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“Hey, Zanka?”
“What is it?”
“Enjin told me that tomorrow is your birthday.”
Zanka lowers his Lovely Assistaff and stares Rudo down with flat, unimpressed eyes. The kid in turn gawks up at him, flat against the earth without caring to stand up after his parry.
“What about it?” he replies, somewhat coldly. His meaning: let’s continue training. But the words flap their wings over the Spherite’s head and the kid doesn't even get up as he continues:
“So will there be a party?”
“We don't do parties around these parts.”
Rudo frowns, “But Remlin told me—”
Zanka chucks down the Assistaff with a sort of theatrical force that has him wincing about it afterwards. He turns to Rudo with folded arms. Rudo, who sits, still and confused against the dirt with the enduring look of a scorned puppy.
Zanka pinches the bridge of his nose. “Don’t make a fuss about it. It’s just a birthday.”
Finally, the kid hauls himself to his feet. Without looking at him, he opens and closes his tiny fists enclosed within those giant gloves. He seems to be contemplating something, but gives up, in a sulky sort of surrender, by the end.
“You don’t know what you’re missing, then, Zanka.”
Then Rudo gets into position, and their training resumes.
—
—
When, later, news of that arctic exchange reaches Enjin’s ears, the man almost busts a lung laughing.
“Oh, yeah, our Zanka, he’s a moaner!” He wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. “Anyway, Rudo, you coming with us to Canvas Town to help with the decorations? Balloons, cards, Remlin even offered to whip up a nice banner.”
“But—” Rudo trails after Enjin through the sun-tracked halls, brushing shoulders with Follo and Eishia and offering a weak wave as he struggles to keep up. “But Zanka just said he didn’t want anyone to make a fuss—”
Enjin stops and Rudo almost collides into him. Then he turns and claps him on the shoulder with an easy grin. “Listen, Rudo, kiddo. You’ve been here less than a year so you haven't yet made acquaintance with Birthday-Boy-Zanka, have you? He is—and you must have figured this out by now—a weeping sore of pissbaby sometimes.” When Rudo doesn’t reply save for offering up a stare that could put a lobotomised chimp to shame, the man chuckles. “Zanka wants a fuss, alright. Not only does he want and expect a fuss, if you don’t deliver the fuss, he will begin moping like a trash beast during monsoon season. Believe me.”
“If that’s true, then why—”
“—Did he insist he didn’t want one?” Enjin shrugs and turns around, walking slower this time. “Who knows. Pride? Shame? None, both? Either way, if you, Rudo, wanna learn to navigate the north sea that is this mentor of yours, let me give you a piece of advice: Zanka has what I like to call a feminine soul. And you know how women like their riddles. So just know that whenever Zanka insists that he hates something completely, unequivocally, unceasingly… chances are that’s the thing he wants most.”
“Oh.”
“So,” Enjin’s fingers sink into Rudo’s head of hair and give it a tussle. “You coming Canvas Town or what?”
Rudo thinks over what Enjin told him and tries to map out a near-future where he does hand Zanka a birthday gift and doesn't get eaten alive. It’s not entirely convincing, but if Enjin says Zanka actually wants it, then Rudo should make an effort. It was always Regto who polished that sullied pearl of human decency Rudo kept buried somewhere deep inside him; and now that he’s gone, Rudo’s learnt more than ever the value of those virtues he had once scoffed at.
Regto was taken from him, and Jabber had very nearly taken Zanka away from him too, so Rudo’s learnt to thank the people he appreciates while he still has the chance.
“Sure, I’ll come.”
—
—
The next day, Zanka having been dragged out by Semiu on an errand-hunt she wouldn’t disclose nor hint at, they get to work prettying up the breakout area. Rudo, along with Guita and Enjin, came back from Canvas City with Remlin, a trunk full of various balloons and confetti and bunting, and a long strip of artsied fabric that would be the main banner.
They begin setting up.
Rudo stops to stare at his own gift for Zanka that sits twinkling at him on the central table.
