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The telltale diziness was sudden, heart beating faster with every step he took. He had to stop for a minute and crouch down, just to not fall over then and there. He held his balance with a hand on the ground as a support and awaited the familiar bitterness in his throat with anticipation.
Jabber cleared his throat to quicken the process, it feeling a little locked up, as if muscles were starting to talk back. And when the overwhelming bitterness flooded his tastebuds, he rolled the petal he coughed up around in his mouth with his tongue for a bit, absently enjoying how it numbed his gums.
But because he knew it was not the good kind of poisonous, he didn't play around much, spitting out the purple petal into his free palm. Three petals, even! What a lucky catch today, he thought, pocketing the flower with a small grin. Small, because the numbing effect had reached his cheeks at this point, but the grin was there nonetheless.
He spat out the remaining bitterness to the side just in case, knowing full well at this point how overdosing on wolfsbane might end, got up to his feet and stood around for a second or two, mindful of the vertigo. He rubbed his cheeks with tingly fingers for good measure, willing his face muscles to awaken from their momentary paralysis, and continued walking towards his room. And if there was a slight spring in his step from excitement, nobody was around to see it.
Because what can be more cool than getting an ingredient as rare as wolfsbane for his poisons from his own lungs!
--
"Jabber, you good?"
A third week was passing from the first time he coughed up a couple of delicate purple petals. He tried inducing more at first, fingers in his mouth and all, but that didn't work out that well and was messy in a way Jabber had no appreciation for. So now, he just waited patiently for moments like these. Except this time, there was a quite alarming amount of blood around the six petite petals that dropped into his palm, and his heart had not stopped racing for what seemed like an eternity. Jabber stared at the petals, rolling them around, quite enjoying the way the blood glimmered under the sickly yellow lighting of the Raider meeting room.
"Jabber?" there was a hand on his shoulder then, which he barely felt through the familiar numbing effect bleeding slowly into his muscles.
Strange. The paralysis had only used to reach down his neck previously. Jabber glanced over at the hand, rolling his shoulder a little as a test. It barely moved.
"Why the fuck are you coughing up flowers?"
Shit, are they going to take the flowers away? And that was the last thought he had before the ceiling started turning upside down and his legs gave out.
--
He next woke up in the infirmary, which didn't surprise him, but he felt annoyed. He never went here on his own accord, but ended up here quite often still, purely because of how bossy Zodyl was.
There was a slight ache in his chest, which felt more like pressure than pain. And the taste in his mouth, which he had not ever gotten used to - metallic, floral and a little acidic. He swallowed experimently and was rewarded with a pleasant burn that bloomed down his lungs. He smiled a little at it.
"How long has this been going on?" Zodyl asked from somewhere above, and Jabber had to tip his head to look up at the boss, who was standing near his bed. Like a literal gargoyle.
"Dunno!" Jabber answered, as gleefully as he could with a burning throat. He did, in fact, know exactly how long, having enjoyed every single moment of it so far, right from the start. But Zodyl didn't need to know that.
He tipped his head the other way, boredly, and his eye caught a tray on the nightstand on the other side of the infirmary bed. Honest delight flooded his limbs at the view - a handful of pretty purple petals, almost black at the edges, arranged in a pile on the metal dish. It seemed like somebody washed the blood off them, even!
"Those came out of you," Zodyl murmured, but Jabber didn't even turn back to face him, corners of his mouth already stretching into a grin. "Do you have any idea--"
"Wolfsbane," Jabber interrupted, sighing almost dreamily. The exhaled breath felt trapped in his lungs, as if caught in thorns. He did it again, just to savor the feeling. "Yeah, isn't it great? I didn't know they even existed down here anymore!"
"They don't," Zodyl said, flatly. The thought of having his own little private garden inside himself made Jabber giggle, even though it ended up sounding like a wheeze at the end. "When did it start?"
Ah, so changing tactics, are we, boss?
