Chapter Text
Over time, the pit had grown into something akin to its own entity.
It’s presence visceral in the way it could evoke fear from the tribesfolk just with the utterance of its name, as if the act of acknowledging its existence would mean that you’re next on its guillotine. Moments away from being plunged into its inky depths, forgotten to time and forsaken by all.
Throwing a rock over the edge, Rudo silently watches as it sinks lower and lower into the abyss that lay beyond his feet, gravity pulling it down towards the forever spewing fountains of garbage and wasted potential, before disappearing as if it never existed. Scoffing, the young man picks himself up and turns away from the cliff edge, cursing internally at the wasted time. He had wanted a moment to calm down from the excitement of the garbage facility; the sound of exploding gun powder and the echoing of army boots still ringing in his head.
Shaking his head, he turns and makes his way through decrepit buildings and between narrow alleyways; all littered with various debris and garbage bags, as if permanent fixtures to their hovel of a town. Most of the buildings were made of leftover materials: roofs composed of rusted metal, walls of warped wood, broken down appliances scraped together with bolts and dreams. An amalgamation of twisted walkways made of stained planks, claustrophobic alleyways bracketed by cracked stone and rusted ACs, laundry lines swinging between every building. Most walkways were pushed to the edge over the sheer drop of the island, taunting those who crossed it that they were a slip away from falling into the very void that they all feared in the dark of night. It was a cacophony of chaos and alive in its danger, an all hungry beast waiting to consume more of its inhabitants.
Slumping against some random wall, he quickly pulls off his bag and reaches in to grab all his bounty and lay them out beside him. He couldn't help but rub his hands together as excitement courses through his body, a big risk reaps a big reward. Quickly getting to work as he aims to fix up the various goodies he had scrounged up. He was resolute in ignoring the small plush that laid amongst the others he had found, a small nagging thought in the back of his head questioning whether or not Chiiwa would even like something he had picked up from a trash heap.
He keeps his head down and gets back to work, allowing the steady work to block out his surroundings and vitriol that is being spat about him for his escapades. As if he’s doing anything that the average person of the slums wouldn't do just so he can help his family survive. Scoffing at the thought, he twists a screw back into the lantern he had picked up, eyeing it in satisfaction as aside from a few bumps and lumps it seemed like it was practically ready to hit Regto’s shelves–
“Rudo! Did you go dumpster diving? Again?!” Slowly turning his eyes up, he looks towards his friend, her hands on her hips and a disappointed pout on her lips,
“Chiiwa–”
“You really need to stop digging through their garbage, you know how seriously they take stuff like this?!” Straightening out her posture, her arms folded across her chest as she continued to lecture him, “I don’t get it, seriously, it's just trash…”
Looking back down at the lamp in his lap, he can't help wince at her words. He knows that most people see him as the weird kid who collects trash, second only to the title of ‘freak son of the mass murderer’.
“I don’t know, the Apostles throw out so much good stuff…” fiddling with his tweezers, he straightens out a dent in the lanterns handle, "there's heaps of trash there that's practically brand new, and they throw it out like it's nothing…”
“I guess, I feel…sorry for it, at times…” Looking away, he barely suppresses the urge to scratch the back of his neck, the sudden silence doing nothing to curb his sudden feeling of embarrassment in feeling sorry for trash.
“Besides, how else am I supposed to survive in this place, if not this?”
Looking back towards Chiiwa he's surprised to see a small smile gracing her face, and suddenly his embarrassment doesnt feel as unbearable as it was before. He leans more against the wall behind him as she couches down in front of him, her puffy skirt swallowing her legs as she rests her elbows on her knees, her hands dangerously close to his own. It almost feels…intimate–
“You must really like trash huh?”
Balking slightly, he forces himself to roll his eyes and look anywhere aside from her smiling face.
“Well, I wouldn’t say it like that–”
“Aw jesus, you guys smell that?”
Any warmth that was building in his chest was quickly doused as his head snaps over to look in the direction of the usual offenders of his peace. The three boys crowding the street as they walk closer, their eyes filled with the same contempt as their parents as they scowl at him. He’s only slightly remiss when Chiiwa stands back up, the comfort of her presence replaced by empty air; the warmth in her own eyes dulled as annoyance causes them to grow steely.