He’s actually been staring at it for a long, long time. He hasn’t blinked, in fact. His eyes burn. By god, do they burn.
“Ah, Rudo.”
Rudo leaps a full three-feet, like a sprayed cat, and whirls to come face-to-face with Arkha Corvus. The man observes him with a quiet smile that has every blood cell of Rudo’s flock in assembly to his cheeks.
“Is that your gift for Zanka?”
“Yeah… Sir,” Rudo mumbles, breaking eye contact and wishing he could punch a hole into something in mortification—
“A hamper of confectionaries. A good choice. You’re fond of candy yourself, I hear?”
Who told you that? “I am, Sir.”
“They look tempting, eh?” Boss chuckles. When Rudo doesn’t reply, he cracks open an eyelid and seems to realise that he had hit the nail on the head. “… Ah. Well, Zanka sure will appreciate the sentiment. Though I don’t think he would mind if you helped yourself to just one.”
Ears burning, and the humilation throbbing in his temple like a goading voice, all Rudo can do is nod and hope the Sphere comes crashing down and killing everyone in this room including himself.
That doesn’t happen. But he is saved by Enjin, who approaches their pair looking none too pleased about something. He’s glaring at his watch like it’s wronged him, and only elaborates once Boss asks what’s got him so worked up.
“Our entertainer is late.”
“Entertainer…?” Arkha blinks.
He smirks, “It was Rudo and Remlin’s idea. We hired a special someone to come to the party. You know, cause it’s a big one! Eighteen years is no joke, Boss.”
“Right… Who did you hire?”
“Iiiit’s not so much ‘who’ as ‘what’.” Silence. “And that ‘what’ is a clown.”
“A clown,” Arkha echoes.
“Yeah! The bastard had a price that could buy us a new fridge, which was annoying as hell, but we figured Zanka was worth a little cash-pooling. Amiright?” He nudges Rudo, who sends a barbed glare his way.
“Clowns are pretty popular for birthdays back at the Sphere…” Rudo mutters, staring at Boss’s shoes, “So I thought Zanka might appreciate one.”
Arkha looks at Rudo with a dawning look of pity. He folds his arms and frowns at Enjin. “You’ve been having fun, haven’t you?”
“Whatever do you mean?” Enjin bats his eyelashes.
“Rudo,” Boss crouches down with a bracing hand on his shoulder, “I don’t think the birthday clown is a Spherian tradition so much as it’s… a children’s one.”
Rudo gapes at him.
“Zanka is too old for clowns, Enjin, you should have known better than to indulge Rudo and Remlin,” Arkha sighs. “You know he won’t be happy.”
His words finally sink in. Rudo is this close to exploding in Enjin’s face for lying to him, but the man just smacks a palm over his mouth, leaving his screams to die under his skin.
“Ah, it’s not like it matters. The clown was supposed to come half an hour ago to set up,” Enjin sighs, “but it looks like he took our cash and made a run for it. People are so twisted and sick.”
Of course, at that very moment the door flies open with enough force to rise a fog of dust. Everyone in the room coughs and reaches for their mask, as a figure strides in, silhouetted for a moment in the shadow of a human shape holding a bunch of balloons.
Then the dust clears, they’re able to see who it is that’s wrecked their entire party.
… And who the hell else would it be?
“A little birdie told me that a clown was in order. So here I am, gents and ladies, for the Birthday Boy… and free cake!” Declares Jabber Wonger of the Raiders, dressed in a starkly coloured clown outfit, giant black shoes, round red nose, waving like he’s just graced the stage to meet his adoring circus audience.
—
—
Literally two hours earlier:
Gonko the Clown considers himself something of a magpie in this shithole world he navigated. He worked hard, he did, to get where he is now, as a respectable and upstanding citizen of Canvas City. But living prospects here and there and everywhere across The Pit has been nothing but a train wreck if that train was also doused in gasoline, set aflame, and turned into Trash Beast chow.
Turns out an economy festering under Spherian trash for centuries would end up in a state of perpetual decline. Who’d’ve thunk?
