the socialising seemed to be doing wonders for Sword, and hopefully Rocket could teach him some of the things that Venomshank couldn't himself, even if he didn't trust the boy. Oh, that was silly, he was just a kid, and most people from Playgrounds had a certain, feeling to them, much like many soldiers did. Shellshock or something to that effect.

There was also the matter of Venomshank himself. He did think he was benifiting from these little trips, it gave him an oppurtunity to speak about the things that had been weighing on his mind as of late. There was certainly a lot, given a lot of current events. And Zuka seemed willing enough to listen for the time being.

He really did need to get to know him more.

He'd visit again soon.

Chapter Text

Zuka gritted his teeth when he heard those three sharp knocks on the door.

Again. Couldn't leave him alone for less than a week, could he.

Rocket looked up from the table, glancing over to Zuka then over to the door.

"Is that them again?" he asked, setting down his pen.

"I think so." Zuka sighed, gathering up the sheets of paper before him and standing up, "We're done for today anyways."

"Right." Rocket said, gathering his own sheets of paper, "I'll- I'll be in my room."

"Alright," Zuka sighed, as he stuffed the papers into a nearby drawer and then glared at the door. He couldn't see beyond it, but he could almost imagine the shadow of the deity behind it, blotting out the sun with his presence as he adjusted one of the straps on his jacket. Something fluttered in the pit of Zuka's belly, but he crushed that feeling immediately. No point being nervous was there?

He wrenched the door open, and just as he expected, there was Venomshank, playing with one of his sleeve collars. His head snapped up when he acknowledged the door being open, before speaking with a wide smile evident in his voice.

"Ah, Zuka, it's lovely to see you."

"Yeah, lovely to see you too." Zuka muttered, dropping his gaze to Venomshank's mid chest. He couldn't really be that bothered to look up at the deity right now.

"May we come in?" Venomshank continued, and the positivity in his attitude seemed to ooze into the very air.

"Sure, fine." Zuka said, stepping aside. Sword rushed in first, tumbling into the living room and looking around excitedly, Venomshank stepped in after, Sisyphus perched pleasantly on his shoulder.

"It's a lovely day." Venomshank commented, and Zuka snorted.

"Yeah, guess it is." he said, glaring to the blinding sunlight outside. In all honesty, he'd been reluctant to go outside as of late, given the temperatures Crossroads was reaching now. Maybe with the storms gone it was more bearable, but he was built for the cold, and he hadn't lived here for all that long, all in all.

“I wish he’d get it over with as well.” Venomshank said, glancing out after Zuka, seeming to read his mind. Or at least it was a very close guess.

“And do you think that’s going to happen?” Zuka asked, and Venomshank sighed heavily.

“Not soon if it goes well… sooner if it doesn’t, which is looking more likely as of late - which reminds me – you wouldn’t happen to know of any abandoned buildings in the lower rings would you?”

“No, why would I know that?”

“I have no one else to ask.” Venomshank clarified, and Zuka chuckled darkly.

“Thinking of flying the nest soon?”

“If things go south, yes.” Venomshank said, glancing to where Sword had settled in the living room, kicking his heels and twiddling his thumbs, “I know there’s a few people who know we live in that area, and if I have to, I need a place I can quickly move him too – just in case.”

“Well, I don’t know.” Zuka said, with a heavy sigh, “I’m sure you can do some kind of scouting to find something.”

“That I can do.” Venomshank said lightly, “Now, enough of me, how have you been?”

“Alright.” Zuka said, shrugging, “Started negotiations with another potential client out in Lost Temple. There shilling out the big bux for a really fancy gear.”

“Ah, I see.” Venomshank said, “So things are going well then.”

“Yeah,” Zuka said, before sighing, “Look, can we just go into the kitchen?”

“Of course, of course.” Venomshank said, waving his hand dismissively, then gesturing for Zuka to lead the way.

Zuka sighed, but did as was requested, walking to his usual seat to continue the same song-and-dance they’d done the last couple of times. Venomshank settled down rather carefully, smoothing down his jacket as he did, then flicking one of his wrists to adjust a bracelet on his wrist.

“You’ve started wearing those then.” Zuka asked, nodding to Venomshank’s wrist.

“Yes, yes.” Venomshank said, appraising the piece of jewellery for a bit. It appeared to be a simple loop of silver chain, “I thought I might as well. This is genuine silver you know. Still has the maker’s mark in one of the loops. I found it a day or two ago.”

“Did you now?” Zuka said, a little incredulously.

Venomshank nodded, the jewels in his horns rattling a little.

“There are a few places I frequent, there’s some amazing finds there. I reckon this is at least three hundred years old.”

“You reckon?”

“I recognise the silversmith. They died… 2776 I want to say.”

“Well, there we go then.” Zuka sighed.

“Yes, yes, amazing find all in all.” Venomshank said, “Now – you were talking about a new client, weren’t you?”

“I was.” Zuka said, “Now, a lot of this stuff is confidential, you understand?”

“Yes, yes, I understand.” Venomshank said, waving his hand like he was brushing away the notion, and encouraging Zuka to continue.

“Right, yeah, as I said, Lost Temple client. The gear they wants pretty complex and pretty technical, so honestly, don’t blame them for trying to find some kind of official channel for it – I doubt you could jerry rig something like what they want – but either way, it does require some Blackrock tech, which takes a lot of negotiating to get these days, even with my standing.” He paused to glance at Venomshank, who was nodding along to everything he said. It was strangely disconcerting, but also… nice? Eh, either way.

“But either way, there paying huge amounts for it – and I really wouldn’t want to disappoint a client like that. The amount of money they’re offering could feed me and Rocket for over a year if we were smart.” Zuka said, “We’re talking seven figures here.”

“Oh, wow, that is a lot.” Venomshank said, tilting his head, “Who would be willing to spend that much on one gear?”

“This guy.” Zuka sighed, “I’m not complaining. Keeps the roof over my head at the end of the day.”

“I suppose so.” Venomshank said, drumming his talons on the table, glancing to the window, then back to Zuka, “Once in a lifetime I suppose.”

“That indeed.” Zuka huffed, “But I’ve been pretty busy with that right now.”

“Only reasonable. That amount of money isn’t to be gambled with. Metaphorically speaking. And literally, but all I’m saying is that I understand. Mostly.”

“Mostly.”

“Yes. Money’s never been much of a concern for me. I have enough stashed away that I could live comfortably for a good while longer.”

“If you live light.”

“Something to that effect.” Venomshank said, “I have a little of my funds allocated for… personal spending.”

“Like the bracelet.”

“Yes, like the bracelet. But I try to… magpie a lot of those kinds of things.”

“You mean steal.”

“I do not!” Venomshank protested, a little of his accent breaking through his previously poised manner of speaking, “Firebrand doesn’t use half his hoard, and everything else was either bought out-right, found somewhere where it wasn’t getting reclaimed, or made by me.”

“Fine, fine, I get it.” Zuka said, waving his hand up to placate the deity. Some part of him found the outburst… endearing, in a strange way. No, what the hell was he thinking.

“Very well,” Venomshank said, crossing his arms and glaring to one side. Or Zuka thought he was glaring anyways. That was until Sisyphus pecked at his ear and he jolted, glancing to the bird and giving a low chuckle.

“Right, so… anything going well for you.”

“A good portion of my plant preserves have moulded.” Venomshank said, “Wiped out about… five percent of my entire collection. Not a lot sure, but some of those plants were hard to get my hands on.”

“You… collect plants.”

“Well, poisons, venoms, that kind of thing.” Venomshank said, waving one hand, “But most of the time I like having the plant or animal for show. I have an amazing pinned butterfly collection.”

“And how large is this, poison collection of yours?”

“Last I checked I had about six hundred individual samples and maybe… fifty individual pieces of taxidermy. That’s including the insects as separate pieces.” Venomshank said, titling his head, “But obviously with some of it rotting it’s probably less than that by now.”

Zuka paused, trying to wrap his head around the sheer size of that whole thing. He didn’t even know the names of six hundred poisons – or poisonous anything really, and here Venomshank was with a massive collection of them.

It was… kind of impressive, in all honesty.

“Is that… legal?”

“Oh, probably not- but what’s Ban Hammer going to do about it? I’m not using them against people – most of the ones I use are for recreational use.” Venomshank said, waving his hand, “I try to acquire them legally, but with some of them it’s not… well it’s not feasible, shall we say.”

“Right.” Zuka said, before a thought occurred to him, “And how the hell do you take poisons recreationally?”

“Alcohol, regular drugs – they don’t have nearly the same bite for me. Some poisons on the other hand, that’s… somewhat comparable I find. Most of them are in doses enough to kill a regular mortal like that,” he snapped his fingers, “So I try not to indulge in public to be safe. Both for me, and those around me.”

Zuka nodded slowly. He guessed it made sense for a poison deity to have a very different relationship with toxins of all kinds, but getting drunk? High? Whatever – off them was not high on his list. Not to say Zuka was a saint in that regard, he’d been a wild partier in his teens and twenties, and still occasionally indulged in the occasional hit of cannabis. Nowadays that was scant of course, as it could take a day for him to recover from a high or a hangover.

"That is rare though." Venomshank added, shifting in his seat, a warm chuckle slipped from his lips, "I am a very busy inphernal at the end of the day, what with Sword and all."

"Yeah," Zuka said, trying to ascertain quite what the feeling that sparked in his chest was when he heard Venomshank laugh. It wasn't a particularly remarkable one. He'd heard the sound from the deity a hundred or so times. No, it was nothing - just, amusement that was half-hearted.

"Mm," Venomshank said, glancing away. A quiet fell over them, and Zuka found himself watching Venomshank, his gaze picking along the curving edge of his horns. They weren't really all that impressive, as far as the other deities went. Between branching antlers and crown like outcrops, his where relatively understated. Simple ram's horns, curling up by his jaw, fading from acid green at their base, to a pleasant apple at their tips, with regular ridges all the way down. But Venomshank had seemed to temper that unremarkableness with golden ornaments. Glittering golden chains that held tiny rubies and bands that shone bright against the polished keratin.

"It's getting late." Venomshank said eventually, glancing over to the clock on the wall. Somehow an hour had passed since he'd arrived.

"You're right." Zuka said, before scrambling for an excuse to get Venomshank to stay. Wait, no, no him leaving would be better. Zuka had a few more forms to look over and he'd do that better without Venomshank around - what was he thinking.

"I should go then." Venomshank said, standing up and bowing pleasantly over the table. It was a bizarre formality, "I would like to speak more, but maybe another time."

"Yeah, maybe." Zuka said, shrugging as he stood up as well, "Call down the kid."

"Of course of course." Venomshank said, before going through the motions of calling Sword down and addressing them as they went to leave. Zuka pulled open the door for them, and watched as they left.

"Until we see again." Venomshank said, doffing his hat as he went through the door.

"Yeah, of course." Zuka said, narrowing his eyes at Venomshank once again, trying to puzzle out the reason behind this sudden uptick in formality.

"Well then," Venomshank said, glancing down to Sword, "Best be off."

"Bye." Zuka grumbled, as Venomshank finally stepped out of the door and headed down the street, turning to speak with Sword. Zuka stood in the doorframe for a long while as he watched them leave, before slowly easing the door shut. His head thudded dully off the wood as he rested it against the surface.

Chapter Text

The glowing face of his clock mocked him, flashing the steady beat of the time as it slid further and further into the depths of the night. 23:00, 00:00, 01:00.

Zuka rolled over for the hundredth or so time, staring up at the ceiling and closing his eyes in a vain attempt to squeeze any sleep out of this night. He knew it was impossible, if he wasn't asleep by now, he probably couldn't until at least three, maybe even later.

He wanted to say it was stress.

He wanted to say that turning over a seven figure number, and the hair-pulling idiocy of Blackrock bureaucracy was the thing keeping him awake.

That would have made sense. That wouldn't be so infuriating.

Because that was reasonable. That was expected.

Yet here he was, lying in the suffocating heat of his room, glaring at the taunting glow of his clock and thinking about him.

Why did his thoughts keep falling back to him. To that hearth-light chuckle, to the playful wink of the sun off his eyes. The warm timbre of his voice as it filled the air. That solid presence that was sometimes there, sometimes not.

The feeling was familiar.

Zuka remembered a time when he was young and stupid - when he'd had an obsession that felt just like this - but no, no, that couldn't be. That was different. That had been different. A thoughtless fling with somebody who only half loved him back.

This was just-

Why. Why him? Why him of all people?

Out of all the Inphernals that Zuka could have fallen for, Venomshank.

Another deity. A deity he'd only recently started to learn about. One who whenever he wasn't on his own or speaking with somebody else out of obligation was standing right next to the man that had ruined the thought of romance for him forever.

But Venomshank was different wasn't he.

He was observant as he was oblivious. He was sharp as a knife when planning military strikes and movements, but floundered around like a confused pigeon during social conversations with more than one person.

Was that what he like about him? That he was a lot softer that Darkheart? That he lacked any evident trace of his cruelty?

Was he just the first inphernal since then to be nice to him, and not expect anything in return? Maybe that was it. Maybe if he just pushed this all to the side, it'd fall away and wither as the placid, fantastical flower that it was. Simple, wishful thinking.

It wouldn't work out.