“Hey Chiiwa, What's up?~” Stalking closer, the leader of the degenerates, Ijime, gives a small amused glance towards Chiiwa, his attention drawn off Rudo for a singular moment, only to be met by the girl's unamused scoff.
“Get lost.”
Unbothered, Ijime continues forward, crowding her space as he waves a hand in front of his nose. The mean smirk returning to his lips as he stares down at Rudo, and the trash that lies at his feet. Eyes twitching in annoyance when Rudo just stares at him head on, rather than bowing his head in shame like he’d been hoping.
“Aren’t you scared of catching his stank?”
“What?” Giving the boy a pointed look, he lifts his hands up in mock surrender and instead gestures at Rudo’s hands, the boy gives Chiiwa a look of disbelief.
“I mean, just look at those dingy ass gloves,” sending a sneer in Rudos direction he continues, “..with all the time he roots around garbage I’d be surprised if the smell of rot didn't follow him everywhere!”
Looking down, he subconsciously fiddles with his gloves, ire slowly growing in his heart. He's used to their abrasive tactics, they’ve been using the same three talking points for years now. But even still, he feels the anger rising within him, cause what do they know? Who do they think they are to look down on him when they live all in the same trash heap of a town as he does, at least he’s doing something to help his family. It's only due to the voice in his mind that oddly sounds like Regto’s that he takes a small calming breath and just goes back to working on the lantern in his lap. They know that mentioning his gloves is the fastest way to piss him off, so he just won’t react. There simple. Take that assholes.
The silence wasn’t good enough of an answer apparently as the second boy, Gakuya, kicks the lantern out of his hands with a thud as the metal hits the ground. His eyes and hands sting and he feels the sudden calm he had pretended to have crash and burn in his chest as fast as it had appeared. Looking toward the discarded lamp, he squeezes his hands into tight fists; ignoring Gakuya as he leans into his space.
“No one's gonna buy your shit dude, not after you touched it with your gross little psycho hands…”
Chiiwa tsks, looking back toward Ijime, her brows furrowed even tighter, “Ok and? So what?”
Turning a critical eye towards the girl, Ijime scoffs his disapproval, “Sooo, it’s a bad idea to hang out with him? Why are you so defensive over this psycho? I mean with his family history and all…”
Pausing, Ijime gives Rudo a cold smirk, eyes glowing with their apathetic cruelty as a smug crinkle makes its way to his eyes.
“Maybe he’ll end up like his dead old man..”
Slowly looking up, Rudo levels the boy with a look that has all his simmering emotions swirling just under his ruby irises. He had tried to choke down this blinding anger down into his chest, where he could keep it locked under key and buried deep. To keep pretending he wasn’t bothered by the mockery of some random kid who has just as little prospects as he does, they have the same shitty houses in the same shitty down with the same shitty oppressors; and yet somehow, due to no fault of his own he has been pushed below even those who he should have considered his peers. What had he done in their eyes that had made him so different? Was simply the sin of being born to a wicked man so unforgivable that they had branded him with this title of being other?
With a low whistle, Ijime looks down at his seething eyes with cool indifference, a smirk cracking his lips as he turns to leave, “Jesus, he even has those sick murder eyes…”
Shuddering, the last boy runs after Ijime, throwing an unsettled look over his shoulder as he mutters loud enough for the rest to hear “Gives me the creeps…”
As the group leaves, Gakuya crowds into Chiiwa’s space, causing her to back up as he throws his hands out in a ‘boo’ gesture, whooping as he imparts his last words of advice to the young girl, “Watch out Chiiwa, you just might wind up dead if you keep hanging out with that freak!”
The boy cackles before running off, leaving Rudo in the awkward silence that the boys had left in their wake. He waits only a moment before getting up and walking over towards the lantern that had been kicked out of his hands; picking it up he inspects it for any damage and sighs in slight relief that it only seems to be a little worse for wear. He tries to not think about Chiiwa’s silence and what it could mean, simply busying his hands by wiping off any of the dirt that had stuck to the lanterns metal. Chest tightening, Rudo makes his way back to his pack and starts slowly organizing his things, placing the lantern with the other finished products. Chancing a glance towards Chiiwa, he holds back his compulsion to fiddle with his collar, his mouth suddenly dry.
The thought of those jerks somehow convincing her that he was some murderous maniac pushes a dry retort from his throat, deperate to defend himself even if the objects of his rage had long since left the now quiet street.
