Chapter Text
Thank fuck he was going away. What in the ever-loving-fuck was wrong with that human? There was no way he was that stupid or gullible. Then again…
The mycorrhizal organism that had no name, but was now being referred to as “Phillippe” discretely glanced around the room. The collection of other warm-blooded organisms suggested that, perhaps, the stupid human did have brain damage. Who in their right mind would welcome each of these freaks of unnature into their home willingly? Unless, much like himself for his queen… He had done so for the purposes of luring them to their deaths? Could that be it?
Was the oafish primate truly that powerful? Did he honestly believe he could take them all in combat? Phillippe had had a chance to see many of them in action, and each one after the other made the idiot pale in comparison. So, that meant the worst possible option, each one of these complete morons liked this guy, and he liked them. Or… There was something going on beneath the surface.
All the same, he needed to size up this mob if he was ever going to make it out of here alive. Surely they couldn't all be completely loyal to him. Which one could he best ingratiate himself to? That was, after all, his specialty.
Okay, it worked too well on mister supreme stupid, but he was a special case.
The creepy, bald human chatted with the freakish teeth child about some inane collection of pixels or other; they both fawned over the buffoon in their own ways. Terrible choices.
The rank-smelling geriatric strummed a tune while the mischief brat seemed to be assembling something on the table–a pipebomb? None of his business–and while he liked a loose cannon, they were too unpredictable. Not great options.
Perhaps the angry human and her even stupider companion could be of use? Though, to be frank, he may have been more scared of them than the actual human that had killed him once before. Too risky.
The giant human wasn't an option. Fullstop. It was a miracle the foolish ringleader had convinced him to not drown Phillippe in fungicide his first day back. He had also been just as merciful to the amalgamate of roaches who were also not options sheerly because they wanted to make the human their leader.
The rat child was useless, it was lounging on the chest of the grinning beast. Phillippe considered her for a moment. Unpredictable in many ways, kind to the child, brutal in battle, and constantly antagonistic towards the idiot. That could be something.
The masked monstrosity scared him more than anyone else. Once, he caught her staring at him. He felt every one of his fanning tendrils wither a little like she could prune him with her eyes. Beyond her obvious contempt for himself, she seemed… Fond of the brain-damaged human. So, hard no.
He had yet to figure out how to communicate with Big Red or White Mask, so they were as good as furniture. That just left the cloaked three, the junk bug, the star starer, and the spineless spider. Of the three of them, the doormat monster was the only one with any potential.
Phillippe had seen the way the spider–uh, what was his name? Lyder?–stalked the stupid one. Though his words were honeyed and adulatory, there was something there beneath the surface. Something Phillippe couldn't put his mycelium on, but it could have been what he knew as hunger. Surely that was it. Lyder looked like he was always waiting for a moment to grab the small human and cram him in his huge mouth. He remembered his precious Princess having a chunk bitten off by that same mouth and then being vomited back up as some profane, acidic projectile with a glowing rictus grin on the monster's face. Yes, a brutal predator in wait if Phillippe had ever seen one. All he needed to do was try to get under Lyder's skin, er, carapace, and they could start formulating a plan.
Next step, however, was making contact… With so many ears around, that was going to be a challenge.
At present, the small, but disgustingly lively space was filled with the smells of frying flesh, salt, pepper, and boiling plants. Not that Phillippe could name it properly, but there was a kind of tension in the air. The adolescent humans and baby rat crowded the local asshole while he pulled more ingredients from the fridge. The curve of his smile and ripples in the lines of his face as he shooed them away grated on Phillippe's nerves. When Big Red lumbered over, dispensing juice boxes to each child, his expression relaxed, it was almost tender as he thanked her for the assistance–oh, Phillippe was getting angrier by the second.
The geriatric human began plucking a tune, filling in the space between the incessant ticking clock and muffled “music” blasting from the only bedroom. While he, the creepy human, and Big Red each entertained the children in their own ways, the oafish human continued to bumble about the kitchen. Much to Phillippe's delight, he was having difficulty managing his armful of potatoes and chopping them. One potato slipped out from underneath the dull blade of his kitchen knife and flew off the counter to the floor. In trying to catch it, he not only dropped the knife, but also knocked several other potatoes to the floor. Phillippe watched the idiot's shoulders slump as he tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling.