Venomshank was friendly sure, he seemed very keen on talking, but that meant nothing. That was just how he was, wearing his emotions on his sleeve so you always knew when he was happy or sad or angry.

Zuka remembered that. The overcast morning sadness that dripped from him one morning as they were discussing something to do with Thieves' Den, though now he couldn't remember what. Something to do with Ghostwalker. And he remembered the flaming anger, the kind that had him drawing on a powerful voice that rang through the hall as he reprimanded those that placed forth ideas that would wring more suffering from the world.

And now it was his joy. A joy like spring sunlight.

It seemed so… toothless. Funny as that was to say about Venomshank. He no longer had any threat behind him. No influence, no sway beyond a name and a history. But that still had a loaded weight behind it, didn't it.

Zuka rolled over again, his fingers wrapping around his sheets. He wished he could just push it all out of his mind. Wished that he could choke every thought about the deity and be left with the clarity of sleep. But then his dreams would be tainted with his presence, wouldn't they.

His thoughts still dripped slowly, speaking fondly of his voice, of his smile, of his laugh. The memory of it stirred a pleasant softness that felt so familiar, yet it was so alien. It was the overpowering taste of violet. The lingering scent of the perfume that Venomshank wore. Strangely floral.

Violet and lily.

He'd never smelt them anywhere else.

He didn't know whether he found it pleasant or not. Venomshank never wore it thickly, but it lingered behind him like an after thought. Zuka had stood in the kitchen after he left, just breathing in that floral scent as he tried to mull things over. Maybe he liked it. Maybe he didn't.

But Zuka knew he smelt of smoke and ash and oil and machine grease. He was all harsh and acrid to Venomshank's soft sweetness. He was a thing not worthy of being loved by a being like that. He would only break further, he was sure. The fragile husk of his heart would be crushed under the steel-soled boot of rejection, and he would be left a drift again. Better to keep it all locked away so that he wouldn't be inevitably hurt in the long run.

And what of the other way. Would his old, broken ways damage the one he tried to embrace. Ah, why was he worried about that? He wasn't going to act on this. Why would he act on this. He knew the consequences may be destructive.

And yet…

Why did he think about that laugh, warm and steady in the air? Why did he think about resting against his solid chest, resting his ear to his ribcage and listening to the steady beat of an undead heart? Why did he think about the warmth of that embrace? Why did he think about running aching fingers through soft feather down? Why did he wonder whether the kiss would be fierce or sweet?

He knew what it was.

He being through it before.

He knew it's name that balanced on the tip of his tongue, that seeped through his very soul and wrapped his thoughts in loops of brass and green silk.

Love.

"Shit."

Chapter Text

The recorder player spun in the background, the guitar riffs smudged from the amount of times the record has been played. Even so, Venomshank hummed to the familiar melody, bouncing his knee in synch with the beat as he slowly trawled through one of the many boxes he had tucked away.

It was best to do it this way. Otherwise, he’d be caught up with what happened, and for now it was better if he pushed it aside and focuses on sorting out what to keep and what to leave behind.

This box was full of tarnished jewellery. Silver chains, copper bands and bangles, old bits of what looked to have once been cheap brass earrings. Some would certainly have been impressive pieces in their day, but most where completely done for. That being said, their was a bit of gold chain that with a good scrub would be serviceable, and a couple of gold earrings with what looked to be opal that were in almost perfect condition.

Venomshank dropped them into the travel box with a dull clatter, then picked up the remain box and stacked it onto the small pile of one's he'd leave behind.

His gaze trailed to the rest of the room, which now lay mostly empty. The rows of vinyls and CDs had all been carefully packed away into various boxes. All of his jewellery had gone the same way. Most of the plants and taxidermy pieces he usually kept here where all downstairs now, in the steadily growing pile of things that he wasn't trusting Sword to take without getting curious about. He'd had one close call before, he wasn't having another.

All that was left now was a few miscellaneous boxes, his now fairly barren hammock, and the old tree branch that Sisyphus was currently perched on, even now stripped bare of the chains, bells and ivy that the bird would usually entertain himself with.

It was a quite kind of sorrow. Venomshank had holed up here for fourteen years now, and the place still bore the marks of that time. Scratches in the walls from moving furniture, stains in the paint from spilt poisons, all of his usual bells and whistles to make this place feel just a bit more like home to him. Now most of that was gone, they'd leave behind this place they'd made home, as an abandoned place filled with all the things they didn't want to take.

He shouldn't be so selfish about it, should he. He was moving for Sword, to avoid the prying gazes, to avoid the questions the people that may try to find them to ask him a question he didn't know how to answer.

Why had Firebrand done it?

That city had - nothing - to do with anything that Venomshank knew of. And that was still hundreds of innocents. All dead or grievously injured.

Venomshank had been tending to one of his outside plants when it happened. When Firebrand raced over the sky like a flaming comet, so bright it for a moment seemed like day, before the trail of his rampage scorched over the lake to the distant, hazy shore of Lost Temple.

He'd ran to the place they'd always meet, and they discussed it with hushed and terrified whispers, trying to puzzle out what had, happened what to do, while the Watchers stalked around them, calling out their apocalyptic observations and taking hurried notes. It had been hours of slightly panicked discussion, but eventually a deal was decided on. They would no longer speak with mortals in the same way. Then they went on their separate ways, bringing with them overcast skies and clouds heavy with storm.

Venomshank sighed heavily.

Zuka could be the exception to that rule, right?

He was already so deep into things that it wouldn't really matter - and Sword really did need to go out more. Especially now where him being out in public could end up being exceptionally risky. So, he'd have to rework his routes to get to where Zuka lived, but Venomshank knew Crossroads well enough to do that.

He grabbed the last box, one that tucked away into the deepest corner of his room. He vaguely remembered shoving it there when he moved and carefully pried open the flaps, looking inside.

It was old photos, some in frames with shattered glass, overs in bundled up clumps, edges ragged. Venomshank began to pick through them, separating them into two piles - one's he'd keep, and one's he wouldn't. There were photos of ancient diplomatic meetings - most of which went to the wayside, photos from when he'd gotten into photography about eighty years back with an old Polaroid camera that had long since failed, a stack of all his old various travel passes, and lastly - old photos from his days in the ambassador programme.

He stopped, slowly sliding through the glossy photos - newly printed by the time they'd been shoved in here and forgotten about. There were many, one with the rest of his family, where Firebrand's soft, easy-going face stared back at him. Venomshank's thumb traced over it, he still had no idea what had happened to make his sweet, caring brother go from such, to… well.

Part of Venomshank wondered though. Was it a version of his own affliction perhaps? A pure, thoughtless rage of adrenaline and bestial savagery. But that made no sense, he'd been the only one to express it, none of the others had ever come close. And this was too targeted. At least… Venomshank thought it was. Ironically he wasn't the best person to ask about his own feral states.

He set the photo aside. The next few where unremarkable, more official shots of the group doing 'unity', discussion panels, photos of various ambassadors shaking hands in front of various scenery, and a few of the upstanding fancy parties - one even being in Firebrand's manor. It was a small collection of photos, pictures of the room, guests mingling - and then one of him and Zuka together.

Venomshank cringed a little. He looked so awkward in the photo, drink in one hand, his other resting on the reassuring presence of his gear, and he could feel the awkward smile that he must have had under his mask. Zuka was much more easy going. He still had the blue in his horns, and his hair was slicked back and neatly styled, and his glasses where mid flash as he turned to smile at the photographer. They were both close to the drinks table, dressed in what had to have been some of their finest outfits, though Venomshank could see the necklace of onyxes that Darkheart had gifted Zuka at some point.

Venomshank felt a chuckle rumble in his chest. He liked dressing for fancy events more than attending them. It certainly wasn't his best outfit, but he still had the flowing tail coat with the extra tassels and buttons squirrel away somewhere - and he was very proud that he'd managed to sneak the pair of black, double ruffled trousers he owned into the outfit to cover his boots. Zuka's was more understated, a simple, navy blue suit with orange beads stitched in waves around the bottom and the sleeve cuffs.

He remembered this event, distantly. It had been some kind of awards ceremony, and Venomshank had dragged his feet going, and clung to the shadows as much as he could, avoid the presence of the press and the members of various aristocrats that tried to hound him for his blessing. He remembered that's when Firebrand had placed his official blessing onto Zuka, carefully wrapping his arm around the smaller mortal as they laughed to the cameras, before the ceremony retreated back into a upstanding party once again. Venomshank had snuck some of his own poisons in and had gotten decently drunk by the end of things, so it ended up being more fun than if he hadn't. Though Illumina - sly ball of feathers he was - had tried to call him out on it afterwards.

Venomshank set them aside. It was strange to look back on what Zuka had looked like before, and even to think about what he'd been like. He'd changed so much. A more sedentary life had led to the loss of his muscular, athletic physique - something Venomshank had experienced himself, even with keeping up with Sword's training. He'd begun to grow loose stubble. His hair was thinning and his horns were greying. Not to mention the most glaring difference.

He sighed, before pausing to sign along to a few lines of Party's Fall. He'd keep most of these. Something to dwell on later for the most part - but he would quite like to document this tiny, tiny sliver of his life - if not just for letting him find a friend in a time of need.

Chapter Text

He looked awful.

Tired, haggard, deep shadows under his eyes - it was very, very clear he'd not been sleeping well.

His claws scratched on the white surface of the sink, digging into the hard ceramic, like the glassy surface would yield to him and be scrapped up into his hand like clay.

He set his jaw, sloping together his teeth and leaning forwards.

He'd done this before. He knew what this all meant. Mortals like him should not be fraternising with deities like Venomshank. It was simply how it was always meant to be. You try to lean on the shoulder of something ordained to control some of the very foundation of the Inpherno and they would always turn around to bite you.

He'd known that from Darkheart. From the swirling depths of chaos between the battlefield and the diplomacy room.

He remembered those days. The honeymoon phase where they'd dance and cuddle and act as what they thought romance should be, what Darkheart thought romance should be. Shortly after came the flippancy, the slow decent into the relationship becoming Darkheart toying with Zuka's feelings - as he was nothing more than a curious plaything. A shark toothed grin filled with non-committal sympathies.

Did he want something like that again. Somebody that disregarded him for their own feelings.

No. No of course he didn't.

This was all stupid then.

He knew very well what it was. He knew that.

Even if Venomshank was different. Even if the mounts of chaos was gone - he'd seen what Venomshank could do. He'd heard about it off hand. He knew of the bloodshed, the warmongering, the trail of desolate land left in his stride. He knew the legends, told by his caretaker as he huddled by the fire. How long ago had that been?

Zuka leaned back, glaring at himself in the mirror. He'd changed as well. He'd broken. Who could love a thing like him? He gave out, but he didn't expect anything in return. What was the point of that? This world was hard and cruel, and it didn't stop for feelings as flowery as love. They were all snatched up and churned to nothing in the cruel machine of how things were.

That was part of the torture of this whole thing. His fickle heart stumbling free from its leash to get trampled once again. Well, maybe not yet - but certainly soon. He really was just spinning things the way he wanted them to go. Venomshank was friendly, but that was no show of interest.

Zuka stood up fully, turning on the faucet and letting the water run into the sink. He was letting the summer heat play with his mind. It would all clear up with the coming of autumn and the return to normal weather patterns.

That being said, a storm still raged outside.

A deities' displeasure, splitting the sky. A land scoured by their brother.

That was the other problem now. What restrictions would the deities wrap around themselves now. What protections to reduce a repeat. Zuka had only seen the news, but would be sure the entirety of Crossroads would be aflame with gossip by the end of the week.

Venomshank was always private.

He might not come back.

No use pining over somebody he'd never see again.

He scooped up some of the water in the sink, splashing it over his face and rubbing it furiously, hoping to resuscitate himself for the day. He still had negotiations to figure out, deliveries to receive - unless they'd been delayed due to the weather or extent circumstance - and things to attend to.

He stopped, looking back to the mirror.

The water had done him no good, the tiredness had even seemed to have crawled into his very eyes, their grey-blue depths filled with the faint sorrow of acceptance. God he was being pathetic. It was just some, silly fantasy of his that wouldn't work out. When he could get more sleep and didn't drive himself into an absolute tizzy over nothing, it would fade away into nothing.

Again, he probably wouldn't see Venomshank again.

He scrubbed at his face again, pressing the heel of his palm into his eye, drawing some of the water that had accumalated there away.

If only, if only he could just grab these feelings by the throat and push them deep, deep underwater where they could never resurface. They'd never done him any good before. They just led to hurt and heart-break and pain. Darkheart had vanished out of his life as soon as he stopped being convient for him. All the rest of his sibilings saw mortals as either something to be watched and cordoned off as they saw fit, or little more than nuisances with the same amount of input as insects.

Was Venomshank truly trying to get to know him, or was he simply just doing it because he needed somebody to pass Sword off to for a few hours. Rocket still didn't seem that fond of the kid yet, but if it was the only kind of socialisation that Sword got… Zuka didn't know. Maybe it would just be Sword now, maybe it wouldn't. Maybe both of them would vanish off the face of the earth entirely and he wouldn't have to worry about it.

Certainly meant he wouldn't have to weep to much about these, stupid feelings.

He slumped down onto the sink again, looking into the now still water. He was half-reflected in it, a shimmering, misty ghost that flickered and danced as the water shifted and the light flashed off it. Zuka shifted his weight, running a finger over the surface of the water, letting the reflection split and scatter once again.