“I'm not a psycho…”
Seeming to snap out of the daze she had fallen into, Chiiwa looks away from where the boys had previously disappeared too and turns her attention back to Rudo; who now fearing being caught, snaps his neck backtowards his pack, pretending to look for something he's sure both of them know isnt there. The young girl simply hums and turns her body towards him, taking slow cautious steps before once again crouching in his space, putting her hand on his own; he's startled to realize they were trembling. With a king smile, Chiiwa holds the gloved hands in hers, their warmth seeping past the leather and somehow making the ever present ache seem duller than before. Both of them keep each other's eyes, warm gold meeting rustic red, it had only lasted for a few seconds before Rudo’s now flushed face stared down at their connected hands.
Drawing subtle patterns onto his hand with her thumb, Chiiwa looks down at the assortment of items that lay beside them, “Yeahhh, I know~ They were just being assholes…”
At the sudden vulgarity, his gaze is quick to snap back to her, surprise colouring his face in a despertate attempt to override his embarrassment. Balking up at her as she suddenly releases his hands and stands up, brushing her hands on the hem of her dress as if to remove the invisible tension that had just laid between them. With a small chuckle, she throws a look over her shoulder and watches as the sky slowly turns into hues of orange and pink, their glow bathing her in a way that makes her look ethereal to the young boy. Tucking a stand og hair behind her ears, she looks back towards the boy and sends him another reassuring smile.
“Don’t take it too hard okay? They just mimic whatever they hear the grown ups say and think they’re cool for it. I know you won't end up like your dad…”
An angel, she was an angel.
Looking away, he raises a hand to scratch his cheek, face feeling way too hot for the circumstances. Clearing his throat, he tries to display any semblance of dignity he has left.
“You think–”
“Oh my gosh! Is that a puppy?!”
His shoulders jump at the sudden topic, and tonal change of their conversation. Head whipping every which way as he tries to catch a glimpse of whatever animal had stolen Chiiwa’s attention. At the resulting nothing, he looks back towards her to ask what she was talking about before noticing she had suddenly moved closer to the stuffy he had found at the dump, looking back down at the innocent plush he can't help but tilt his head; ‘Puppy?’
He had thought it looked more like a rabbit, but with the new shine that had taken to the young girl's eyes, a smile wide across her face as she gently holds the fabric doll in her grasp; he doesnt have the faintest urg to correct her, his heart betraying him as its rhythm beats quickly in his chest. He’s quick to chuck out the whole rabbit idea and concedes that yes, of course it was a dog this entire time.
“Oh my, and it barely looks scratched up? At this rate my moms gonna yell at me for not being able to match your stitching…” Throwing a pout his way, she draws a finger against the slightly altered stitching in wonder.
Throwing a hand up on the back of his neck, Rudo nervously chuckles at the sudden praise, “Ah well, he's uh…special I guess. Wasn’t really planning on selling him or nothing, was uh…more thinking about giving it to y–”
“Chiiwa! I was looking everywhere for you! Get over here now! C’mon, we’re heading home…”
The sudden sound of stomping shoes enters the street as Chiiwa’s mother makes her way towards them, jumping as if caught with something unseemly. Chiiwa is quick to drop the plush with the rest of the trash and straightens her posture. Her frantic eyes look between Rudo and her mother, caught unawares at the sudden situation.
“Oh uh, okay! Sorry mom–”
Chiiwa rushes towards her mother, twisting her hands in her skirts before turning and giving a small wave goodbye towards her dear friend.
“Bye Rudo~ See you around!”
As quick as her mother had appeared, the two are quick to make their way down the street and back towards their home. Gently shaking his head, Rudo looks back towards his valuables and prepares to make his own way home–
“I thought I told you to not hang around that boy anymore…”
Shoulder tensing, Rudo looks down at the scrap around him and slowly starts putting it away into his bag, any and all good feelings he got from his initial meeting with Chiiwa stomped into ash. It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to the whispers that seemed to follow him whenever he went, but it didn’t help that the small voice in his head was screaming at him that this thing he had with Chiiwa was only going to last so long, before she believed what the others said about him, her mother convincing her that “hey yeah! He is a delinquent!”, and he’ll lose the only friend on this entire island. The only person that really pays him any positive attention outside of his dad, how pathetic is that.