Anyway, that’s why for a reasonable man to get by in this living hell, one would have to employ methods to keep the cash rolling that some sissies may call underhanded. Course, Gonko still remains an upstanding citizen of Canvas City (that anathema would have given him the boot years ago if he wasn’t), but he is still in many ways—christened by many, many people—a crook, a conman, a bunko-steerer, yada yada. And sure, sometimes, when he’s particularly strapped for cash, he gets his green from offering rigged games to little kids or acting as mediator in some under-the-counter deals or trying his luck in the Trash Beast fighting rings.
That last tidbit lies at the centre of this orbit of problems he will touch upon in a second.
The point is—yes, he may be all of these things, but at heart! At heart!—he’s a moral man. Even harmless kittens have to eat their way up the food chain, so can you really blame him, when money was this goddamn hard to get your hands on legally?
Honestly, this birthday party gig wouldn't have even been an issue given how much Gonko was being offered. It was double his regular rate. But alas! He couldn’t snag that easy cash. Why?
Because they’re Cleaners, goddamn it.
Sure, by no means are they law enforcement on their own, but when it comes to anything regarding their precious Trash Beast babies, they’re like their own shadow mafia. Trash Beast taming and ring fighting is somewhat of an illegal sport due to its volatile nature that has lead to many-an-innocent losing their limbs or heads. So of course Gonko couldn’t let them catch his scent. The red girl had already seen his face—that was close, too close for comfort, even if the clown makeup may render him some patchy anonymity.
No. No, he decided he couldn't risk it. So what does he do?
He takes their money and makes a run for it.
Unfortunately, halfway through what seemed to be a foolproof escape, Gonko ran into a bit of a problem.
“Another one! Cmon, you can do one more. This time, make it a bird,” the Raider, one of two which had intercepted him just as he was about to load his tiny-ass car, cackles. He’s got a smile that could give grown men nightmares, and is overflowing with the sort of glee only a clown could and should have. In comparison, the woman beside him, short haired and unimpressed, sits a ways away like a piece of furniture.
Gonko fumbles and obliges, whimpering. His fingers ache bad after being forced to pull balloons into countless shapes to entertain this Raider who had for the last twenty minutes given him more enthuse than any of the child audiences in his lifetime combined.
Handing him the balloon bird, and thinking what a funny sight it would be seeing how this guy handles the balloons with his palms to avoid popping them with those claws if he wasn’t being held captive, Gonko clears his throat and asks in a shaky voice: “Am I free to go now?”
“Hmmm?” the Raider places the bird-balloon among his growing collection. “Go where?”
“A-Away from here.”
“Sure,” Gonko’s spirits rise. Then burst again when the man adds: “But you’ll only make it about ten feet before this baby’ll blow your brains out, my friend.” He points to his companion, who in turn holds up a rifle.
“Wh-why?! What did I do?! You haven't even told me why I was kidnapped!” Gonko shrieks.
The guy just shrugs. “Boss’s orders. Says you were one of the four idiots who trespassed onto our turf. It’s not personal, man, but you’ve just seen too much!”
Tresspassing… The memories fold back in synthetic waves. About a week ago, a buddy of Gonko’s after a nasty fight in the ring told him that he heard rumours of a trash beast unlike any other, in the process of being tamed, a couple miles out. Supposedly, it was stronger than any capable of being tamed before. When Gonko heard that, the sounds of jingling cash rang through his head like a religious choir as he thought of how many ring fights a baby like that could win.
So yeah, he and a few others went to check out whether it was real. And it was real, alright. A trash beast larger than any Gonko had ever seen, gleaming and winged. If it was true that it could be tamed… he’d be set for life in this shitty economy!
Granted, that was a week ago and they still hadn’t come up with a plan, but it now looks like he wouldn’t get the chance.
How the hell was he supposed to know that area belonged to the Raiders?!
Like a whimpering, snivelling water balloon, Gonko sinks to his knees and raises his hands in beggarly position: “Please… Please… It was an honest mistake. I didn’t see a thing! My lips are sealed!”