He slid his gaze back up to the mirror, sighing heavily, before combing back his hair to try and making him even a little bit presentable for the day ahead. Once he was certain he'd done that, he splashed water on his face one last time, then pulled the plug, watching as the water swirled away down the drain, gurgling through the pipes as it went.

"DAD!" Rocket shouted, as he hammered on the door, "HURRY UP IN THERE! I NEED TO SHOWER!"

"In a minute!" Zuka called back, sighing heavily as he stood up fully. He really did have better things to worry about than some false fantasy.

He grabbed a towel to quickly dry his face off, then scooped up his jacket and roughly shrugged it around his shoulders. He stalked to the door, snapping open the lock, and pulled it open. Rocket was standing on the other side, towel over his shoulder and a disapproving look on his face.

"Took you long enough." he grumbled, and Zuka sighed.

"Yeah, alright kid."

Chapter Text

Venomshank slid through the shadows, moving smoothly and carefully between them. His head was constantly on a swivel, and he leapt at the slightest shift in the darkness or the softest of sounds that didn't come from him. His grip was tight on the hilt of his sword as he moved, the acid green blade flashing in the pale moonlight as his guiding beacon.

His breath rattled loud in his ears. The paranoid part of him was waiting to be jumped, to be spotted. It told him that he should have brought a soldier or two with him, just in case. The rational part of his brain did always stir up to counter that he was efficient enough - and that having his soldiers would only make him more noticeable. He settled with the rational voice more often than not.

Even so, his wits where about him. He had no idea how hostile the public would be to his presence. The move had gone well, Sword was safe and warm in his bed in a new room in the new house. It had once been a respectable apartment complex, which had since been abandoned and rundown in a relatively low populace area of Crossroads. It was safe, Venomshank was sure of it.

There was now the matter of Zuka. Venomshank did want to see him again, he really did. He didn't want to loose what might be his only friend now, especially at this tumultuous time in his life, and the life of most denizens of Crossroads he supposed. Even now he was striking out in the gap between storms, where Windforce's incessant thunders had faded away, though even now, Venomshank could hear the distant rumbles on the stiff northern wind. As usual, his sister was making her displeasure very well known.

Venomshank's head snapped to the side as he heard laughter from the street next to him. This alley ran dangerously close to a major thoroughfare, so much so that it seemed that drunken inphernals from the local pubs and bars stumbled down it to rest out their hangovers. Stupid, he should have known that. He came to a halt, stilling against a wall and hoping the shadows would hide him fully as he hunted for the source of the sound. Sisyphus had flitted off, landing on the nearest building that was closer to the alleyway, green eyes flashing in the faint moonlight.

After a long moment, he got the faint sense that he could proceed. There was nobody there. The laughter had faded, and they had passed on. This route was too risky - the alley that ran parallel to this one a little deeper was much less travelled. Well - side-street really, but it was the same difference. He slid from his spot and flitted past the connecting alley as quickly as he could.

He was once again safe in still, silent darkness and let out a deep sigh of relief. Sisyphus swooped down from the sky to land on his shoulder, briefly sending a pulse of unease towards Venomshank. He sent one back in return, his entire being too tightly wound with nerves to even think of raising his voice.

He kept moving, shifting from side-street to alleyway to side-street, picking out and trialling paths. This road was a popular short-cut, this place skimmed close to a busy street, but was the only option to get where he needed to go, this alley was often busy after work hours. He stopped in several spots, coiled behind convenient wall-outcroppings and large bins as the few midnight wanders made their way around town. He wouldn't say Crossroads was a town with a thriving night-life, but there was certainly plenty of drunkards and clubbers who would be moving about the streets in loosely organised packs.

He also took this time to mull over whether or not things would be worth it. Almost a week had passed since the incident, and he'd long had time to compartmentalise and rationalise his own thoughts of what had happened with Firebrand, but he needed somebody to discuss them with. Sword wouldn't understand, the knowledge would only hurt him. Maybe there was a distant memory in him of that city, long worn away by the tides of time, either way, best to keep it a secret - for when he was older and more experienced and could understand more about what it meant. He had nobody but Zuka to speak with.

Then again… maybe Zuka wouldn't want to see him again. He would certainly understand that outlook.

A part of him did feel pain at that thought. Not a sharp, stinging pain - but a dull one that faintly lamented. He supposed that's where most of his feelings about Zuka were bundled up, and looped into it was that faint sense of loneliness that had sang through his life for what must be several centuries at this point. Maybe that's what it was, a first taste of true companionship with a fellow in years. He didn't want to loose that.

He continued on his way. Sisyphus was flying above him now, dancing from building ledge to windowsill, gleaming eyes scouring the path ahead for obstacles and members of the public. Venomshank was very glad for the occasional stabs of warning he got from his feathered watcher, able to slip into a shadow unnoticed and reconsider his path.

Of course, it was Crossroads, he would run into some people no matter what, but he was trying desperately to avoid it. Give it a couple of months for the worst of the drama to die down, then even longer for the bitter taste to be covered up enough to no longer noticeably cling to their palettes. It was a little annoying of course, he would no longer be able to seamlessly mingle with the crowds he'd done before, save they turn curious ire towards him. Maybe they would be most forgiving of course - but he couldn't say. The public was as unpredictable as a barrel of firecrackers.

Finally, he came to a stop across the street from Zuka's house. One slightly less busy street that he'd need to cut across, but that was all that stood between him and his dear friend now. He stared across at the building - a plain thing of concrete, dark brick and steel - like all the other buildings around it. One of the upstairs windows was lit with a golden glow, that shone out into the night with a dozen other windows and streetlamps. Venomshank absently wondered if it was Zuka's window.

He considered going to knock on the door. It was horribly selfish of him - Zuka would likely be at least getting to bed - and it was pushing well past midnight at this point, so he probably shouldn't bother. Even so, he stood and stared up at that window, fingers tight around the hilt of his gear, weighing up his options.

He turned on his heel and headed back the way he came.

Chapter Text

Venomshank moved quickly, shifting swiftly through the many allies, one hand on Sword's shoulder as he moved. The boy was jogging to keep up with him, turning to glance up at Venomshank as they went. Venomshank had done his best to explain why they were being more cautious now - trying to talk around what had happened. Eventually it had just settled to Venomshank pointing at what would be a steadily climbing crime rate and stating quite firmly that he wasn't comfortable with Sword being out on his own for a while. That had mostly done the trick.

Venomshank himself didn't like going out in broad daylight. He felt too exposed, like at any moment somebody would pop out of an alcove, weapon bared, ready for a fight. It was stupid, he knew that, but they would be safe once they got to Zuka.

The crowds weren't particularly busy today, just a regular bunch roaming about, but it was still enough to raise Venomshank's hackles just a bit as the approached Zuka's apartment. Luckily it wasn't much longer until they were at his door. Venomshank let himself relax, sliding his hand off Sword's shoulder and flicking his wrist nervously, before knocking firmly on the door.

There was movement from inside, easing the concern that Zuka wasn't home at that point. Their was the snap of deadbolts rolling back, then finally, the door was wrenched open and Zuka peered out - his eyes widening in shock.

"Am I interrupting anything?" Venomshank asked, cautiously, and Zuka shook his head, mumbling something unintelligible.

"Sorry?" Venomshank prompted again, and Zuka spoke up.

"No, you're not interrupting anything, I didn't think I'd see you after… what happened."

"That was just what I wanted to talk about." Venomshank said, carefully driving Sword into the house as Zuka stepped inside, Venomshank turned to address his apprentice once they were inside, "Now, you go off and find your friend."

Sword nodded enthusiastically, before practically galloping off into the house, calling out for Rocket.

"So, the uh… incident." Zuka said, watching as Sword left.

"Ah yes, that." Venomshank said, clasping his hands together, he finally let the tension that had coiled in his chest unspool, and let his tongue loosen so his thoughts could flow unbidden, "I honestly still don't know what to make of the whole ordeal! I mean - I was always vaguely aware of what was happening with Firebrand - and I was aware of the tension between his son and his delightful young partner - but I never quite thought it would amount to this! Especially from Firebrand, it is not like him to enact in such a wild or rash way. Especially since he was the one perviously who kept the rest of us in check- Well, before Windforce took a little bit of a hold of me and my… neuroses I suppose. All in all-"

"Are you telling the kid." Zuka said, as he stepped into the kitchen.

"Sorry?"

"Are you going to be telling the kid?" Zuka said, gesturing vaguely to the living room.

Venomshank stilled, before sighing heavily, as if the simple exhale could do more to relieve the great weight that had fallen around his shoulders.

"I don't think it would do him any good." he admitted, "What little life he led before I discovered him was in that city - and I don't want him getting any grand ideas. He's… he's too heroic for his own good."

"I see." Zuka said, settling down in his usual place, "So you're keeping him in the dark."

"For now." Venomshank said, drawing his own chair and slumping down, "If I think he's ready, I'll tell him."

"And when will that be." Zuka said, "Same time the public has calmed down."

"Oh, don't start that." Venomshank said, "Crossroads has always been dangerous for younger inphernals, no place on the Inpherno is! But this, for someone like him - it will only be worse. I don't want to prematurely thrust him into a spotlight he can't handle."

"Right, yes, yes." Zuka said, holding up his hand to placate the deity.

"Sorry, sorry." Venomshank said, drumming his fingers on the table, "It's just a lot has happened and I haven't had anyone to vent to."

"I get it." Zuka said, as he slid a cigarette from his pocket and jammed it between his teeth. Venomshank watched as he fished out a lighter, and lit it.

"I didn't think you smoked inside."

"Don't usually." Zuka said, "I'm making an exception today."

"Right," Venomshank said quietly. He couldn't quite name the feeling that warmed his chest. Fondness? Concern? Irritation? Perhaps it was mix of the three. Perhaps it was something else entirely.

"Anyway," Zuka said, "Crossroads is full of hundreds of different rumours, do you know what's true or not?"

"I haven't heard what you have." Venomshank said carefully.

"Well," Zuka huffed, "I've gotten more customers than ever… but most of them are there to talk me ear off. I've heard all sorts - from stuff that's borderline treasonous to wild conspiracy to mundane, public gossip."

"I can imagine." Venomshank said quietly, "I… haven't been going out much."

"Mm," Zuka said, taking a long drag from his cigarette, then blowing out the smoke so it ringed around his horns. He looked so rugged in that moment, the smoke slowly dissipating in the still air there. Venomshank could feel the darkness of his thoughts - like a frozen lake. Cold and grey on the surface with deep, dark fathoms below.

"It's just that," Venomshank stumbled on, trying to find his footing in the conversation, "I've never been one for rumours and with all this debacle, I can't risk some over-zealous mortal trying to win one over from me. If not for my sake - Sword's and… well."

"Theirs."

"Yes," Venomshank said lowly. He was beginning to taste the smoke on the back of his tongue. It was comforting. He could remember the times in smoke-filled negotiation rooms, where there was not a pair of lips without a cigarette to rest in them, the familiar tang of nicotine soaking into all. Nicotine had always been sweet to him. Not a sickly sweetness like some of the other poisons found in the nightshades, but a pleasant, dulled one.

"Look, if it helps," Zuka said, "I'm not psyched about this either. Hopefully the worst of the babble will be over by the turn of the next year. It's all too much of a headache for me to deal with. I'll mourn those lost with the rest of the crowd, but beyond that - it's outside of my purview."

Venomshank tapped the surface of the table, there was so many thoughts that he had been keeping bottled up, dwelling on, planning out conversation paths, mulling over - but now he was presented with an opportunity to vent them - he could not summon the words.

"I just don't understand why." Venomshank said eventually, "Firebrand never - and I mean never - would have done this. He… he wouldn't. It's not in his style, he's supposed-" he swallowed, "He claimed the hearth and the home as his domain back in the day, you know? Taught some of the earliest inphernals how to craft and control fire. He's had many little families over the years, and I've seen how those can crumble dramatically… but never this bad. Never, this bad."

Zuka watched him slowly from across the table, his face unreadable. He was rolling the cigarette slowly between his claws, before he huffed lowly, jamming it into his teeth. He stretched out over the table, and patted where Venomshank had left his hand resting on the surface. A deep part of the deity wanted to grab onto that hand, hold tight that bit of reassurance, his only way of letting the difficult thoughts actually fade and not coil unbidden in his heart, but he let the gesture pass as something that was fleeting.

"I never knew Firebrand that well." Zuka said, huffing out another mouthful of smoke, "But, this must be hard on you."

"Mm," Venomshank said, before laughing, "I'm just glad the storms has stopped now. Hopefully the weather here should calm down."

"Hopefully." Zuka said, glancing to the window, "This summer has gone on for way to long."

"I'd agree with you there." Venomshank said, a little more lightly.

"Mm," Zuka said, slowly turning back to Venomshank, "So- when are you going to trust the public again?"

"Not for a long, long while yet." Venomshank said, "I'll give Sword more freedom when he can defend himself - but for now… I'm not sure. Could be decades for all I know."

Zuka nodded slowly. Venomshank noticed he was glancing at him a lot, his gaze raking slowly across his face, still rolling his cigarette between drags.

It was probably nothing. Nerves. Venomshank was no better he supposed.

"Zuka," he eventually spoke up, "I want you to promise me something."