Sighing, he hikes the bags strap over his shoulder and does a quick scan to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything before making his way back home. Passing by the other Tribes folk, ignore their burning eyes, and their curses. He makes quick work of traversing the crowded town, the dusks light quickly thinning into evening and casting long shadows across the length of the street. The scrap metal that made up most of the town reflected the sun's golden light, casting a warm glow on the usually glum Slums of the sphere; it was almost enough to make someone forget how much of a dump this place was.
Within minutes, Rudo is at the steps outside the hovel of his own home, mind empty as his body pushes him to the only safe space he has ever known. He pushes aside the curtain that shields the lower part of their house from prying eyes, its shelves hoarding various knickknacks that make up most of Regto’s product. The cobbled walls easing Rudo into a sense of security as he makes his way towards the back of the room.
“I'm back…You home?”
At the resulting silence, Rudo only sighs and makes his way further into their house, assuming that Regto is either in town or not back from his business yet. Placing his shoddy bag on the singular table in the middle of the room, Rudo gets to work unpacking the various things he had both found in the dump and fixed up back in the slums. He gets so lost in the flow of work that he doesn’t hear the curtain behind him as it swishes both open and closed, soft footsteps barely softened by the scrap metal flooring that makes up the basement.
“I don’t think I raised you to be that bad at telling a girl your feelings–”
Jumping, Rudo swirls around, his shoulders hunched up to his ears as he looks up at his father, the usual smirk crossing his face as he gives Rudo a look of barely concealed amusement. An embarrassed spotty red paints the young boy's cheeks as he throws a glare towards his father, hands now stilled.
“Were you spying on me?! What the hell man–”
A small scoff leaves Regto’s lips as makes his way closer to Rudo, arms crossed as he absently looks over the new additions to the shelves. “Oh please, like there was anything to spy on, with what little you even said…”
Crossing over to the shelving unit, he leans his body against its chipped paint and cheap wood giving a pointed glare down to the boy.
“What I wanna talk about is that little stunt you pulled today…”
“Uh, what stunt?” Snapping his eyes back to the shelves, he busies his hands with continuing the dumping of all his newly acquired items onto the shelf. Only stopping when Regto places a large hand over his gloves, slowing his progress and gently moves it away from the shelf.
“Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you. Your little garbage raid is all anyone was talking about in town today…”
Cursing, Rudo pointedly looked down at his own hands, “They should really learn to mind their own business…”
This causes a small amused chuff to escape the older man, “ Nosey or not, I'm a bit hurt that I found out through idle apostle gossip and not my own son…”
Bringing his hands back to him, Rudo looks away from his father and back towards the shelf. Biting his lip, frustration starts to build in his chest, why is everything going to shit today?
At the lack of an answer, Regto can only sigh as he brings up a hand to pitch the bridge of his nose, “Now listen, we aren’t rich, but we aren’t so hurt for cash that you have to keep pulling stuff like this–”
Head snapping back to look up at his father, Rudo’s chest heaves as he rushes to explain, “I just want to help out–”
“I know, and I appreciate it.” Regto lowers his hand and instead raises it as if to calm down the sudden rush of emotion from the younger boy, “But you putting yourself at risk isnt helping me. I'm the adult. Which means I’m responsible for your wellbeing, and you throwing yourself into danger isn’t helping.”
“Well, I'm not in danger. They haven’t even caught me…”
Shooting Rudo an incredulous stare, Regto raises his brows, “I don’t know if you noticed, but they found you out today didn’t they?”
Rudo turns to face Regto, face blatantly showing his frustration, “Yeah, this one, singular time.”
“Outlier or not, being found out once is enough to tell you to stop this, now.”
Silence fills the small room, the command bouncing around in Rudo’s head as he goes back to his pack and grabs the stupid lantern to bring it to the stupid shelf with all the other stupid things that reside there. He knows somewhere deep down that he's being slightly unreasonable, but a louder voice is yelling that Regto isn't understanding him.
“Listen…Rudo, I know you want to help out but all that matters to me is that you’re safe–”
“–ow!”