The Raider smiles; Goosebumps rise along Gonko’s neck and arms.
“Please! I’ll—I’ll become a Raider. I’ll work for you. I’ll pledge my allegiance. Just don’t kill me! You can have balloon animals for eternity, how about that? Fun, huh?”
“Tempting! Really, that’s a solid offer. You’ve been great, really, you’ve made my day, Gonko, buddy. Buuut,” the Raider shrugs, flipping one of his locks behind his shoulder and flexing open his right clawed hand, “Boss’s orders and all that. You know how it is.”
“I DON’T!” Gonko screams. His eyes widen at the outburst; he tries to simmer down a smile. “Are you fond of children, Mr Raider S-Sir?”
“I guess.”
“Well, I have a party I’m supposed be at! I was hired and was on my good old merry way when you intercepted me! How does that make you feel, crushing a poor birthday kid’s heart? Have some compassion!” When Gonko catches the man’s disinterest, who’s examining his long nails catching the shean of the sun, he grits his teeth together and decides to play his ace-in-the-hole. He hadn’t wanted to use this, but it seems he has no choice. “The Cleaners.”
The Raider pauses to raise an eyebrow at him.
“I was hired by the Cleaners. It’s someone over there’s birthday,” Gonko raises his voice. “So, if they find out their clown is missing, what do you think’ll happen? They’ll conduct an investigation, that’s what. And then your DIY project will be exposed to the world. How about that? Don’t you see that it’ll be more trouble to keep me alive? Just let me leave and I won’t breathe a word, I promise!”
“Hm,” the man falls into contemplative silence, tapping a long claw on his chin. For a while, in the silence stuffed with horror and Gonko’s growing urge to go to the bathroom, a look of curious realisation crosses the Raider’s face. “Hey.”
“Y-Yes?”
“When we first got our hands on you, you were holding a balloon that flew away. It looked like a snake. Was it a snake?”
“No… It was a ‘Z’. I was… I was told the birthday boy’s name began with—”
“Oh, Gonko, my man!” The Raider cries, so delightedly loud it sends the rooftop birds flying, “You’ve been great. You’ve been awesome! I guess this is where we part.”
Gonko’s heart hammers loud enough to break out of his chest. “Are you letting me go?”
“Nah. Thanks for telling me that info though. Cthoni,” The woman takes swift aim and before the crack-sound even registers, a bullet has been blasted through Gonko’s neck, and he collapses on the floor. The blood gushes out of his neck, vaguely reminiscent of some dude from another universe whose final words were ‘gang violence’.
None of the blood stains his clothes, though, because a small variecoloured portal is open just under the wound, sending the blood elsewhere. Jabber gives Cthoni a thumbs up.
“Thanks.”
She doesn’t look too impressed, “You’re going to the party then?”
“Oh yeah,” He chuckles, leaning down to pick up the red nose from Gonko’s face. “Zanka would be so devastated if his clown doesn’t show up. We couldn’t want that. So course i’ll go. Want some cake?”
“Yeah sure whatever.”
—
—
“Aaaand that’s how it happened,” Jabber finishes, looking pleased while surveying the rest of the Cleaners. There’s something honestly hilariously ridiculous seeing them so prickly, Vital Intruments at the ready, when he’s just a simple guy holding balloons! Cmon now.
“That flashback was so long the cake must have turned into cheese by now.”
“Look, Angie—”
“It’s Enjin.”
“Engine,” Jabber yawns, “It’s a special day. Let’s not ruin it, yeah?”
“I’m the one ruining it?”
All too suddenly, the doors burst open and in runs Follo, out of breath, cupping his hands over his mouth as he yells: “Mayday! Mayday! Zanka is on the way! Zanka—”
He stops to gawk at their new company.
“Sup.”
“… Boss?”
Arkha steps forward and levies Jabber with a hard stare: “Raider. Tell me. Are you really only here for this party?”
“Well yeah. And for the cake.”
“Nothing else?”
Jabber makes an exaggerated gesture, “cross my heart and hope to die.”