"Mm?" Zuka asked, looking over to Venomshank.

"Nobody hears of these meetings. No other friends you may have, no acquaintances. Nobody. These stay between you and me." Venomshank said, before he summoned his gear and rested it on the table, "And I want you to swear it."

Zuka glanced down at the blade on the table. To swear over some one's gear was binding. Both parties would be beholden to the terms placed between them. Venomshank needed to be absolutely, perfectly certain that Zuka wouldn't cross him. He was sure he wouldn't, he trusted the man and his nerve enough, they were friends after all, but he needed this kind of reassurance. He needed to know it that somebody out there had his back.

Eventually, Zuka placed his hand over the shimmering green blade of Venomshank's weapon, locking eyes with the deity.

"I promise upon your gear and your word that I shall not speak of these meetings - lest you strike me down with righteous wrath."

"Thank you, friend." Venomshank said, taking his blade back up and desummoning it, clasping the fading sparks for a brief second, before looking up to Zuka, "I know I can trust you."

Zuka nodded, crushing out his cigarette.

"I'm sorry to put all of this on you." Venomshank eventually said, after a long, still silence, "But-"

"You just want to be safe - I understand." Zuka said, "It's gonna be hell for the both of us over the next few months."

"How's that… job of yours coming along. The six figure one." Venomshank said, a little cautiously. He didn't want to overpower the conversation like this.

"Not sure." Zuka said, sniffing slightly, "As far as I'm aware its still going ahead - but my contact hasn't gotten back to me in a week. I have everything I need for their gear… but that's about it."

"I see." Venomshank said, "I hope it goes well for you."

Zuka nodded slowly, glancing off.

The silence that followed was laced with a tension that Venomshank couldn't quite parse. Maybe it was him, his presence bringing with it this feeling that there was something stirring beneath the surface. He should leave. He was only bringing with him more pain and sorrow, stirring a pot that was already spilling over the edge with how vigorously it had been shaken. But at the same time… He didn't want to leave. Something deep inside him held him here, in this place, in this moment. One that he could smell and taste and hear. One where he had laid his vulnerabilities before another and had had them accepted for what they were, not brushed off as nothing. He wanted even more so to reach out, to extend a limb of affection and hope it would be reciprocated, a reassuring hand, a hug, something like that.

His mouth felt dry.

It might just be the smoke.

"You should get going." Zuka spoke up, and Venomshank jolted slightly in his seat.

"Ah, yes, I suppose so." he muttered, glancing to the window, "Want to avoid the crowds."

"Thought so." Zuka said, standing up. Venomshank followed suit.

They made their usual route to the front door, and Sword soon joined them from the living room, as bright-eyed as he always was.

"Until we meet again I suppose." Zuka said, pushing open the door.

"Until we meet again." Venomshank said, hovering a little nervously. He felt like there should be more to this exchange. But there, probably wasn't in all honesty. He just stepped out into the street, staring ahead. He took a second to regain his composure and glanced down to Sword.

"Same as on the way here." he said, "Make sure nobody sees us."

Sword nodded enthusiastically, and Venomshank sighed, carefully guiding him forwards.

Chapter Text

"All the papers should be in order." Zuka said, sliding over the last of the forms. The stern faced inphernal he was dealing with scooped them up, flicking methodically through them, before snorting and tucking them under their arm.

"All in order." they echoed, "Pleasure working with you B.Zuka."

"Pleasure as well." Zuka sighed, as they turned and stalked away to where their van was being unloaded. Zuka reckoned that this was the last of what he needed. He'd probably hire another contract engineer to pull all of the pieces together into what he needed and hope that it met his client's standards. If his client was still somebody capable of paying him back. He was still waiting on that phone call.

Zuka shoved open the door back to the shop with his shoulder. He really needed to get more staff - it was difficult enough running a shop like this on his own, but it didn't seem like there was anybody willing enough to put they're effort behind this kind of business unless they were contract. Zuka could offer all he liked but nobody stepped up. Too volatile a job he supposed.

Still, the big bucks were what he really needed. And if he didn't keep his head down and soldier on, then he would be eating nothing but cheap ready meals and skimping out on heating over winter. He couldn't really afford that, not with him and the kid. He glanced down at his copies of the invoices.

It was a big job, this one. He'd had to get several parts custom made, and even asked for blueprints from Blackrock themselves. He'd probably only got them because of his past standing - if they knew he was going to be handing them to some desperate scrap-junkie to make the actual thing he would not have gotten them. Funny how that worked.

He glanced to the phone that perched crookedly at the end of the bench. It had rung in over a week at this point.

Zuka didn't know how he felt about that.

He knew he could just call, but the little roach had a habit of getting himself into situations from what Zuka had seen and heard. Dead was a possibility, severely injured was more likely, just being a difficult little bugger was the final option. Either way, Zuka could only feel vague apathy. The Broker did what he liked, and Zuka didn't care for the adventurous little dealer.

His, other, contact was a different story.

Zuka slumped down in his usual place, leaning back into the chair, then staring down at his palm. To think it had only been yesterday that he'd sworn secrecy over the blade of deity. To think.

He closed his hand, pressing his claws close to the callouses that had long formed over what would have been soft paw pads. He wouldn't break that promise.

It would be foolish of him not to. Venomshank had always seemed to be an inphernal of his word, and Zuka wasn't planning on taking his march to the grave just yet - and the just as swift march back out of it, of course. There was also the matter of his feelings.

'Never see him again' and he does, comes crawling right back to him, through hell and high water. But was there something more? Or was he still just making it up?

There was not any actual love between them. Just the fragile thing that still fluttered deep in the pit of Zuka's belly, wishing to be seen, to be known. To be reciprocated.

It wouldn't happen, he knew it wouldn't happen. Venomshank was little more than a man clinging onto the only bit of driftwood he had in the middle of a stormy sea. There was nothing more to it. End of story.

Venomshank would never love him back. He would still return, of course, a stray dog crawling to the only source of warmth it had left, but that stray dog had made its life on the streets, and it would live long, long after Zuka was gone. He was too kind. He was too… emotionally fragile at times. He wore his emotions on his sleeve, and if he loved Zuka back… he'd show it. To him, Zuka was just another shoulder to lean on, maybe the only shoulder to lean on.

Plus, no self-respecting deity like Venomshank would even care enough about him. He was a force of nature that had happened to seep itself into inphernal nature so seamlessly you could hardly notice the difference. Darkheart had been different because it was in his nature to flirt with inphernal-kind. To dance around their outskirts and see what strings he could pluck to send all tumbling into madness, and sometimes that was targeting specific mortals. Venomshank's nature was not as such.

If he admitted his feelings - it would only make it awkward. He knew that's what would happen. He'd only make it more awkward. He'd just push through it until those feelings finally died, just as he was planning too. No deity like Venomshank would love him back.

"That's everything!" a voice called from behind him, starting Zuka out of his revelry.

"Alright!" he called back, standing up from where he'd slumped down.

He should really get back to work. There was things to do after all.

Chapter Text

Venomshank flipped the record casing between his fingers. There'd been something… off, in his chest over the past few days. An aching, a… yearning. Something that coiled quietly in his chest. He thought he'd known what it was, he thought he could name it - but in recent days it had grown, changed, blossomed.

He slid the record out of its case and set it on the player. He wasn't the biggest fan of this band, but it was just what he needed in this moment. Something darker, more brooding, more - he didn't know. He just needed something to serve as a backing track to him untangling this mess of vines that had grown thickly through his chest.

As the thrumming notes of bass fizzled out of the speakers, he slumped down against his bed, leaning heavily back into it and gazing up towards the ceiling. The room wasn't completely set up yet, even after about a week, and he'd been meaning to painting the ceiling, which was stained with ripples of water-damage and old, peeling paint. He could see where the plaster had cracked, but he didn't care about that right now, his decoration plans where swallowed by other thoughts.

It was Zuka. Who else would it be?

There was not a single other person in his life for him to build feelings for. Did he recognise this feeling in his chest? Maybe a little. Maybe he remembered it like a ghost, a flicker of growing affection for someone, but it had never really lasted. Not like this. Never like this.

He'd never dwelt on the shimmer of light through stormy eyes. He'd never thought about a simple comforting touch. He'd never wished so deeply that it could be more, that he could cradle that stubble-coated jaw and bring his face close to rest their brows together and just be. He wanted that shoulder to cry on, but he'd known that before. He'd known that when the vines of platonic favour had grown through his chest.

He'd never expected them to flower, filing his lungs with this flowering feeling that bubbled into something new and different. Something sweeter, something softer, something he could hold and cradle.

Love. Love was what it was.

He was foolish to call it any other name. It was a love, a yearning, a need. He wished he could hold Zuka close and call him his own. His confidant and lover. But that was never to happen.

The flowering vines that wound through his rotten flesh would never be nurtured beyond his own tearful thoughts. They had latched onto a man who he could not love. A mortal, old and fragile and wanting not much to do with him. How fickle was attachment, how strange it was.

He stood up, spinning loosely over the bare boards he'd yet to varnish, a low chuckle stirring in the depths of his throat. He was being so stupid. Lovesickness was a poor look on him. But he could not help it, could he? A line had been crossed and he could do nothing but stride deeper, or stand still until the waters receded.

He span in place again, his fingers snapping to the heavy thrum of the bass, eyes sinking closed. If only he could share that feeling. But would it, or would it not be reciprocated? He favoured that it would not, to share this would be to make things very awkward - perhaps shatter this friendship that they'd managed to build between each other. He didn't want to loose that.

Zuka was a simple creature. Venomshank was a simple creature as well. They both lived for a few creature comforts, they both tried to do what was best for themselves and those they took as dependants. But they were vastly different in background, in motivation, in their whole reason for being. Venomshank wrapped his arms around himself, swaying slowly back and forth.

A mortal should not love a deity and they should not love a mortal back. It led to heartbreak. And Venomshank knew how fragile his heart could be.

He shouldn't want this. He shouldn't desire it so deeply now it made him want to scream, to let his bitter fangs rend the stars from the heavens, the perfect gift to wind his feelings into and hold shaking to his new object of affection. But alas, there was no changing the ache in his heart.

Would the feeling kill him? Maybe not, but now it felt so.

He twirled a final time, falling back against the bed again, brokenly signing two or three lyrics as he let his arm fall across his face. Silly him, silly, dramatic him. He was getting all of his feathers in a tussle, and for what? An aching, incorporeal feeling that was as inconsequential as a blooming flower? As inconsequential as the bloom of an oleander plant - pungent, overwhelming and deadly.

He wondered distantly what had changed. What made Zuka any different. Maybe he remembered that steely conviction in his eyes as he rested his hand across Venomshank's blade, swearing loyalty despite anything. Perhaps it was the deep, deep well of trust Venomshank had dug for him. Perhaps it was the tumultuous times that required him to find deeper, more primal comforts in his fellow man.

He wanted to be held as an equal. He wanted to let some of his worries slip, to be close in a place where he could be as vulnerable as he like, where he could bear his scars and their stories and have them accepted and loved for what they were. He wanted that more than anything. He wanted that in a tight, loving embrace. He wished, for all his power and strength, to be no different than any man - just for a little.

That would never happen.

Zuka was a man with endless patience. But that's what he had - patience. There was probably no shared affection between them. Venomshank still needed him as a supporting pillar, even if there was frigid layer of ice between them, distrust from years past and still yet unhealed wounds that Venomshank didn't not want to tear open and fresh with a misplaced word.

His fingers snaked around the straps of his jacket, tugging at the fabric there as he gazed up towards the ceiling.

He was a man with too much power to be worrying about things like this. But it was a simple comfort, a small personal worry to distract him from the horrific churn of the world around him. So, who cared if this was just him grabbing desperately onto the nearest person to him, and was finally able to open up his ribcage to them, to show the blooming flowers that twisted through his bones and flesh, shedding their petals upon their waiting approval.

Waiting to see if they'd be crushed or cherished.

He was being foolish again.

Chapter Text

Zuka dusted down the counter for what must have been the fifth time. He sighed mid-way through, dropping the cloth and pinching the bridge of his nose, hoping to breathe some life into himself.

He'd been on auto-pilot the past few days. He'd found and hired a mechanic to work on constructing the gear - a reedy young inphernal from the middle ring with ears ringed in golden hoops and a slight over bite - who he was now keeping a half-committed eye on as they worked, he'd even sold a different gear to a prospective customer for about a hundred bux. But his heart wasn't really in it.

That, had ended up wandering elsewhere. It had been for a while.

He wasn't going to do the same run-around. Venomshank hadn't shown his face again, and Zuka wandered - not for the first time - if he had been scared off by someone or something. He had seemed exceptionally paranoid about getting caught. Zuka thought it was a very silly thing for a deity to be afraid of something like a mortal - but then again, he was sure a small string of attacks and zombifications would not go down well with the public.

The phone rang.

Zuka jumped, turning to look at it. It ran again, an incessant sound that sent his teeth on end. He slowly walked over to it, grabbing the receiver and heaving it to his ear.

"What?" he snapped, and the bright, cheery voice of his most recent business partner rang down the line.

"I'm just checking up on how you're doing! It's been a wild ride for me over here."

Yeah, of course. How could he have forgotten that.