"When I met the Spherite," half a lie was good enough to pass as an explanation, Jabber thought. He glanced back over at Zodyl, who was just looking at Jabber like he grew a second head. "Well, kinda."
"So is it because of the Spherite?"
Zodyl's guess made Jabber huff out a laugh, which got caught up in between the sound and made Jabber cough instead. It hurt. It was wonderful. He fished blindly at his mouth, but his wrist was caught by the leader before his fingers could reach his lips, grip fast and hard.
"Stop doing that."
Another petal still slid free anyway, slick and warm against Jabber's tongue. He stuck it out to show it off to Zodyl, and held it there petulantly for a bit before spitting it out neatly into Zodyl's waiting palm. He slid the tongue against the roof of his mouth thoughtfully, chasing its bitterness.
Zodyl stared at the petal as if it offended him somehow.
"You're dying."
Jabber tilted his head, considering that. The dizziness was back, the good kind this time, fuzzy at the edges, his heartbeat loud in his ears.
"Mm, guess so," he responded, lightly. "But ain't dead yet."
"Fix it, Jabber," and that was final. Zodyl didn't really care, not that Jabber minded. It was more of a command than anything else.
So when the leader left the room without looking back, Jabber picked up the tray full of petals and ran his fingers through them, mindful of their frailty. But what if he didn't really want it fixed?
--
He had a little surprise for Zanka, finally. After three weeks of concocting a toxin with just the right amount of wolfsbane that wouldn't entirely kill a man (there had been a lot of unfortunate test subjects), he had it ready. So when Zodyl sent Jabber out to inspect what the cleaners were up to in the southside, he agreed quick, setting off immediately after making sure Mankira had the right poison equipped.
They met the way they always did - bad timing, worse tempers. Zanka had just gotten rid of a lone trashbeast in an empty field near a city, and was all by his lonesome himself, locking eyes with Jabber, who approached the cleaner without a rush.
"Yer here. Again," Zanka drawled, flipping his mighty stick around to have a better battle stance. Jabber grinned at him, Mankira constructing itself from the magenta mist around his knuckles.
"I'm so glad to see you, Zanka, buddy!" Jabber waved his clawed had enthusiastically. "Been a long time!"
His heartbeat was noticeably getting quicker with each second the other's eyes watched him, so intensely. Jabber wondered absently if it was really only because of his excitement for the fight. Probably not.
The first impact came fast, a little too fast, maybe (had Zanka gotten quicker?). Or maybe his fighting prowess was fading, seeing as his lungs were full of poisonous flowers. He blocked the staff with his claws, but missed a dodge for the following punch at his ribs. Jabber laughed through the pain as he staggered back, catching his step to deliver a counter-attack, sloppy on purpose to let Zanka think he had the upper hand.
And even if his muscles were tense and didn't listen as good as before, his wits were all still there, and the fight was quite equal. They stepped into a familiar rhythm, having met in the exact same circumstances at least nine (yes, Jabber had been counting) times before. A slash for a slash, a kick for a kick, all the ecstatic ingredients for the formula he yearned for.
"Yer off," Zanka muttered through clenched teeth after his vital instrument caught Jabber on the shoulder again.
"Am I?"
All he had to do was swipe a claw upwards with momentum when the other was dodging away. A little nick on the shin was all it took. Zanka took a step back, then another, and it took precisely twenty four seconds for the cleaner to crash down onto his knees, the glorious stick in his grasp being the only thing keeping him upright.
Jabber grinned wide, chest heaving from both the fight and what felt like vines crawling up his ribs and pressing on his organs.
"How's this one?" he questioned, immediately. "How does it feel, Zanka? Is it good?"
He took a step towards the cleaner and got a weak glare in response. Jabber, not able to contain his excitement, got close enough to push Zanka at a shoulder, making the cleaner reel back and fall over with ease. The paralytic might already be setting in, but the stick was still locked between the other's fingers like a lifeline. Oh, how he adored Zanka's fighting spirit.