At that moment, Lyder squeezed his bulbous body past furniture and between the various denizens of the apartment to retrieve the runaway tubers. One rubberhose arm plucked the knife from the floor and handed it back to the human. He muttered something to Lyder Phillippe couldn't parse before going to the sink to wash the knife. While Lyder returned the potatoes to the counter, the stupid human grabbed a towel, folding it and placing it on the cutting board. After what looked like a moment of testing a potato on the towel, he picked up the knife again and resumed his task of chopping the vegetables. Too bad the added friction proved an adequate way to foil further foolishness. Just like the children though, Lyder was shooed away from the kitchen.
On his way back to his usual spot, Phillippe touched the spider's body, ignoring the mechanical clinks he heard and movements he felt beneath the fabric. He had succeeded in getting Lyder's attention though, he turned his head to look at him, but he said nothing. Real smiles weren't a thing for Phillippe's people, but he was confident in being able to fake them by now. He chose a “sympathetic” flavor this time, one he hoped commiserated with Lyder's feelings of “this guy is completely useless, isn't he?”
Lyder averted his eyes to the rancid shag carpet and sighed before settling back down where he usually laid. He propped his chin up on the back of the sofa, watching the creepy human jabber at the teeth child while playing some inane game on the television.
Oh yeah, obviously wishing he could just put the idiot out of his own misery. Just too many people around to make it happen. Yes, Phillippe was sure of it! So sure of it as he watched dinner trudge onward, he ground the conical calcium deposits that made up his teeth–he's a fungus, why did he even have those…? Okay, maybe he was hungry and just a little bitch crackers about his existence. Fuck, he wanted a cigarette.
As dinner neared completion–and Phillippe contemplated cannibalizing one of his own arms–the star starer approached the human, motioning to the food in the pots and pans and the plates set out. The incompetent buffoon glanced around his kingdom of filth and started to wave the star starer away, but somewhere between this and Phillippe blinking, the masked monstrosity appeared. She towered over him and stared down at him, silent. Then, for seemingly no reason at all, the dumbass laughed and nodded between the two of them. Phillippe was filled with utter loathing as both the monstrosity and the star starer began plating food.
Why? Why bother helping?! It was his own fault he had only one arm! Why did they like him?! He was either so in denial of the way things were that he was insane, or he was just so stupid he couldn't comprehend that anything Phillippe had done was duplicitous! He didn't know which was worse! Everyone in this fucking apartment was a goddamn weirdo!
“Dinner!” The idiot announced.
Shut up!
Phillippe observed the battlefield over dinner chatter. The children discussed something called “winter break” while the rat pretended to have a hand in the conversation, the roaches mostly quibbled amongst themselves as they ate, but many others chose blessed fucking silence. Blocking out the rabble he didn't care about, he focused on Lyder and Grinner.
Grinner, the Beast, whatever, was engaged in poking Bumbling Buffoon's remaining arm with a fork. Her plate was already empty and she made exaggerated biting sounds at him. Disgusting, but promising. BB was ignoring her, focused on his struggle of cutting his meat with a single utensil. A tic was slowly forming between his eyebrows and as his frustration grew, so did Phillippe's satisfaction.
Yes! The consequences of your own, stupid actions! Phillippe's many eyes flicked to the rat sitting at the table, meat crammed in its mouth and mashed potatoes all over its face. It was so grotesque it made him cringe. Surely the thing's “father” was insane. Who would willingly sacrifice a limb–especially when human limbs were in short supply–for something like that?
Something came down on the table hard enough to make all the dishes jump. It wasn't loud enough to make Phillippe jump though, no, not at all, his facsimile mycotic heart was normally in his throat. While the children gasped and the rat child began to cry, Phillippe observed the cause of the commotion.
The Beast and the Buffoon's eyes were locked, his fork paused mid struggle, and her fork stabbed resolutely into his meat. This must have been fairly normal, because the table was more concerned with soothing the startled children than breaking up whatever was going on here.
