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One of Shuriken’s least favourite things was having to paint his horns. It took way too long, was often messy, it needed to dry and it always ended up looking sloppily done and rushed. Was it really necessary that he have green instead of the pink he spawned with?
He was never ever going to believe the excuse that ‘it just isn’t a Darkage Clan colour’. But he obliged, as any devoted and loyal clan member would, an understanding buried deep within his heart as to why they expected him to do this every month; no point in shedding tears over it anymore.
These thoughts frenzied around his clouded mind, as he gripped the paintbrush and pot of bright lime green paint, wistfully glaring into the mirror, disconnected from reality - he gazed at his appearance, scowling with a deeply-rooted hatred and discomfort. His tattered hood, flagship clan jacket, short wefts of matted hair, his horns…
Shuriken had to hold back from helplessly and furiously ripping the streaky and lumpy coat off his horns. This was the hardest part of being a clan member for him; you’d think it’d be the gruelling, back-breaking hard work or the never-ending number of dangerous missions you get enlisted to undergo.
No. Those were easy.
He hated this. He hated this so much. He hated himself so much. He hated how much he cared for the Darkage Clan. He hated everything. He hated the world he existed in. He hated it all.
Shuriken’s hands shook with an acute sense of ever-blazing frustration, incompleteness and absolute detestation; he forgot where he was for a moment, his grip faltering as he stared himself in the eyes, picking himself apart like a broken doll, a puppet. Eyebags hung under his hollow, sunken eyes like heavy, draping curtains (which is why he always had his hood up and his mask on, even around his siblings). Scratches and scars littered all surfaces of his sickly pallor, deridingly reminding him of how much he has given for this… he cannot just give up now. His tired gaze shifted upward, landing on his horns and—
SPLAT!
Quickly separating him from his profound despair, the pot and brush crashed onto the wooden slats of his dimly lit bedroom, clattering around like a marble as it spewed some of its contents, staining the floor that same vivid shade of green. His eyes grazed the splodge, regret swirling within him like an eternal tempest; he felt like a puny misbehaving child. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
A resounding yet routine clack resounded throughout his room; Shuriken craned his neck toward the source of the noise.
“Hey Shuri! It’s time! We need to go, we can’t be late!” A demon yelled, “can I come in?” He didn’t want Sling to come in. What would he think of the mess he made? He didn’t have his mask on either. Inevitably, if he was discovered in this state, Slingshot would start worrying for him and his wellbeing, which he did not want under any circumstances.
Somehow, among all this chaos and confusion, he had forgotten what time it was and what he was planning to do.
The words caught in his throat, dancing on the tip of his tongue mockingly as he inhaled sharply, searching to find an appropriate response. “Uh… one second, just… doing something right now!” Shuriken reasoned, bolting down to his knees, scooping up both objects in one hasty motion, placing them on the dresser and shakily winding the cap back onto the container, breaths escaping in short, discordant bursts.
“Okay, but we do need to go soon, we can’t leave it too late,” Sling replied, a practised patience in his voice. Shuriken clambered, thrashing trinkets about as he endeavoured to find something that he could mop up the spillage with before it dried permanently into the planks; alas, he was unsuccessful, the only thing that could work was a gift given to him by his sibling. A nice drawing, done on paper that Sling and Shuri scavenged and gave to her, done beautifully with the natural hues of the Thieves’ Den forests, depicting all three of them together. Her artistic talent could use some refining, but Shuriken didn’t care. He held it close, one of the only things he could keep and wouldn’t be ravenously and apathetically confiscated by the clan higherups.
Shuriken carefully laid it back down into a drawer, realising there was no other way. Slingshot was going to see it. His teeth chattered and sweat crept along his brow and dripped down his clammy palms, the corners of his mouth curling down, a doubtful frown forming derisively.
“Come in,” Shuriken worded, fingers frightfully falling onto his clan mask, as he held it up to the front of his face, apprehension and hesitation seizing his joints, rendering him incapable of movement, muscles aching longingly, as he peered thoughtlessly and existentially through the gaps, sparse rays of light shining in, illuminating what little hope he had left.
The door creaked open, a light-blue demon stepping in, wearing casual attire and an intimidating yet pristinely carved mask. “Hey Shuri!” Sling exclaimed. Shuriken’s arms darted, pushing the object on and dragging the string around, alleviation and satisfaction washing over him as he recognised he was now hidden, a sigh of relief releasing from his lips (yet, it still felt wrong. Why did he have to hide? Why did he always have to hide? They were his siblings. Would it really hurt if they knew he was struggling?)
“Hi, Sling!” Shuri proclaimed, exuding genuine excitement and joy as he trotted over. “I’m so glad to see you,”
“Me too… clan missions have been working me down to the bone, all that’s keeping me going is the thought of seeing you and Vine!” Slingshot angled his head, noting the slight disarray in the other’s room, eyes landing on an abnormal green spill by the mirror. “Do you want to clean that up before we leave? We still have a few minutes, and if you’d like, I can help,”
“No, no, it’s alright, I can deal with it later, when I get back,” Shuriken answered, conviction lacking from his tone.