"Zanka, come on, tell me," he damn near begged, smile stretching his cheeks, crouching down to meet the other's eyes. He needed to know if it felt as good for Zanka as it did for him. He needed to know.
"I ain't telling ya shit."
The blonde's fingers clenched onto his collar before Jabber could react, and the following messy drag downwards made Jabber double-over onto the ground on his back, gleeful laugh caught in his lungs. The sound produced ended up being something close to a choke, and Jabber had to bring his now clawless hand to his mouth to stop the overflow petals he could feel gathering in his throat with each painful wheeze. He knew this would happen eventually, Zanka being the guilty party for the flowers in his chest and all, but he didn't want the other to notice.
"What the fuck is wrong with ya?" Zanka's face was now above him, brows furrowed, inky blue eyes as pretty as ever. He was heavily leaning on his staff to raise himself enough to look over.
Jabber would've responded, if he could. With each heave came a small cough, and he could feel his palm getting wet with blood where it was covering his mouth.
"Are ya high on somethin'?"
While yes, he was, technically, Jabber regretted opening his mouth to try answering, as the petals threatened to overflow from his lips. He flipped around so that he was on all fours and spit them out, silently amused by the wet 'plop' sound they made when hitting the ground. Bright purple mixed with thick red, familiar as ever. Slight trembles rocked his spine, but he still brought his fingertips to inspect the pile, lovingly, sitting back on his heels.
"Are those..."
"Flowers? Yeah," Jabber chuckled weakly, and then regretted it a bit, coughing up two more petals for his troubles. "Pretty, ain't it?"
"Stop talking, yer making it worse," funny, considering the amount of questions thrown at him. "This is the flower disease, right? The one in the books? Unrequited feelings and all? I thought it was a myth."
Instead of answering this time, Jabber nodded, looking over at Zanka, who had his eyes set on the bloody pile of wolfsbane petals in disbelief. When the other met his eyes, Jabber offered him a lopsided grin. It was getting kind of hard to get his messages across with numb cheeks and dizzy brain. He pointed at the flowers, as if to say 'does this look like a myth to you?'.
"So who... Uh," Zanka shifted awkwardly, swallowing audibly as if unsure if he could continue. Due to the poison or incredulous situation he was in right now, Jabber didn't know. "Yanno. Who is it?"
Jabber tilted his head at that, a little mockingly. The movement awoke the vertigo, so he ran a hand through his dreadlocs to calm it down. Should he just rip the bandaid off, or toy with the answer a little?
"Well," he started, mulling it over for a moment. He picked up a bloody petal from the ground, holding it up between his fingers, fascinated with how the faint light from the sky above made it look somewhat transparent in the middle. He was feeling a little antsy. It was one thing to be obsessed over someone, gifted petals included, and an entirely another thing to actually admit it out loud. "Yeah. It's you."
The lenght of the silence that followed made Jabber look back at the other eventually, curious. Zanka's face was twisted into something he couldn't fully read, disgust, maybe? No, confusion? A little bit of pity, maybe? It was entirely not what Jabber wanted to see, if he was being honest. Getting punched in the teeth would've been a substantially easier way to go about this. At least he would know how to react.
"...I don't know if I can say it," Zanka murmured after what felt like a good minute or so, and Jabber sighed, or, more accurately, wheezed at that. The breath was rattly and didn't pack the emotion Jabber wanted to convey.
His eyes dropped closed and the ache in his chest, so familiar, was strangely comforting.
"Then don't," in some weird, fucked up way, Jabber was very honestly thankful for this experience. He needed Zanka to know that. "I'm not asking you to."
"Then what do ya want from me?"
Jabber hummed, absently.
"Dunno. Stay, yeah? For now."
Zanka didn't say anything back. But he did sit down by Jabber's shoulder, resigned. The proximity felt like a death sentence, but Jabber didn't seem to mind.