The Beast said “seems like you've bitten off more than you can chew.” Her words were accompanied by a gritty “he-heh” and widening grin. “The child depends on you. How you handle adversity teaches it how to, pipsqueak.”
What?
“Why not let someone else do the chewing for once?”
The moronic human's eyes softened, taking the moment to cut pieces off the hunk of meat while the Beast held it in place.
“Thank you, Leigh.” He said, “I'll… Try to ask for help more often.”
Phillippe heard several sighs of relief from around the apartment. What was even going on?! She had outright assaulted his plate and he got some heartwarming message from it? Could he just not register hostility? Phillippe raised a hand to rub his own face while the Beast made another hissing laugh. Maybe he should take pity on the clearly brain-damaged being and teach him about picking up danger cues?
“Advice tax.” The Beast said, stealing the small piece of meat her fork was still stabbed into.
“Right on, you deserve it.” Idiotman laughed quietly, an expression Phillippe couldn't read on his face as the two maintained eye contact.
“Heh-heh, be glad it was me. I'll send Hellen next time.”
Unbelievable. Maybe she wasn't an option after all. He squeezed his eyes shut even harder, if he had a real nose, he would be pinching the bridge of it
“Feeling okay, Phillippe?”
Oh no, uh… Phillippe cracked his eyes open to see Sa–the idiot–staring at him.
“Uh-hah, y-yeah! Just….” Comeupwithsomethingdammit! He flicked his eyes down to his half-empty plate, then back to the assailing human. “Just ate a little too much for my widdle bug tummy!”
Was everyone staring at him? They were all staring at him. He felt a line of white sweat gather at his forehead and inside his spore gills. When would the day come that they would all turn on him and tell the ringleader he was a big, fat, lying liar? He would surely believe an army of them over anything Phillippe could possibly say then–did he want that? Well, he liked being alive again, even if his momentary place was precarious, so, no, he didn't because the moment he was exposed he would be dead-dead. He could feel the disdain radiating off many in the apartment, the Creep with his selfie stick was the worst at hiding it, but like everyone else, his gaze went from Phillippe to the oaf, waiting.
“That's too bad,” the oaf began, “at least you got enough to eat.” His smile was so genuine it hurt.
On the other side of the apartment, Phillippe thought he heard a quiet “I'm gonna scream, chat, for real.”
“If that's the case,” the Beast chuckled, “this is mine now.” Grinning directly at him, she reached across the table, snatching the plate and cramming the whole thing into her mouth. As she chewed the plastic into oblivion and swallowed, her eyes never left his.
Thick sweat flowed down Phillippe's face, he made sure to count all his arms and each of his fingers after a display like that.
“Wow, Leigh, you're really that hungry?”
“Yep.” Her eyes narrowed, sizing up Phillippe.
“We have some snacks if you need more.”
“I know.”
He was going to die here.
*****
It was dark, very dark; Phillippe supposed the electrical systems just gave up and they were going to have to wrap up for the evening. Oh, dang, guess they can all just go to bed early and leave each other the the fuck alone.
“Didn't we pass the electrical room in the basement?”
Oh, goddammit. He still hadn't gotten that cigarette and he really needed it now.
“Yes.” The Masked Monstrosity confirmed the dumbass’ question.
“Well, I think… Should we try to figure out what's wrong?” At least he asked before just dragging everyone with him. “Maybe we can even fix it.”
“I think it's not our problem,” Phillippe said, back stiffening when the rest of the party turned to look at him. “Uh, I mean, can you even see?” His own eyes were perfect for the dark, Masked Monstrosity obviously had no issues, and Lyder had literal, glowing camera apertures for eyes.
“Coward.” MM said.
“I just don't want my friend getting hurt!” Phillippe dismissed with a plaintive lilt to his voice.
“That's very thoughtful of Phillippe.” The moron affirmed and MM said nothing in response, she just stared, ostensibly seething. “I appreciate it, but,” he looked to Lyder's glowing eyes “Lyle, do you have a way to leave your flash on?”