He flinches when his arm pulses its refusal in sharp shocks of pain as they travel up his arm and curling around his shoulder. It takes everything he has to not just drop the lantern and clutch his arm in his hand. The pointed stare from Regto burns hotter than the pain taking up the majority of his body and already knows that this little moment of weakness will be cataloged in his mind; ammunition for whenever he feels the need to remind Rudo to be careful and take it easy, that he isn’t as indestructible as he seems to believe himself to be.
He can only sigh as he feels his father take a few strides to reach his side, gentle hands place themselves on his shoulders. It takes everything in him to not flinch at the contact, merely closing his eyes as he's slowly turned around to face Regto, as if that will save him from the mortification of being found out. He hesitantly squints open his eyes, hunching his shoulders even higher as he's now met with the worried tilt of his fathers mouth, and the concern in his dull blue eyes.
Squinting down at his boy's arms his eyes widen in realization as he snaps his head back to meet the avoidant eyes, “Did you get shot?!”
“It's just a scratch! I-It’s nothing, really–”
His floundering excuse is cut short at the ‘no nonsense’ glare his father gives him, and can only sigh as he allows himself to be dragged out of the dingy basement and outside. The evening air cool against his heated skin, streets bare and empty. The silence of night invading the slums with only the soft hum of crickets to break up the stillness, Rudo doesn’t realize he’s fallen behind his father until a hand gently grasps his shoulder and steers him towards the steep steps that lead to the rest of their home.
“C’mon Rudo, we gotta take care of this before anything else happens…”
With a small sigh, the young boy allows himself to be guided up the stairs, twisting open their door that had a busted lock for as long as he can remember. Shuffling inside, he makes his way towards the only table they have in their small hobble of a home, and waits for his father to turn on the flickering light. He quickly shrugs off his over coat and holds in the pained sounds that rage against the inside of his throat at the resulting stretch of torn muscles. Refusing to give any more indications that he's been hurt regardless of if he's already been found out.
He roughly throws himself on the seat and looks off to the side, focusing on strange knickknacks that Regto has thrown around the place. Battered books lining a shabby desk, their spines worn down, paint flaking in various places showing their age; lined with different shelves of dissimilar designs. You don’t really have a choice when it comes to the slums, most homes came across as cobbled together from whatever you could find that wasn't rotted or deteriorated beyond the point of reasonable use.
“Lets have a looksie…”
Sitting down at the stool beside Rudo's own, he pulls the first aid box; a metal box with rusted hinges that happened to carry whatever they were able to scavenge around town that slightly resembled first aid materials. With a small click of his tongue, Regto pulls up his glasses and rests them on the bridge of his nose, looking at the gash with more intent that Rudo truly thinks is necessary.
Despite the tense atmosphere, he can't help but feel as if he's been swept up in a soothing calm after the day he's had. As every child craves the comfort of their parent, he's now in the safe hands of his father as he helps him clean up his wounds, patching him up with gentle hands and worried brows. He truly couldn’t care about this run down house, not even with its memories and the shelter it provides from the cruel world that lays outside its tin walls, for as long as he was able to stick by his father’s side he didn’t care where they ended up.
A sting brings him back to the land of the living as his arm jerks in protest. A cotton swab laced with alcohol doting his arm, making a hiss escape his lips without permission as Regto finally looks up from the, truly, small cut on his arm. The older man ties a small bandage around the cleaned wound before tossing the remaining materials back in the box, its once prominent red paint now dulled to time.
“Might as well change your bandages while I’m at it,” grabbing a roll of bandages, he turns his expectant eyes back towards his unruly son, “C’mon, get those mangy things off.”
“They aren’t mangy…” Rudo can only mutter under his as he gently removes the gloves from his hands, the bandages underneath dotting with various stains that’re like a second skin in the Slums.
With the slow removal of his bandages he can't help but shift his eyes to the side once more, leaving Regto to deal with the mess that is his arms and hands. He’s only able to faintly wonder how he's able to deal with it even after all these years for a few moments before he's interrupted.
“You need to stay away from the dumpsites, alright?”
Regto’s eyes stay on his arms, slowly unwraping tainted bandages and throwing them into a trash bin that Rudo hadn’t noticed him drag over, “You might not be so lucky next time–”
“It wasn’t that bad–”
“I’m serious, stop messing around. They don’t take this lightly, Rudo.”
The end of his sentence is punctuated with the tightening of the new bandages, both tied off in a knot as the words settle into empty air. Rudo can only look down and scoff, a storm brewing in his eyes, not due to Regto’s words, but rather to the seemingly never ending unfairness of the world.