"It's… going fine. Being put together right now. Client's still-"

"Alive? Oh, oh yes she very much is! Dear Flux is still very excitedly awaiting her new gear! Especially after loosing all her estate… That being said - you don't mind if we shave a zero off that orginal number?"

"Uh," Zuka said, glancing at his invoice forms. Loosing a couple million bux would be a massive hit… but it wasn't the end of the world, invoice only came out to about ten thousand bux all in all, "No- What's the deal at now?"

"About… 786,243 to be exact - though Flux said you can round that up to 790,000 if you so wish, and she can pay in instalments then."

"How much in each?"

"Well, she reckons about… 80,000 in each. Plus shipping which is maybe… let's say… sixty bux these days, probably more-"

"No skin of her back." Zuka grumbled.

"No - not at all!" the Broker tittered, before sighing, "Well yes - I think that would be all in that matter, when can we pick it up?"

"Uh," Zuka looked up, across to where his hire was working, "I'd say… 7th."

"We can certainly do that." the Broker said, "Now… how are you doing friend? I know you had dealings with that… man - so I was hoping there's no fallout on your end."

"No, nothing on my end." Zuka said, his grip tightening on the receiver. He'd sworn secrecy, "And you."

"I'm just swell." the Broker laughed, "Well, I'm missing a limb or two - but nothing a friend can't patch up for me."

"I'm… sorry."

"No worries." the Broker said, and Zuka could practically hear that wide smile over the line, "As I said, nothing a good friend can't patch up."

"Right," Zuka said, drumming his fingers against the reciever, "How much did you - well."

"Loose. Oh, quite a bit. I'm rather miffed honestly." the Broker said, though his tone told Zuka that he was more than 'rather miffed', "Lost most of my good contacts. Well - aside from you and Flux. And another friend - though she's dealing with her own bag of bones right now."

"Uh huh." Zuka said, weighing his words carefully before speaking again, "Look, Broker I'm-"

"Sorry? Oh, no, I understand. I understand perfectly." the Broker said, "And you have nothing to be sorry about. Just keep doing your business - and soon enough you'll have a large amount of buxs heading your way!"

"Yeah, sure." Zuka said, drawing the receiver down a little, and staring out of the window. This amount of money should make him happy. It would feed, clothe and warm him and Rocket for months to come, maybe years if he was careful with budgeting, but now it didn't seem as monumental as it should be. Not with, him, burrowing into the deepest depths of his mind, ready to tumble into focus at any stray thought.

"Is something wrong over there?" the Broker suddenly simpered, snapping Zuka's attention back to the call.

"No - no its fine." he stammered, and the Broker gave a coy, investigative noise.

"Are you sure?" he asked, in that sing-song tone, "Some - dashing young inphernal your too old for catch your eye? Or are you past that now?"

"What-" Zuka blustered, surprised at how quickly his collegue had seen through him, "No - why on earth would you think that? Of course not."

"Alright." the Broker said coily, before chiming up again, "But who is it?"

"None of your business." Zuka growled, the sentiment being met with one of the Broker's tittering giggles.

"I suppose your right." he sighed, "But I'm curious you know. To think of you - B.Zuka, acclaimed war veteran and infamous Blackrock illumni, swooning over some inphernal. Postively hilarious - yes?"

"Yeah," Zuka said, a bitter taste in the back of his mouth, "It's nothing anyways. Go away soon enough."

A smug sound that Zuka could almost see the smile that came with it, "Tell yourself that. Just tell me when the wedding's on."

"Sure - yeah, right." Zuka grumbled, "I'm hanging up now."

"Oh, Zukes, c'mon, I'm just pulling your leg." the Broker said, "I'll leave you to your conumdrums then. 7th did'ya say."

"Yes, the 7th." Zuka grumbled.

"Alrighty! I'll pass it right on. Buh bye!"

"Bye." Zuka huffed into the line, before slamming the reciever down. His claws scratched over its surface for a second, before he huffed and turned to go back to work.

Chapter Text

Venomshank stalked in a steady circle. He believed he preferred this training arena to the last one. It was more enclosed, less open to the elements and less likely that someone would stumble across them.

Sword stalked across from him, face set in a determined grimace as he waited for his moment to strike. No clear directive today, just getting back into the flow of things - that was all.

The sky was clear, with the occasional bank of cloud scuppering along the horizon, breaching across the cooling autumn sun. The breeze was mild, and the air didn't feel suffocating. It hadn't rained in a few days, and the sun was back to normal, for the most part. An easy autumn. Venomshank hoped as much, anyways.

He shifted his grip on his gear.

He did truly wish he could focus. He should keep his mind on training Sword, the child he'd brought in specifically to train and protect. He shouldn't, for example, be thinking about his newest infatuation.

Ah, but alas, it seemed almost impossible to not have the grey-horned inphernal settled into a corner of his thoughts. Even if he pushed him mostly to the side, they would end up trickling slowly back, lamenting that he was out of reach.

Sword dashed forwards.

Venomshank grunted in surprise, just about bringing up his blade to catch Sword's. The arc of the parry did jar his arm a little, and he had to quickly side-step to recuperate.

Focus Shanks focus. He scolded himself, unable to repeat any critique to Sword - for he had not seen the full arc of his strike for how caught off guard he'd been.

Sword twisted his blade in another slashing arc, and Venomshank brought his blade up to catch it, then twisted the blade away. Sword redoubled his efforts.

Venomshank did let himself fall on the back foot. His movements where almost automatic, smoothly practised, catching Sword's strikes and slashes with ease - but there was very little thought to them. He wasn't, actually, training. He was sparring at best.

One of Sword's risky lunges, or slash would be more accurate. He jumped, swinging his blade down over his head as he lunged forwards. Venomshank had barely enough time to catch it - and the strike jarred his arm and knocked his blade out of his hand.

Sword burst out in a cry of glee, clearly enthused that he'd managed to disarm his mentor, but Venomshank didn't share his sentiment. It was a poor move on his end and Sword's. He should have kept his guard up more. That kind of strike was effective - clearly - but it was another, exceptionally risky move that he wouldn't stand by.

Even so, the look of pure joy in Sword's eyes was not one that he wanted to completely crush.

"Risky." Venomshank said, picking his sword up once his fingers had stopped aching, "I wouldn't pull that kind of thing normally. Especially with the amount of effort it takes."

Sword nodded, some of his enthusiasm fading, but he readied his blade again, taking a few steps back.

Venomshank slowly adjusted himself into position, flicking his wrists and sighing heavily to himself. He should really, really be focused on this - not playing over past events in his mind. Not have those steely grey eyes scouring into his soul, not wishing to see them again. Focus. Focus.

He dropped into a low bow, one that Sword replicated.

Venomshank plunged forwards first, flashing his blade to attempt to check Sword on the shoulder. The boy shot up his blade, just about parrying it, and thus the fight began. Cuts, jabs, slashes and lunges, all in freindly competition - just so they could get back into the flow of things, as he had decided.

He was still distracted.

Not Sword, Sword was doing fine - lunges and parries were a little slow, a little too hesitant, but where Venomshank would usually press on them to try and get the boy to pick up his guard, he let himself fall into usual patterns of jabbing and cutting, with the occasional parry and sidestep. He couldn't help it, his mind did keep wandering, thinking of conversations he would never have, interactions that he wouldn't dream of initiating, dwelling on old memories as if picking through for evidence of shared affection.

Sword slipped through his guard again, managing to land a decent hit to his arm.

That brought Venomshank out of his revelry. He staggered back, startled by the sudden pain and glanced to his shoulder to ascertain the damage. The wound was shallow, nothing he hadn't lived through before, but injuring his mentor was clearly quite a shock to Sword.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry - I didn't mean too I didn't-"

"It's fine." Venomshank said, desummoning his gear to press a hand to the wound, "Nothing serious. It was my fault for letting my guard fall."

Sword nodded slowly. He was still buzzing with nerves.

"Look, I've got a lot on my mind right now." Venomshank said, which wasn't technically false, "How about we come back to this another day? When I have less to think about."

"Right, yeah." Sword said, desummoning his own weapon.

"You can stay out here for a bit." Venomshank said, "But be sure to come inside before sunset."

"Sunset - got it." Sword said, shuffling nervously and fiddling with his cloak.

Venomshank watched him for a moment, before sighing to himself.

"I'm fine, really Sword. You don't have to beat yourself up about it - understood? These things happen when training with unsheathed blades."

Sword nodded, still fiddling with his cloak.

Venomshank sighed again, before stooping and opening his arms, indicating that Sword could come in for a hug.

The boy looked up, before slowly stepping forwards, as if asking for permission, Venomshank nodded.

Sword shuffled awkwardly into his grasp, and Venomshank returned with a half-hug, careful not to get any of his ichor onto Sword's exposed skin, before standing up again.

"I will be in my study if you need me - clear?"

Sword nodded again.

Venomshank sighed, and strode back towards the house, his hand still clasped to the wound he wasn't sure was even still bleeding. Sword tailed him like a stray puppy, still playing with the end of his cloak. Venomshank wasn't sure what else to do to soothe the boy's nerves, especially with his own mind in the mess it was currently.

He headed upstairs and into his study, where Sword finally stopped tailing him, and stumbled towards his own room. Venomshank watched him enter, sighing to himself again and walking into his study - still empty despite the weeks to populate it.

He pried his mask off, tossed it onto the desk and collapsed into the chair, running his hand over his face, then through into his hair.

He truly, utterly, was hopeless.

Chapter Text

Might as well. Might as well. That's what Venomshank had told himself, and even now he repeated that mantra over and over again as he stared at that monolith of wood before him. He wouldn't confess, he wouldn't say anything beyond the usual pleasantries. Sword needed to spend time outside, and his opportunities to meet with his friend were getting slimmer by the day.

Venomshank knocked on the door.

The usual shuffles and grumbles, and finally the bolts slide back - and there was Zuka, just on the other side of the threshold. Something fluttered in the depths of Venomshank's stomach, and he came to realise that his throat was painfully dry. Oh, silly, silly him.

"Greetings," Venomshank said, swallowing down the feeling and lifting his hat pleasantly.

"Hello to you to." Zuka said gruffly. His tone was sharp, rough, and it almost felt like shards of glass had been thrown upon Venomshank's soul. Maybe he'd just picked a bad day.

"Its a lovely day," Venomshank said, glancing to the clear sky. Zuka followed his gaze, huffing.

"Guess it is."

"Can I come inside?" Venomshank propositioned, sweeping his hand a head of him. His heart was in his throat but his soul felt like it was cowering under the weight of a thousand blows.

"Sure."

Venomshank dipped his head in thanks, then swept his hand ahead of him to allow Sword through.

Zuka stood aside, and let them through with heavy lidded eyes. His face remained unreadable.

"Well," Venomshank said, as Sword rushed off again, "It is certainly good to see you freind."

"Mm."

Venomshank felt his enthusiasm was faltering by the second. He'd had the idea that Zuka wouldn't want to see him again, but he never thought that it would be confirmed so… coldly.

"What happened there?" Zuka asked, prodding a talon to where Venomshank had stitched up the sleeve of his jacket. It was a very nice jacket, and even if it had been eaten at a little by the acid of his ichor, it was still serviceable with a few well placed stitches.

"Ah," Venomshank said, "Sword just caught me during training, nothing I haven't lived through before! It happens."

"Yeah, s'pose it does."

Venomshank stood awkwardly in the hall, trying desperately to read Zuka. Was he doing something wrong? Was that why Zuka was being so abrasive? Or was it just a bad day for the inphernal? Venomshank couldn't tell.

"How, how did that deal go?" Venomshank asked, remembering one of their past conversations.

"Alright." Zuka said, "Lost about a million bux because… well, but most seems to be coming through fine."

"Ah, yes, the uh- what are they calling it now?"

"I've heard that 'the Scorch' is a popular one amongst refugees. Plus, more talk of the church."

"Right, yes…" Venomshank said. He didn't like the sound of that. Made the feathers on the back of his neck prickle. He looked back to Zuka.

"Well, you be sure to be careful. I know they can be hostile towards those associated with us deities."

"I've sworn secrecy - remember." Zuka growled, stepping forwards.

"Yes, yes, of course." Venomshank said, raising his hands in a show of defeat, "But I was not talking about me, you have been publicly seen with both Darkheart and Firebrand himself before. So I do still advise you to be careful."

"Yeah, I know." Zuka snapped back, "You don't get to my age by being reckless."

Venomshank wanted to politely disagree. That Zuka had been plenty reckless back in his prime, but he thought it best not to bring it up.

"Still, keep your wits about you-"

"Yes, I know." Zuka said, a little loudly for Venomshank's taste, "Keep my wits about me, be careful, I know 'Shanks, I know."

"Sorry, sorry." Venomshank said, flinching back, crossing his hands behind his back.

Zuka watched him for a moment, and the look in his eyes was so unreadable that Venomshank was scared for a second.

"It's fine." he said eventually, "Just, I know what I'm doing, okay?"

"I, don't doubt that." Venomshank said, rubbing the back of his wrist, "I'm just, worried, that's all. This was all so sudden and-"

"I know, I know." Zuka said, with a heavy sigh. A part of Venomshank cringed back.

"Right, of course. Has anything else of note happened recently." Venomshank said, gesturing for his friend to speak.

"Not really." Zuka said, with a shrug, "You?"

"You know that that isn't a question I can confidently answer."