“O-oh! I-I, uh… I-I've never tried. Give me a-a second.” The clinks of machinery were barely muffled by Lyder's clothing. While Phillippe had a vague–for his own mental health–memory of the creature's gigantic mouth biting one of his arms off in a “past life,” he was nonetheless intrigued. What went on under there? Was it all capable of disassembling the annoying human Lyder stalked? He hoped so. He also hoped to never again feel his brain be literally melted by hot acid.
Anyway, there was a click, and a high-pitched whine of a power source coming to life. The idiot flinched at the sudden bright light aimed directly at his face, and MM had no response whatsoever.
“W-Wow! I can! I-I-I d-did it!” He swung his head all around the hallway, illuminating each new crack and grubby cranny. A small colony of roaches scattered, disappearing into the floor and baseboards. Disgusting things that would probably end up in the apartment bathroom eventually.
Fuck, he was thankful he didn't have to use the toilet ever.
“That's amazing, Lyle.” The human squinted through the pain in his eyes, but his grin betrayed the sincerity of his compliment.
Lyder's cheeks turned a perplexing shade of pink and he stuttered, “oh y-you th-think so?”
“Stop that.” MM intervened, “we need to go now.”
“O-oh, right, yes.” Lyder shrank back from her imposing figure.
As usual, the Idiot had input. “Should we check in on the apartment before we go?”
Lyder answered first, “i-it's already l-late, do we have time?” He was hardly the brave one of the group, Phillippe pondered potential ulterior motives to not returning. Did Lyder know something about their compatriots that he didn't?
“I know, I know.” Idiot reached out and patted Lyder on what could have been his shoulder. A series of clicks and clanks issued from under his cloak and the oblivious dumbass made no comment, merely continuing his thought, “it's been about six hours though. Leigh gets antsy and it's a good idea for everyone to know where we're going.”
“Time is of the essence.” MM stepped closer, towering over the comparatively diminutive human. “You can't let others dictate what you do. We must go now.”
Bafflingly unintimidated, the buffoon rebutted “I don't think there's ever too little time to be considerate.”
Phillippe flicked his eyes between the mask and the human's face. MM was silent, staring, surely unhappy. Was this when Phillippe finally saw Miss Monstrosity snap and massacre the man?
“Fine.” She relaxed and Lyder let out a held breath.
Utterly baffling. The whole lot of them!
Phillippe wished he could have waited outside, but he didn't like his odds of survival if an untoward visitor came knocking. The only thing Phillippe would ever admit the human was more than proficient at was destroying something threatening with extreme prejudice. Like it or not, until all this blew over, it was safest in his company.
What about after?
Not now.
“Phil,” ugh, he couldn't have a moment to himself!
“What?” In the human's outstretched hand was an open box of Playfare's cigarettes. “Uh…” All eyes were on him.
“You smoke, yeah?” He asked, and Phillippe raised a hand to accept the box. It was nowhere close to full, containing six in total, but it was better than nothing in the face of his gnawing craving.
“Yes…” Phillippe plucked one out and began rolling it between his fingers, “where did you get these?”
“Well,” from the tension in his face, Phillippe could tell the answer wasn't a pleasant one, “I made a deal with Xaria for them.”
Phillippe's response was as quick as it was incredulous “why?”
“You said you wanted a smoke.” He shrugged like this wasn't an obvious attempt to curry favor! It was so blatant, so unobfuscated, and so amateur it was obscene! The human was so dull he wasn't even capable of schmoozing properly!
“What do you know! I did!” He would play along, pretend to be bought just as he had to pretend everything else in their relationship. He popped the cigarette between his lips, just to feel it in his mouth. That alone was soothing to his nerves, but he really was jonesing to light up. Ignoring the buffoon as he rifled through his bag, Phillippe went to the kitchen and ignited the burner.
“Or you could do that, you're resourceful, Phil.”
Lifting the cigarette from the blue flame to his mouth, he took a long, sweet drag. Were they all talking about him? Was the idiot patting himself on the back for his easily identifiable attempt at subterfuge? Teeth Child was approaching. Sigh.