“Compared to what my dad did to me, this seems like a soft pass...”
The soft admittance causes Regto to finally look up, his eyes steely with concerned resolve as he takes in the young boy in front of him. After a moment he reaches over to Rudo’s gloves, the gloves that he had given him way back when, and passes them to the now trembling hands of the teen. Rudo only ends up gently holding them in his grasp, staring down at their worn leather as an ache presses itself into the back of his eyes. He doesn’t flinch this time when Regto lifts a hand to curl in his slightly knotted hair, the reassuring presence making the now small boy look up to his guardian.
“Your father may have messed up, but that doesn’t mean you have to let it haunt you.” Pausing for a moment, he slowly takes off his glasses and allows them to dangle from his neck, looking back at the boy now with a smile stretching his lips.
“He screwed up, but it's been a rule in this city for as long as I can remember that any major crimes, or hell, minor offences are punishable by being thrown in the pitt. A death sentence…” A small scoff leaves his lips, a small frown graces his face before another grin takes its place, his eyes shining once more as he looks his boy in the eyes,
“You can’t end up like him, you have to be better. You need to take a step back and realize what's important, take care of yourself and what little good you have in this shitty world…”
Still smiling, he rests his forehead on his sons before stepping back to give him space, his hand finally falling from the ashen locks as he makes his way towards the busted up couch they had somehow shoved up the stairs some way back.
Rudo slowly pulls the gloves back on his hands, staring down at them as he processes everything Regto had told him. He's had these hands for as long as he can remember, it’s shaped the way that people treat him, spitting insults of criminal blood infesting his veins. Cursing him as if his birth, his father, was the reason they were all stuck in this shit hole; he was a scapegoat draped in gold and they looked to him to absolve them of their families past sins.
Why rage against the system that holds them down, forces shit down their throats and expects them to say thank you when you can play your part and shame the child that comes from the blood soaked family? The disturbed mass murderer and his abandoned son, marked with the constant reminder of his fathers sins in the form of painful scars and is expected to repent for them; to prove the tribe's peoples penance in the face of their great oppressors. Looking upon the apostles as if they are the paragon of virtue, moments away from sounding the last of the heavenly trumpets and forgiving them of their past sins of association. Letting them into their walls, their small slice of paradis, as if the last few decades of neglect and mistreatment means nothing. Not if it was all just the result of some grand trial of faith.
They held little care for the orphaned boy left to starve in their streets, groveling in pain as waves of liquid agony imprinted itself in his body; as if the personification of his fathers sins that everyone had shunned him for had settled deep in his bone. It was only Regto who had seen his pain, had looked upon him with pity rather than the disgust and contempt that marred all the adults' faces as they regarded his frail body; giving him the gloves that lessened both the burden and pain that had forced themselves upon his tiny shoulders.
The stares never stopped, they had followed him all throughout his life, never shifting, nye constant. It made him feel as though he was made wrong, a wolf shoved into sheeps cloth without its knowing, trying to frolic with the herd that only saw him as the monster in their mists; a square peg that had been shaved and chipped in the image of what others had desired of him and yet was still unable to fit into the circlar hole. No matter how hard he tried, it was never enough.
He was, and perhaps still is, convinced that he was made wrong. This pain and anger that seems to fester at every slight glance and inconvenience, it's wrong, and yet he can't seem to purge it from his body, much like the scars that stain his skin. It still bugs him, sometimes, in the dark of night as he looks upon his body and can only see the marks that’d been branded on him ever since he was a kid, like an illness with no cure, or an abyss with no end.
But, as he looks up from his gloves, he meets gazes with Regto and knows that while he may have been made wrong, his father has always seen him as more than the sum of his parts, his past fathers sins; he had taken him in as his own, and he will forever be grateful for that.
“–Anyways, moving on, You’d better actually make a move on that Chiiwa of yours or she’ll be snatched up from some other snot nosed brat.”
Nevermind, he wished that he had shriveled up on that damn corner.
“Oh I know! You should just hand over this lil’ guy,” he loosely flops the puppy stuffy by its scruff as he leans back into couch, bouncing it along the back of it, “since he's so special~~”
Why is he like this.