"Thought so." Zuka grumbled, narrowing his eyes at Venomshank, "Why did you come here then?"

"I- I wanted to speak with my friend." Venomshank stammered, "And of course, Sword will only benefit from getting out of the house and socialising with a trusted person. Especially with the times."

"Right, of course, forgot about that." Zuka grumbled.

"Yes," Venomshank said, crossing his arms behind his back again.

An awkward silence fell between them, and Venomshank found himself desperately searching Zuka's face for… something. He didn't know what it was.

"Look," Zuka said, with a heavy sigh, "If you're just going to keep showing up here for Sword, then I would prefer if you just, dropped him off or something."

"No, I couldn't possibly." Venomshank said, "I don't want anything happening to him - and as much as I do trust you - I just… wouldn't feel comfortable leaving him alone."

"You've got to let him out on his own sometime." Zuka said, a slight scowl creeping across his face, "Let the bird fly the nest. If you keep hovering around him he'll never learn how to spread his wings."

That hurt. That hurt quite a bit, and Venomshank almost, almost flared into a defensive rage, but wrestled it down.

"I know." Venomshank said, his voice shaking, "But when he's ready. He's too…"

"Naive? Yeah, and who's fault is that?"

"I get what you're trying to say." Venomshank said, trying his hardest to stop his voice from quavering, "And I will leave."

"Good." Zuka muttered, looking away.

Venomshank watched him from the corner of his eye as he turned to call Sword. It was impossible to read the older inphernal's expression. Especially when Venomshank's vision had become blurry with the hot tears that burnt in the corners of his eyes.

He was so, very, very wrong to think that there was any chance between him and Zuka. He'd know that from the beginning, this was just the nail in the coffin. Just the final nail in this horrid coffin, this bed he'd made for him to lie in.

Chapter Text

The night air was cold and crisp, brushing against the exposed skin of Zuka's neck. He was glad for it, honestly. He'd had one two many hot, sticky nights over the past year and he was glad the weather had finally turned to something more bearable, even for what that meant.

A cigarette was perched in between his teeth, and he absently sucked on it as he walked, the bitter taste lingering in his mouth. He was out here to clear his head, that's what he'd told himself. And that was true. He was trying to banish the thoughts that coiled in his mind before he went to sleep. He couldn't help but to think of the slight, hidden quaver in Venomshank's voice, the slight droop of his ears he hadn't bothered to mask, the defeated way he'd swept out of the room.

It hurt Zuka a little to see Venomshank like that. But it was for the best. Get him out of the way so Zuka didn't spend so much time pining for him.

It did still hurt to be so callously cruel though. Maybe it would hurt less if Venomshank wasn't so obvious about it.

Zuka kicked a loose bottle in his path, the piece of trash clattering away, rolling into the gutter. He'd lost track of where he was in Crossroads - somewhere closer to the lower level he reckoned - but he wasn't sure. Didn't matter anyways, he could always orient himself by the still rising struts of the tower at the heart of town.

Something thudded in a nearby alley.

Zuka started, and glanced in that direction. Another thud, followed by a crash a low groan.

Zuka let the cigarette fall from his lips, and he slowly drew his combat knife from one of his pockets, just in case. It could just be some drunkard or addict that had ended up passing out in a back alley - but they could just as easily be someone dangerous.

He paced into the alley, searching through the darkness. He could see the slumped over figure that was now trying to scramble to their feet. Their movements were stiff and jerky, and that gave Zuka enough reason to assume they probably had something unsavoury in their system, but he couldn't tell what from here.

Finally, the figure stood up, and it took a second for Zuka to actually register who it was, from both their height and their horns.

"Venomshank?" he breathed in slight disbelief.

"Zuka! Zuka, it's good to, to see you here." Venomshank lilted, his voice thick and slurring. The deity stumbled forwards, coming a bit more into the light.

He wasn't wearing his mask - likely forgotten at home or in some far-off alley if Zuka had to guess - and his dark hair was allowed to spill in curtains around his shoulders. His pupils were contracted into tight slits, bearing the startling green of his eyes, and a dumb, lopsided grin bared the sharp, acid green of his fangs. He was, very evidently, completely off his face on something.

"Venomshank, seriously, what the hell?" Zuka demanded, tucking his knife away.

"I'm just, having a night out." Venomshank slurred, "Enjoying the stars, and the moon. She's veeeery pretty tonight, isn't she."

He broke off into a tittering laugh, jerking his wrist up to cover his mouth as he did so.

"What the hell did you take? And how much?" Zuka asked, glancing around for anybody watching this interaction.

"Oh, just some ethylene." Venomshank said lightly, "And some tetrodotoxin. Not enough to kill me mind - just a couple drops."

He burst of into a storm of giggles again.

"But aren't you just the nicest for asking me." he slurred, stumbling forwards again. Zuka could smell the anti-freeze on his breathe.

"Hold up," Zuka said, holding his hand up and catching Venomshank's chest, the deity stopping immediately, "You took what again?"

"Ethylene glycol." Venomshank repeated, "And tetrodotoxin. I wanted, I wanted to have a nice fun night, so I took 'em together cause they actually do something t'me then and I can actually-" he giggled, "I can actually have some fun then."

Zuka tried to remember what both of those where. Ethylene glycol was antifreeze, while tetrodotoxin… was that the stuff in pufferfish? He believed it was. Deadly toxic, killed most within hours of consumption, but for Venomshank it was the equivalent of popping a few pills and calling it a day.

"And now you're what, just wandering the streets?"

"The stars are very pretty."

"Not an answer, but alright." Zuka sighed, "And what if you bit someone."

"What then?" Venomshank cooed, "Oh, what then what then what then? No, I don't know. That's for sober me to figure out-" he giggled again, "Right now, I'm just having a big ole party. Just me, you and the stars and the sky. How does that sound?"

"No." Zuka said, with a huff, "C'mon we gotta get you off the streets."

"Nah, it's fine here." Venomshank hiccuped, staggering back a little. Each of his movements was stiff, jerky, like his brain wasn't quite communicating with the rest of him right.

"No." Zuka insisted, grabbing onto Venomshank's wrist. He remembered having to drag a couple stoners and party-goers through this rigamarole, where the person who really shouldn't be out on the streets wanted nothing more that to be on them.

"Oh, if you insist." Venomshank drawled, stumbling back forwards and collapsing onto Zuka's side.

Zuka snorted in surprise, stumbling a little, before coming to a steady halt. Venomshank wasn't nearly as heavy as he'd expected, and much, much warmer. Like… the heat of a compost heap, the heat of something decomposing… it was strangely nice.

"Right, yeah." Zuka said, shifting his shoulder, "You do still need to stand up."

Venomshank, somewhat, complied, his weight easing off Zuka's shoulder. In return, Zuka snatched up the deity's wrist and slung one of his arms over his shoulder, then grabbed onto his waist.

"Let's go then."

Venomshank made a low noise, which Zuka chose to interperate as affirmative, and began to push forwards.

The way back was tedious, Venomshank wasn't making it easy by any stretch, dragging his feet, stumbling every couple of steps, and slumping his weight on Zuka as they went. Sometimes things would catch his attention, and he'd attempt to wander off, but Zuka could just about keep him in check. There was the other issue of avoiding people, pulling into back alleys when they passed, taking routes he normally wouldn't, just to ensure he and the diety would not encounter another soul.

"Y'know." Venomshank slurred as they got into Zuka's neighbourhood, "I think this whole thing is very stupid. Very stupid indeed. Why should I, why should I have to forsake, hic, forsake seeing you because of some'in, hic, some'in my brother did."

"It was your choice." Zuka pointed out.

"I know, I know." Venomshank drawled, "Just I, hic, I would love to speak more, hic, y'know if," he broke off into a short giggling fit, "If you'd allow it and I didn't, didn't worry so much."

"Mm," Zuka said, ignoring how the senitment warmed his heart just a little. Venomshank was heavily impared right now, he probably wasn't aware of half of what he was saying.

Finally they got to Zuka's door, and he carefully shrugged the deity off his shoulders, fishing his keys out of his pocket afterwards. He'd locked the door when he'd left just incase Rocket got any ideas, or anybody else did for that matter.

He unlocked the door, then turned to where Venomshank was now standing, catantonic and swaying from foot to foot, his gaze fixed somewhere in the middle distance.

"Uh, 'Shanks." Zuka said, "You coming?"

"Oh, oh yes." Venomshank said with a giggle, lurching forwards, "Yes, yes I was going to."

He bashed his head on the way in, but didn't seem to care, stumbling onto the threshold of the house, and slowly looking around.

"I'll get you set up on the couch." Zuka said, grabbing one of the deity's wrists and guiding him through to the living room, he bonked his head again on the door frame, but once again didn't seem to register the pain. At last Zuka was able to manoeuver him onto the couch.

"You'll be alright here?" Zuka asked, and Venomshank nodded slowly, his eyes half lidded.

"Yeees." he tittired, "Yes, I'll be fine. It's a good couch. Very good couch."

"Mm," Zuka said, turning to look at where Venomshank had perched his feet on the end of the couch, "You need help taking your boots off?"

"I'll be fine." Venomshank mumbled, before grasping blindly towards his feet, seemingly grabbing bits of trouser and boot at random and tugging uselessly at it. Eventually Zuka had enough and did his best to wrestle them off one handed, setting them down by the couch.

"I'm going to get blankets," Zuka said, as he turned to head out of the room, "Stay put."

"Got it chief." Venomshank lilted, giving a sloppy salute as he did.

Zuka sighed, but headed upstairs to retrieve some blankets from the airing cupboard upstairs. It gave him a moment to breathe at the very least, to think about what was going on. He'd just pulled a very inebriatted deity off the streets, and brought him home to make sure he slept it off okay. That's what he'd just done. It was almost to absurd a prospect to properly think about it.

He returned to the living room, then went about laying the blankets over Venomshank's chest. The diety watched him, head tilted to a slight angle, giggling every now and then.

"You need anything else?" Zuka said, standing back and locking his gaze with Venomshank's.

"I think I'm good." Venomshank slurred, before tilting his head in consideration, "But my throat's, really, really dry."

"Water then?" Zuka asked, raising his eyebrow.

Venomshank nodded, making a low, considerate noise.

Zuka swept to the kitchen to retrieve a glass, fill it with water, then return.

"I'm just going to put this here, alright." he said, placing it down by the arm of couch, within reach of Venomshank.

"Thank-you." Venomshank mumbled, shifting a little and watching Zuka as he left.

"Look, if you need anything else, just tell me." Zuka said, as he came to the door, "I'll just be upstairs."

"Mmm," Venomshank mused.

Zuka sighed, turning to leave, but Venomshank called after him.

"By the way Zuka, I think -" a giggle, "I think I do quite like you. A lot. You are very, very good to me. You're a… dear, dear freind."

"Cool," Zuka said, looking over his shoulder, "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Venomshank chuckled, before slumping back down fully.

Zuka watched him for a few more moments, then headed upstairs. He shed his jacket once he was in his room and collapsed into bed.

He was asleep in minutes.

Chapter Text

Venomshank hated his decision making sometimes.

His head pounded, his stomach felt like it was trying to crawl out of his throat, his vision was swimming, and he had pins and needles in every single one of his limbs as the neurotoxin worked its way out of his system.

He leaned over the sink, gasping for breath and trying to swallow down the bile still rising in his throat. He had drank two cups of water but it felt like he was just throwing it right back up again.

Zuka walked into the room, setting a glass full of water on the ground next to him with a dull clink.

"You doing better?" he asked dryly.

"No." Venomshank said, panting from breath. He stopped, lurching over the sink and coughing up another mouthful of watery bile, "No, I don't think I am."

"Can't imagine the kind of hangover you'd get from what?-"

"Tetrodotoxin." Venomshank gulped, "And one that means I can't feel my fingers." he turned back to the sink to throw up again, "I'm sorry about all of this by the way."

"No problem." Zuka muttered under his breath, "Least I could do. Make sure you didn't do something you regretted."

"Too late for that I'm afraid." Venomshank chuckled dryly, then gagging again. His throat was sore.

"I can see." Zuka said, "And you've yet to tell me what you were doing."

Venomshank chuckled to himself. It was as very, very stupid thing to do. A couple bottles of ethylene would have put him in a lovely mood for the night, effectively getting drunk, he'd just had to go fuck it up and throw a neurotoxin into the mix. Especially one with the kick of tetrodotoxin.

He could only vaguely remember the night before, misty memories of wandering the streets, stopping to stare at the moon or a pretty light, then encountering Zuka… then nothing. He could remember much further than that.

He'd left Sword home alone.

Another wave of nausea struck his chest and he hunched over the sink again.

"So?"

"Honestly couldn't tell you." Venomshank said dryly, running his tongue along the roof of his mouth. It tasted like something had died in it, "I did want to… oh I don't know. Why do you mortals get drunk or high? For fun. That's why."

"Fair enough." Zuka said, shifting the glass a little closer.

Venomshank glanced down at it, before reaching down with fumbling fingers and eventually heaving it up to his lips, gulping down as much of it as he could. He just hoped that this one would stay down this time.

"So," Zuka said, "Once you've finished puking your guts up, you'll be heading home?"