“… Alright then. Everyone, get into position. Zanka is coming.”
Rudo splutters, unwilling to believe his own eyes and ears. Don't tell him boss just gave Jabber Wonger of The Raiders the green light to crash Zanka’s birthday party and be his clown?!
But there’s no time to think. The lights are dimmed and they all take their places. A hush descends over the room. Anyone close to Zanka is here, at the ready, apart from Eishia and Riyo setting up the broken karaoke machine in the other room.
It’s hard to feel at ease knowing that somewhere giggling in the dark is Jabber Wonger dressed as a clown, but is not like Rudo can do much but grit his teeth. The door finally opens, casting a golden wing of light into the black room, followed by the unmissable sound of Semiu’s cough.
The signal.
The light switches on and they all leap from position, crying out “HAPPY BIRTHDAY ZANKA!” amidst a blizzard of confetti exploding from the four corners of the ceiling.
—
Turns out that Enjin was, in the end, totally right about Zanka just being a total pissbaby. Though he turns his nose up at everyone, and insists between smiles that they really honestly shouldn’t have, as each of them go one by one to congratulate him and present their gifts, his frowns grow flimsier and his grins grow wider. He’s enjoying himself, alright. Immensely.
When it’s Rudo’s turn:
“Don’t think this changes what I said earlier. There really is nothing special about birthdays.”
“So you don't want your gift then??
“I didn’t say that,” Zanka replies, faster than he probably intended. Rudo hands him the gift; it’s accepted with appreciation, hamper and all, which is a relief, honestly. But it’s not long before Zanka is swamped by all the other gifts and people beggaring for his attention.
And yet no sign of the clown.
“Where the hell is that shithead?” Rudo mutters. Only thing keeping him assured is the fact that Boss seems a little too at peace, which means Jabber’s probably not up to any funny business. Hopefully.
Until, of course, he declares himself with a drawn-out “Zankaaa!” while setting free a long-ass balloon that squeals its way around the room like a baby missile, effectively shutting everyone up.
Jabber, crouched on the table like a cat, waves at the birthday boy.
Zanka reaches for his Vital Instrument. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Happy birthday!”
“Why are you here?!”
“Eighteen is a big one! How do you feel? Speech! Speech! Everyone, cmon!” He starts clapping. “Speech! Speech! Speech!”
“Do you want to die?! Get the hell out of here!”
Jabber props his chin up with his palm, “… Nah. I promised Cthoni I’d bring cake.”
Zanka whirls to Arkha, Assistaff at the ready, spluttering, “Boss!”
The man shrugs behind his plate of tiramisu, “… The Raider boy promised his friend he’d bring some cake. We may be enemies, but we’re not heartless.”
Defeated and more than a little furious, but helpless in the face of Boss’s final verdict, Zanka glares and puts the Vital Instrument away. “You didn’t even bring a gift. Asshole.”
“It was a short-term arrangement. Besides, I didn’t know what to get you. I’ve been told you’re a sort of pissbaby when it comes to gifts.”
“Get the hell out of here! You came for cake?! I’ll give you a slice and then you can get lost! No, don’t just beep your nose at me—”
From the side near Enjin, Rudo watches their growing spat as he stuffs his mouth with marshmallows, wondering if he maybe should step in and… do something. Like beat Jabber to a pulp. Or force them into a Get-Along Shirt. But then he takes a cursory glance around only to find that no one… gives a shit.
A Raider has just impersonated a civilian, crashed into their HQ, is currently tormenting one of their best members… and no one gives a shit.
A heavy hand squeezes his shoulder. Enjin. “Remember what I said earlier, kid? Just let it be. I’ve never seen Zanka so happy. Have you?”
There’s a loud thump followed by a winded oof. Zanka’s Assistaff had slammed straight into Jabber’s abdomen, sending him flying, and his ecstatic shrieks of “my rib!” and “I told you you were a sadist, you freak!” are forcefully broken apart as Tamsy, sighing, steps in to mediate.
Rudo glances at Enjin and shrugs, “No, I haven’t.”