“Spying is so not cool you– you– urg! Just hand it back over before I–”
“Before you what?! Do it or I’m not feeding you–”
“No, I refuse to stoop to whatever it is you’re suggesting–”
“Give her the damn dog!–”
.
🚯
.
The next morning started like any other.
Rudo being rudely awoken by Regto as he stomps his way through the small home, getting both ready for the day and checking what product he would be selling throughout the day. They followed the similar routine of Rudo pushing aside the curtain that separated his small room from the rest of the house, a glorified bed made up of mismatched fabric stitched into sheets and a pillow that was more lumps than feathers being thrown at the messy bed head of his father. They’d yell at eachother for a few moments, Rudo out of genuine momentary anger and Regto just arguing back with an amused smirk as he glided his way around their small kitchen; if the small corner set aside to house their battered fridge and an sorry excuse for a counter space could be counter as such.
A slow dawn of Regto making them breakfast, which was more of scavenging what was left in their fridge and moving towards the couch, shoving aside his own pillow and blanket that were strewn across its surface in order to make some space for them to sit and eat their pathetic excuse of chopped fruit and oats for breakfast. Rudo angrily stabbing his food as he talked to his father about what he had planned to do today, who just watched him with veiled amusement as he ate some of his own food before handing Rudo some of his own fruit and jumping off the couch.
“You’re gonna go talk to Chiiwa right~?” Stretching his hands over his head with a small groan at his bones cracked in offense. Rudo can only look away as the embarrassing conversation from last night enters his mind once again, shoving a slightly rusted spoon into his bowl of oatmeal he huffs; trying to tap into that nonchalant angst that most other teens his age carry like a second skin.
“Uh...well maybe, I don’t know–”
“Oh come on, what’d we talk about last night? You tell her or I’m not feeding you~”
The young boy looked down at his stained dishes of fruit and oatmeal before looking back up at his father with a quirked brow and a small scoff, “Sure, whatever you say old man…”
With a roll of his eyes, Regto turns back around and shoves a hand into Rudo’s hair, laughing as the young boy tries to swat his hands away from messing up his already sleep mused hair, “Okay smart guy, starting now. Go! Get up and get outta here–”
“What?! But, don’t you want help setting up or something–”
“Nope!” Stretching out the o sound as he turns back towards the entrance, shrugging on his over coat and tucking the small book always on his person into its inner pocket as both he and Rudo made their way out of their home. Rudo following after Regto like a lost duckling after its mother.
“C’mon, it's important that young boys such as yourself get socialized and become well behaved members of society~”
“It sounds weird when you say it like that–”
“Go get em tiger! I gotta go to town for some stuff but I'll probably be here when you’re done!”
Stepping down the steep stairs of their home, he turns and softly pats Rudos head with his journal before making his way down the street and towards the main gate. Rudo stares after him and raises his cuped hands to his mouth as he shouts out his annoyance.
“You’re a horrible father!”
A bark of laughter echoes in the street, the older man hunching his slightly shaking shoulders before tossing up a hand to wave a goodbye heart heartedly; not even stopping to look back as he shouts back.
“I expect great things from you!"
Growling, Rudo makes his way towards the bucket they had set out to collect rain water from last night and roughly shoots his hands out in front of him as he leans over to bring it inside, only pausing when he sees his reflection staring back at him. Slowing his rash movements, he lowers himself into a crouch over the bucket. Quickly looking around, the young boy scans for anyone else in the street, the paranoia of being found out enough to have him focus on any and all sounds around him. At the assurance that his only company is the waking morning, he looks back down at the metal bucket and gives a hesitant smile to the water's surface.
Quickly despair, He isn’t surprised at the lacking results that shine back up at him, the ability to smile a seemingly impossible task for the young boy to master no matter how hard Regto tries to pretend otherwise; fake it till he makes it his ass. Scrubbing his face, he tries again, and again, and again, frustration boiling his blood at each failed attempt as no matter how he moves his face he is met with the same grotesk smile. Regto doesn’t like it when he talks about himself like that, but honestly, who has a hard time even pulling a smile? Not a normal person, that's who. Another way he was different he supposed.