“You sure?” He looked back at the mayhem, caused by his endless inner turmoil and antipathy and nodded.
“Yeah…”
One of Shuriken’s least favourite things was having to go out and see Vine Staff after painting his horns. It was like betrayal, a way of saying he hated her with every fibre of his being. That sensation stung, it burnt and left him numb and unable to think, unable to appreciate the little time he had to spend with his beloved sister.
He hated it so much.
Shuriken and Slingshot hopped over a towering wall, wading through leaves and shrubs, following their traditional path, stepping over intricate logs and strangler figs, quietly and assuredly. The night sky loomed over, drowning them in anticipation and uncertainty. What if she had died? What if Darkage had found out about them sneaking out? What if they had killed her? They knew she was no pushover, excellently skilled in navigating the outskirts of Thieves’ Den and its maze-like forests, even possessing the ability to control and grow plants at her will, but that all went out the window if Darkage sent a squad to hunt down and assassinate her.
Shuriken could barely breathe, it was as if he was being watched, judged for what he was and what he had done, hiding behind empty lies and cheap facades. (One day he would tell them. One day he would tell his siblings. But, now was not the time. He did not want to add more fuel to the fire of potent anxiety.) They stumbled through clearings, finding a familiar hilly area along with the mouth of a cave, sheathed by dangling vines, a mild glow emanating within.
“Vine!” Shuriken howled, parting the strands and treading through the shadowed entrance, familiarity and respite echoing in his soul. Sling trailed in soon after. The demon perched at a hand-crafted campfire, consisting of a handful of mostly charred sticks and an ember, seconds away from death. Across the harsh rocky ground lay a flurry of leaves, berries and wood. She perked up immediately upon their arrival, expression brightening up with pure pleasure and elated euphoria, contrasting her dirt-smudged, bruise-ridden skin. She sat, her cursed arm positioned away from her two siblings, almost as if she did not want them to see it. Shuriken bit his lip when he noticed.
Her alluring pink horns, much more flashy and impressive than his own, caught the delicate radiance of the fire, his stomach twisting further into a tightly screwed knot.
“Shuri! Sling! Nice to see you!” Vine Staff declared cheerfully, “Ha, it’s crazy, you two still find time to meet with me everyday despite all the work the clan gets you to do!” She laughed.
“C’mon Vine, don’t be silly, it’s not that much to go out every night, don’t sweat it!” Slingshot remarked, closing the distance and seating himself beside her, Shuriken following suit soon after, a tense mundane nervousness stalking him like a predator pursuing its prey. Slingshot took off his clan mask. Vine turned toward Shuri.
“Vine…” Shuri mumbled, quickly engulfing her in an embrace, both leaning into it, treasuring and grasping onto the warmth and tranquility it provided. Sling joined in.
Everything was at peace - nothing mattered. For all they knew, time had stopped and they could stay like this for an eternity without a care in the world, not mercilessly shackled back by duty or a need to serve and survive. All that could be heard was the simple crackle of flames and their rhythmic, silent breathing. It was nice.
“I have something to show you,” Slingshot asserted, drifting away from the hug, handling his bag and pulling out a book and a mysterious thing wrapped in tissue. Shuri didn’t want to let go. He couldn’t let go.
He had to let go.
So he did.
“Ooo, what is it?” Vine expressed, full of bliss and delight.
“Well, I've found a book, all about baking. It has so many recipes for food, so many ingredients and meals that I have never heard of. I was keeping it from you because I wanted to show you this!” Sling said, passing over the object. Shuri knew what it was - his brother had spent all his time recently trying to perfectly recreate one of the recipes, practically working himself to exhaustion. Vine unravelled it, revealing a golden flaky pastry.
“Try it, tell me what you think,”
“Okay… I’ve never seen something like this before… it smells really good!” She noted, biting down on it. The flower demon chewed, processing the flavour and texture attentively then swallowing. “It tastes amazing!” She alleged, shoving and gnawing on it with the frantic desperation of a starving child, savouring every single appetising crumb.
“I worked so hard on it, thank you! Shuri was the one who tested it out for me!” Vine peeked at her other sibling and noticed that he still had his mask on. Oh, and his horns were different.
His horns. A gorgeous pink shade, entirely coated and covered by an ugly green.
He noticed the way she looked at him. An intense desire to run away snuck itself into his mind, clawing and rattling around him.
The one part of himself that reminded Shuri of his transcendent, angelic sibling.
Her horns.
His horns. His horns.
He hated them so much. He hated everything. He hated himself. He hated himself so much.
Not pink.
Shuriken hated painting his horns and going to see Vine Staff after doing it. But what he really hated was the idea of suppressing one of the only parts of himself that he loved.
His eyes threatened to run hot and wet with tears.
He hated the colour green. He hated it so much.
He hated it more than anything in the world.