"Undoutably." Venomshank said, leaning heavily against the sink. He could just about see his reflection in the mirror. He was in rough shape, hair mussed up, deep shadows under his eyes, and he was growing a bit of beard now. He'd have to trim that back.

A sharp stab of pain flicked its way through his belly and he hunched over the sink, though this time, no more bile surged up.

"Good, good." Zuka huffed.

"I didn't… say anything, did I?" Venomshank said, glancing over to Zuka, "I can't really - really remember it."

Zuka stared at him flatly, before answering in an even tone, "No. No you didn't say anything."

Venomshank had the feeling he was lying. He was also in no position to push the old inphernal, so he left it at that.

"Look, just, next time - try not leaving the house?" Zuka said.

"I wasn't planning on it." Venomshank said, turning his head over to look at Zuka, "Honestly, I wasn't. Must've got it in my head to see the stars and got- got lost."

"No, no, I beleive you." Zuka said, with the tone like he didn't believe him.

"Alright." Venomshank groaned, "Sorry about your carpet by the way. I don't know what I ate, I just-"

"Oh, it's fine." Zuka huffed, "Been meaning to get it replaced anyways."

"I can pay for it." Venomshank added, and Zuka snorted dryly,

"No, I think you're alright."

"Really," Venomshank said, standing up a bit more, then flinching back down when another bolt of pain lanced through his stomach.

"Don't, don't mention it." Zuka huffed, "We can talk about it later."

"Yes, yes later." Venomshank said, nodding his head.

Zuka snorted in return, before turning and heading out of the room. Venomshank waited for the creak of the stairs, before turning to stare himself in the mirror.

"Idiot." he growled, turning on the tap and scooping the ice cold water over his face, "Idiot, idiot, idiot. The hell were you thinking? Were you thinking? No, no- and that's." he growled, running his hand over his face, before bashing his fist lightly on his temple, "Stupid, stupid, stupid."

Each hit sent a bolt of pain fizzing through his skull, and when he opened his eyes again his vision was blurred and swimming. A bolt of nausea struck his chest and he leant forwards, though he didn't throw up, this time at least.

He gave a low, agonised goan, wiping his face furiously on his sleeve.

"This never ends well," he hissed under his breath, "Never. You get all up in your feelings about something and you decide that maybe you need just a little escape and suddenly one bottle becomes three, then three becomes four with two drops of neurotoxin in the mix." he stopped, glaring at himself in the mirror. Anger was a horribly good look on him, and it made his stomach turn just as much as the last of the tetrodotoxin did.

He sighed, standing up fully again, even despite the pain in his stomach. He felt, for the most part, that he'd stopped throwing up. At least for know. His head still ached and his vision still did swim, but he wasn't shackled to the damn sink at the very least.

Zuka returned with another glass of water.

"Better?" he asked, handing it to Venomshank.

"Moderately." Venomshank said, taking a sip from the glass. He was desperately trying to read Zuka's expression as he did so.

"Mm," Zuka said, "Look, I've got paracetemol if you need it - or ibuprofin if that's better."

"Won't work." Venomshank said, "Not on me at least."

"Oh," Zuka said, "Right, yes, sorry."

"Yes, only the strongest of opioids make even a dent in my pain." Venomshank chuckled, before wincing as his head pounded again, "A shame really."

"Can imagine." Zuka snorted, "What kind of black markets were you involved in?"

"Oh, countless." Venomshank said, "Getting some of the refined poisons for my collection isn't exactly… legal, most of the time."

"I'm sure it isn't." Zuka said, "Secret's safe with me though."

"No need." Venomshank said, "What's the warden going to do about it? Nobody's coming near my dwelling, least of all his employees."

Zuka nodded slowly, before sighing, "Look, I'd hate to rush you - but Rocket's really not happy with you being here, so, when you're ready."

"Give me another minute." Venomshank said, and Zuka nodded slowly, turning to leave again.

Venomshank watched him curiously. He had no reason to be doing this - well, Venomshank supposed he did, but their last conversation had not ended on a positive note. So why was he helping so much? He really only had to drag Venomshank off the streets and leave it at that. By why offer him water and painkillers and - no, no that was just, common descency. Or at least Venomshank believed so. Had his opinions on inphernals decayed that much in recent years? Oh, he hoped not.

He drained the rest of the glass and leant back against the sink. His stomach didn't hurt quite as much, and his vision had cleared up enough that he could hopefully be able to walk in a straight line. He even beleived he was getting feeling back in his fingers, so that was a plus.

He should get going, anyways - if his presence was only going to bring more discomfort. He was going to go home, and make himself something filled with charcoal and carbs and hoped that would help shake the last of the toxins from his system.

Oh, and Sword. Great ones, he'd left him home alone. Sent him to bed for the night and then vanished with little to no explination. Poor boy must be panicking by now. And Venomshank himself was in no state to look after him.

He hurried downstairs then. Zuka had left his boots by the door now, and anything else he'd brought with him was quickly thrown back on. His mask was, luckily, still at home - but that did mean making his way back across Crossroads without it.

"You alright leaving then." Zuka said, and Venomshank turned to look over his shoulder.

"Yes, yes, I think I'm good now."

"Alright." Zuka huffed, "Until we uh, until we see again."

"Until then." Venomshank sighed, before heaving open the door and stepping out into the early autumn sunshine.

Chapter Text

"C'mon, you let what - an drunk god sleep on our couch!" Rocket demanded, pacing back and forth in the living room.

"Look," Zuka huffed, "I didn't want him out wandering the streets by himself. And he wasn't violent."

"Right, and now we need a new carpet." Rocket snapped, pointing to the large stain that Zuka was failing to mop up.

"I was going to get it replaced one of these days." Zuka replied, eyeing the threadbare edges by the door, and the almost worn down marks that indicated the paths they all took through the room, "This just gives me a good reason."

"Right," Rocket said, rolling his eyes, "And what kind of roadkill did that guy eat, anyways? There was whole bones in that stuff."

"I'd rather not, think about it." Zuka replied, standing up and straightening his back with a crack, "All I know is that he was very, very drunk in the middle of crossroads. Least I could do to give him shelter."

"He has his own place - surely!" Rocket said, "Cuz Sword said they'd just moved."

"And do you know where they live?" Zuka said, shaking out the rag he was holding, "Because I don't."

Rocket scowled in his direction.

"Look, Rocket - it was a one of thing. It won't happen again."

"It better not." Rocket growled, glaring a Zuka from under heavy brows, "Because I've had to deal with enough drunk fucks in my life."

"Language young man." Zuka warned.

"Oh, come on," Rocket groaned, throwing his head back, "All I'm saying is to not bring fuckin' high people into our house!"

Zuka sighed.

"And what was I supposed to do then?" he asked, his tone gentle, "Rocket - he's not like a regular mortal. He could've run into somebody and seriously hurt them. And you've seen the-"

"Yeah, yeah," Rocket muttered, "His brother burned down some village somewhere in the middle of bumfuck no where. Big deal."

"Rocket," Zuka hissed, "It wasn't just 'some village' it was one of the most populous cities in Lost Temple! Hundreds - no - thousands of people lost their lives! Show some goddamn respect."

Rocket paused watching him, before sighing.

"I don't know why this is such a big deal." he said, "It's sad sure - but people die all the time."

Zuka watched Rocket for a long moment.

"Look, kid, you'll understand when you're older." he paused, thinking, "Plus - we're gonna need a whole lot more bleach, so if you could run out and get some that would be great. You can even get yourself a little something if you like."

The caught Rocket's attention.

"Really?" he said, his blue eyes now alight with fire, "Anything?"

"Within reason." Zuka laughed, "No, golden plated watches, alright? Wallet's on the kitchen counter. Cash only though."

"Alright!" Rocket said, before traipsing out of the room, then running past again, a large wad of cash clasped in his hand. Then he was out.

Zuka chuckled, before turning to look at the stain in the carpet again. He'd probably have to hire somebody out to tear up the carpet, but for now he'd throw an old blanket over it and call it a day. He went into the kitchen to throw away the rag and wash his hand.

As he did, his mind drifted to the place it often did these days.

What had Venomshank meant, drunk on his couch last night? Was there actually something under his veneer? Zuka had been nothing but cruel to him at their last meeting, what 'like' was there to be left? Some naïve hope that things would change?

Zuka turned off the water.

'Dear friend', what did he mean 'dear friend'? They weren't really friends. Acquaintances that rubbed shoulders occasionally, sure - but friends? Zuka wasn't so sure about that, at least on his end. Then again, Venomshank had been very, very out of it and likely wasn't thinking straight.

That being said - what was the saying 'drunk words are sober thoughts'? Zuka had never took much stock in it, but it wormed in the back of his mind, reminding him of the statement over and over again. 'dear friend' 'like you, a lot' - there really was something more to this, wasn't there?

Zuka scowled to himself as he dried off his hand, then ran it through his hair. He wished, wished it was simple. Between the drugs - well, poisons - his own feelings, Venomshank simultaneously being an open book and a complete mystery - it was hard to say what was wrong and what was right. Was this a sentiment with any weight - or just a friend expressing his, very platonic, love. Was it just him putting a spin on the situation.

He wandered back into the living room, slumping into the armchair and staring across at the couch. Sure, it was bare minimum to help somebody you knew off the streets - but still, he'd had to trust that Venomshank wouldn't end up - feral or something similar suddenly in the middle of the night.

He didn't think that would have happened.

Not that he knew the mechanics or whatever that caused the deity to go feral. Something told him he'd have to be seriously wound up for a full feral episode to occur.

Zuka drummed his claws on the arm of his chair, turning to look out of the room for a second.

He'd gotten a good look at Venomshank's face. And sure - he looked awful - but there was still that underlying… handsomeness about him. There was the old, slightly messy scar across his nose, clipping his brow, his cheek, but there was also the strong jaw, sharp cheekbones, all framed by the dark coils of his hair that fell either side of it like curtains. And his eyes. Such a bright, startling green they seemed to glow. Zuka wouldn't be surprised if they did.

If he was being, perfectly honest with himself, he'd probably have spent a bit more time admiring the deity's looks if he hadn't been throwing his guts up or completely out of it.

Oh, what was he thinking.

He should order that new carpet before he forgot.

Chapter Text

Venomshank managed to arrive home safe and sound. The door was unlocked when he got back, and he cursed quietly to himself as he stumbled over the threshold.

"Sword," he called into the building as he made his way to the kitchen, "I'm home!"

He pushed open the kitchen door, rubbing his face as he did so and heading to the cabinet by the sink. There he retrieved the box of activated charcoal he saved for emergencies, and set it on the counter. Then it was scrounging through the cabinets until he found a bag of salted crisps (again, for emergencies like this) and set it down next to the charcoal.

The house was awfully quiet.

Usually you could hear Sword talking to himself, or running about in his room or the house. But now it was deathly silent.

Venomshank poured himself out a glass of water, crushing some of the charcoal into it and stirring it.

Maybe he was still asleep. That was likely.

Venomshank sighed, shoving the packet of crisps into one of his pockets and making his way upstairs, sipping on his bitter glass as he did.

"Sword." he said, knocking on the door to the boy's room.

No answer.

"Sword, are you awake?" Venomshank asked, pushing open the door and peering inside.

It was completely empty.

"Sword?" Venomshank said, pushing the door open fully and walking into the room, "Sword are you in here? This isn't funny if you're hiding."

He strained his ears for a giggle, something that told him that this was one of Sword's little games. Nothing. Instead there was a flutter of wings on the windowsill, and Sisyphus alighted their, puffing out his feathers.

Venomshank walked to the window, opening it enough for the bird to hop through and perch on his arm.

"Do you know where he's gone?" he asked, trying not to sound to panicked.

Sisyphus turned his head, looking out of the window and flicked his beak. Outside. Sword was outside.

"Oh," Venomshank groaned, setting down his glass so he could press a hand to his forehead, "Idiot. Of course he would- too heroic for his own good."

Sisyphus cawed, hopping back to the windowsill, and stopping by the glass to grab a few beakfuls of liquid himself.

"I'm sorry that I left you behind." Venomshank added, ruffling the feathers on the back of the bird's neck, "Not too hard on you?"

A sharp reminder that he needed to find Sword.

"Right." he sighed, grabbing the glass and downing the drink in a few mouthfuls, "I suppose you're right. Lead the way."

Sisyphus cawed, before bursting off the windowsill and diving down to the courtyard, coming to perch on one of the lampposts. Venomshank huffed to himself, but turned and headed back downstairs leaving the now empty glass on a table as he went.

Then he was back in the morning air, whistling to inform Sisyphus that he was ready to go look for his weyward son. The bird swooped off, dancing away between the alleys, and Venomshank followed.

It was his fault. He knew it was. If he'd kept a tighter handle on himself and hadn't decided to go messing with neurotoxins, he wouldn't have left the house, and Sword wouldn't have wandered off to put himself in danger. But what was done was done. He couldn't change that. He could only hope that Sword hadn't gotten too far in that time. That's what he was worried about.

He also hadn't had time to retrieve his mask, so there was the chance to stumble upon a mortal himself. The other question was wether his body currently had enough fight in it to trigger him into a feral episode… but adrenaline was a powerful thing.

Sword seemed to have headed into the centre of Crossroads, or at least tried to, as Sisyphus kept pressing closer and closer to the second layer until he came to a halt, dropping onto a lamppost and crowing loudly into the street. Venomshank came to a stop too, and looked down the alley, at the other end was Sword, looking pale and lost.

He turned his head, and his eyes widened when he saw Venomshank, and he scrambled towards him crying.

"Venom!"

Venomshank didn't have time to re-act before the boy cannoned into his stomach and swept him up into a hug.

"Alright, alright, easy boy." Venomshank said, "What are you doing out here?"

"I-" Sword stammered, pulling back, "The- the door was open, and you weren't you weren't home and some of your- your poison bottles were open and-"

"You didn't drink anything, did you?" Venomshank said, panic searing through his heart at the thought.

"No, no." Sword said, "I didn't touch anything - like, like you said."

"Good, good." Venomshank said with a sigh, "So, I wasn't home and you went to look for me then."

Sword nodded.

"Right."

"I thought-" Sword stammered, "I thought you'd been attacked or- or that you could be hurt or-"

"I can handle myself Sword." Venomshank said pleasantly, "No need to worry. If there was no signs of a struggle I likely left on my own accord, okay. And I'm fine."

Sword still looked unsure.

"If this happens again." Venomshank said, "Give it a day. If I'm not back by then, go to Zuka. You remember the way?"

"Yes." Sword said, nodding slowly, "I remember the way."

"Good," Venomshank said, "Let's get home."

"Where- where were you though." Sword said, and Venomshank turned to look at him.

Part of him considered telling the truth. That he'd gotten drunk and stumbled out into Crossroads alone. But what kind of example would that be setting. He turned away when he next spoke. Without his mask it was hide to hard his facial expressions.

"I left to stay at Zuka's for the night. The door mustn't've latched properly and I forgot to lock it." he lied, before walking on, "Now come along."

Sword began to walk behind him, but Venomshank couldn't bring himself to look at him at the moment. He'd not only left him alone and defensless for a night - but he'd also lied about why. He'd feel guilty about that for the next few days, but it was for the best. It was for the best if he didn't know.

Sisyphus swooped down from his perch as they past, landing on Venomshank's shoulder. He reflected back Venomshank's own shame and the diety huffed.

"I know, I know." he muttered into the bird's feathers, "But it's for his sake."

Another stab of withering disapproval, before Sisyphus flapped off to land on Sword's shoulder instead.

Good. At least the bird could entertain him while Venomshank continued his wallowing.

Chapter Text

A knock at the door. An unremarakable knock. Yet Zuka had come to recognise it like the tattoo of his own heartbeat.

He was back.

He heaved himself from the spot on the couch and padded to the door, snapping back the latches and heaving it open, finding Venomshank hovering nervously in the doorway, passing a small box from hand to hand.

"Morning." Zuka said tersely, "You… recovered alright I hope?"

"What? Oh, yes." Venomshank said, "Had a killer headache for a week, but I've mostly recovered. I might have triggered an old muscle twitch though - but I'm keeping tabs on that."

Zuka nodded slowly, his gaze falling to the box in Venomshank's hands. It was maybe about the size of a tennis ball - and if he had to guess - was probably an old ring case or jewelry box, made of dark leather with pale, silverish thread holding it all together.

"May we come in." Venomshank queeried, extending his hand, Zuka snapped his gaze back up to Venomshank's face, clearing his throat and stepping aside.

"Yeah, sure." he mumbled, as Sword scampered onto the threshold, looking around excitably as always.

"Rocket's upstairs." he informed the kid, and Sword ran towards the stairs, calling,

"Thank-you Mr. Zuka!" over his shoulder as he went.

"I see he's doing okay then." Zuka said, nodding towards the retreating end of his cloak.

"Ah, he's the same as always." Venomshank said, "I'm just happy that he wasn't too rattled after what happened."

"Mm," Zuka said, "Wasn't to hard on you."

"No, it- it wasn't." Venomshank said, "Truth be told I still feel a little guilty about it. I left him home alone. And - well he worried for me and-"

"Went looking."

Venomshank nodded.

"Eh, I can't blame him." Zuka said, with a sigh, "Kitchen?"

"Of course." Venomshank said, sweeping his hand forwards. Zuka was quick to pick up a buzzing nervousness under his usual cool veneer and a tiny, very silly part of him wondered if for once, his feelings were being reciprocated.

They went into the kitchen and set down in their usual placed. Venomshank set down the small box on the table infront of him, fingers tensing on the lid.

"What's that?" Zuka asked, nodding towards the box and Venomshank started.

"Oh, this its uh," he stammered, flipping the box to face him, "It's a gift. For- for you."

"For me?" Zuka said, raising his brows, "Venomshank, my spawn day isn't for-"

"A couple of months I know." Venomshank said, "It's an, apology, I suppose. For crashing at your place and… ruining your carpet."

"I'm getting it replaced." Zuka said, trying to brush off how much this, tiny gesture meant to him, for some odd reason.

"No- I insist." Venomshank said, snapping open the case and pushing it towards Zuka. Inside was a single, silver ring - set with a smooth, blackish blue stone. The setting for the stone was smooth and elegant, and two smaller stones were studded into the band.

"Very nice." Zuka said, nodding slowly.

"It's uh, labrodorite." Venomshank said, picking up the ring, "So it changes - see." he twisted the ring, and suddenly the stones were alight in azure and palest sky, "It made me think of you when I found it."

"I," Zuka said, "You really don't have to, I'm fine."

"I insist." Venomshank said, "I have no real use for it- not the biggest fan of wearing rings myself - and I'm not sure if you are either to be fair but still, I want you to have it. I don't mind if you sell it on."

Zuka looked over to Venomshank, still holding the ring out towards him. There was something about him that Zuka couldn't quite place. But the ernestness of this gesture made him seem almost… cute? Charming? More so than he had been already.

"And, this is something you've just bought?"

"Oh, no." Venomshank said, "It's part of a collection I comissioned years back. I just - you don't really seem like an earring kind of guy and the necklace is one of my favourites - so- you get the ring."

He dropped it into Zuka's hand. It was a lot heavier than he'd expected.

"It's solid silver." Venomshank explained, "And good quailty silver at that. You'll have to clean it every now and then if you don't want it to tarnish, but I think that brings it a little extra charm."

"Right." Zuka said, weighing the ring in his palm, then absently slipping it onto his middle finger. It fit perfectly. Not too snug, not too loose.

"And, perfect." Venomshank said, "It's all yours."

"You really didn't have too." Zuka reitrated, and Venomshank raised his hand.

"No," he said, quite calmly, "Its a payment. You didn't have to help me like you did. And I ruined your carpet."

"That I was going to replace anyways."

"I know." Venomshank said, "But… it's not that big of a deal for me, really."

Zuka stared at where his new gift sat nestled against his knuckle, the stone flushed with sky blue lines marbled through with grey-black. Then he rolled it slightly, and they were gone, vanished into the darkness of the gemstone. It was… beautiful - that's all he could described it as.

His heart felt like it could burst from his chest. And his tongue screamed at him to just let the confession boiling in his throat spill forth.

"Is something the matter." Venomshank prompted, his tone even.

Zuka almost said his mind, he very nearly cleared his throat and said, 'well, there's been something I've been meaning to tell you'.

He swallowed it down. And shook his head.

"No, no, it's- it's fine." he said instead, "It's a, it's a lovely gift. Thank-you."

"It's the least I could offer." Venomshank said, doffing his hat, "You can keep the ring case too."

"Thank-you." Zuka repeated, reaching out to pull the case towards him.

"Well," Venomshank said, "That's most of what I wanted to come here to speak with you about. I do, deeply apologise for what occured and I really wanted to make everything right with you. You- can sell that ring if you wish- I don't really mind, it's, your gift."

"I think I'll keep it." Zuka said, "For now at least."

"Very well," Venomshank replied, adjusting his hat, "We'll be on our way then."

Zuka watched as Venomshank stood up, before a thought occured to him.

"Shanks, wait a second."

"Mm?" Venomshank turned on his heel, ears perking up.

"Leave Sword here. For a few hours. I'll keep an eye on him. Trust me."

A moment of still contemplation, Venomshank titlting his head in that… adorably thoughtful manner he always seemed to do, before sighing.

"Very well." he said, "I shall be over no later than seven to collect him. Am I clear?"

"Crystal."

"Good." Venomshank said, "Well, until then freind."

"Until then."

Chapter Text

Venomshank had given himself the grand total of about six hours to work with. Six hours where he didn't have to worry about Sword and his safety. He shouldn't have anything pressing on his mind. And yet, he still ran things through his mind, a churning river roiling its weeds against its banks, only encouraging them to spread deeper and suffocate the flow of water in their thick, stagnant strands.

The sewers of Crossroads were a suprisingly good place to find poisons of all kinds. Its damp, stagnant confines allowed for fungal blooms and the occasional hardy, lightless plant to snake into its depths and spread into great masses. And with the heat that had now decayed full into what would be a definitevly wet winter, the brick tunnels were high with storm water and whatever run-off trickled from the hundreds of thousands of residents.

Venomshank had gone home to fetch a seperate set of boots for this one. They had once been waterproof, but the soles had begun to peel in recent years. And even if it did mean he would, likely end up with very soggy feet by the end of this, he preferred that over ruining a perfectly good pair of boots just because he wanted to find a likely, especially common species of fungus in an unorthodox place.

Did mean that the only people he'd run into would potentially be a maintenace worker - but that wasn't a definite by any stretch of the word. He was likely completely alone down here in this cold, echoing tunnels. And as unpleasant as drowing was… the waters here weren't that grim, all things considered, a little deep in places, but it paled in comparision to the brown waters of war he had previously seen, choked thick with carrion and bones.

Even with the steady trickle of water and the stuffy, stagnant smell of the air, his thoughts did not run clear. They still held that spark of… some fantastical hope. It was a small, simple gift - and he had meant it as he'd meant it… for the most part. Truth was a small part of his heart had rested in that ring, tentaively held out a sacrifice before the being he percieved as something worthy of it. He'd had to contain his joy greatly upon seeing it accepted.

He had calmed now, of course. But it had first felt like the feeling was trying to burst out of his heart, run through his chest and push its way from his ribs. He was glad for this quiet sanctuary now, to catch his breath and dwell on what he actually had before him.

He'd thought on the mortal question before. And looking back at his life - this wasn't the first time this had happened… but it had never been like this.

He pulled off his hat, digging his fingers into his hair, trying to remember what had come before. A few mortals, warriors mostly - some who had joined him as something close to a 'partner' he supposed - but all had died tragically, and oft times violently. Such was to be expected in the Inpherno, he supposed. What would make Zuka any different to them? What did make him any different?

Age, he supposed. It was rare somebody like him waned peacefully into their twilight years, though - peaceful probably wasn't the right word to use. But, hopefully, it would remain peaceful. And that led him to wonder - did he like the idea of growing old with someone? Or at the very least watching them grow old. They would still die, of course, there was no stopping that. But a death at the hands of time would be much more peaceful than that of war.

He stopped by a wall that was slick with a strange, fatty substance. On first glance he would have said that's just what it was - he'd heard the horrors, but upon closer inspection he saw its texture was more like slime. A slime mould. A plasmodial specimen by the looks of things, spread in a fine sheet across the walls. While it wasn't poisonous necissarily… they were a key part of decompostion, and he hadn't seen this particular species before.

He unseathed the dagger stowed in his sleeve and placed it against the mass, scraping some of it off onto the blade.

"Sorry about this." he muttered under his breath - to no one in particular. The colony of amoebae before him couldn't hear or understand him for certain.

From there, he transferred the specimen into a small glass vial, analysing it in the limited light his badge torch gave him. He'd set this little guy up in an enclosure all to itself, regularly feed it with whatever dead things he trawled up and see what it did. Not what he'd come here for, sure, but it was a serviceable enough addition to his collection.

He tucked the vial back into his belt and continued wading through the murky waters before him. His thoughts snaking away, and back to his previous train of thought.

Zuka, well, there wasn't much that he could do, was there? He didn't want to be to forthcoming, make himself seem like he was, forcing the mortal into anything - he really didn't want that. Which was why he was so nervous about the very idea of confessing, and aired on the side of just hoping the feelings would pass, of which they weren't really doing in all honesty so that might be a large ask.

He paused, digging out his pocket watch and starting. He'd managed to spend almost four hours down here if it could be beleived, and he would need time to, one, get to the surface and two, navigate his way back home to change into something that wasn't stained with sewer water, then go to fetch Sword. Which he has about… an hour and a half to do if he was to be on time.

He sped up, trying to find a ladder out quickly - luckily this only took him about ten minutes and he was spat out in the middle of what looked to be an eastern high street. He caught a miriad of harsh, strange looks and vanished just as quickly into the alleys and made his way back home - which took about twice as long. Getting home and changing wasn't nearly as much of a hassel - he'd left his old clothes before setting out in the living room for him to come back to - and then it was back onto the streets and up to Zuka's.

When he knocked on the door, it was quickly answered.

"Ten minutes late." Zuka commented.

"Well, time got away from me." Venomshank apologised, "He's still here."

"Yep," Zuka huffed, before leaning back into the house, "Sword! 'Shanks is here to pick you up."

A thud of feet and soon Sword was standing at Venomshank's side, and Zuka was gone again.

"Did you have fun?" Venomshank asked, as he turned to head back.

Sword nodded.

"Excellent." Venomshank said, beginning to walk.