Sighing, he straightens from his crouch and looks at the doll clutched in his hands, its relatively cleanliness a stark contrast to the inherent sullied environment of the Slums. Holding it made him feel offkilter, its stark white base subconsciously setting an image of purity in his mind that made his hands feel extra heavy in a way he didn’t appreciate. It had reminded him of Chiiwa in that way he supposed, a bright clearing in a valley of trash; like a daisy that had somehow poked through the concrete and brought some life to the otherwise desolate wasteland that made up the slums.
Roughly shaking his head, Rudo resists the urge to slap his cheeks as he finally gets moving towards Chiiwa’s house–assuming it was too early for her to be anywhere else. The town was generally quiet during the morning, most people either still sleeping or busy restocking their wares for the day to come. He had slowly connected early rising to the rare peace he had tended to rarely feel, traversing the chaotic landscape of the Slums as if tip-toeing on glass.
The usual stares and muttering that followed him everywhere turned silent in the soft light of the morning, the pinks and oranges of the sky welcoming the sun’s arrival to another day. Even without its residents, the town itself felt alive in its construction; the chaos of mismatched levels of different houses, all made of metal sheets or loose planks, roughly cobbled basements.
There were winding paths made of various leftover materials that elevated certain levels of the town as it adapted to its slowly rising population. Latters placed in various spaces to allow easier traversal to different sections of the city and new paths constructed in order to reach the new housing. It was a chaotic network of activity, all hidden within a vast maze of tight alleyways and cluttered paths.
However, for those who lived within its cramped vicinity, it was an easy feat to navigate the various shortcuts. He made quick work of traversing different pathways, the slow quiet of the morning a backdrop to his travels as he takes in the various scrap and trash that litter the streets. Piling up in the streets before people finally got sick of the stench and threw it into the pits themselves; not having access to the fancy garbage chutes that populate every corner of the stainless Apostle city that rested beyond the ivory walls.
The pit is considered a dump, simple as that. The ever constant fear that has been instilled into them just by uttering its name is temporarily forgotten as they make their way to the edge of the Slums, throwing their trash into the inky void that haunts them, its depths unknown. For the pit doesn’t care what you feed it, whether it be trash or waste like outgrown clothes, or rotten garbage that is infested with mold and odd odors; it can even be the criminals that break the laws of the sphere.
It has become the physical manifestation of their guilt for existing, consequences of their generational sins, the damnation that awaited them all. Their fear of it feeding into its slow construction of becoming an entrance to the mythos hell of the Slums. The pit takes no sides in the injustice that wages on within the small island that floats above its maw, it simply devours whatever it is given with the silence that humankind has come to expect from the absurd and unknowable. It simply is, there are no stated laws as to why it exists or how; Whether it was God's devine punishent for the wicked or a simple dump that follows this floating rock to absorb its garbage is up to the imagination of the one who beholds it.
Looking down towards the edge of town, small specks of people crowd around yet another public execution. Despite its common occurrence, he can't help but think about what happens to the people who were thrown into the abyss. Regarded as trash, tossed away like nothing, their lives meaning little on this little floating island of oppressive paradise.
His father was thrown into the pit, swallowed up by its inky depths as punishment for his grand sin. Did he look much like the rock that he had thrown into it just yesterday, body victim to gravity as it dragged him further down? What were his last moments like? He couldn’t help but wonder what everyones last sight was once they were cast off the island, what happened to them after they were tossed away like trash…
“Looks like they’re executing another one…”
“Yeah…”
A soft voice breaks him from his thoughts, answering subconsciously as he continues to look down the slope of crappy housing, the pit like an all encompassing void as it devours the soft colour morning. Blinking, he looks to the side, surprised that anyone is talking to him, only to balk as he notices that Chiiwa has somehow managed to sneak up on him as he was lost in his mindless thoughts.
“Chiiwa?!”
“Morning, Rudo~~”
Giggling, the young girl turns her gaze back to the edge of town, the shine of her eyes dimming somewhat as the grotesque reminder is carried out before them, just miles away. Her voice rings somewhat hollow, neutral in its delivery as her eyes stay glued in front of her.
“What’re you doing here? You don’t usually come to this part of town…”
“Ah well, I was uhm…”
Struggling to find the right words, he just huffs and looks away, scowling to himself as he tries to find a way to fix this sudden disaster of a situation he currently finds himself in. Digging his toe into the dirt below him, his mind races before Chiiwa’s voice echoes out around them.
“It's a pretty cruddy view huh? I mean, here specifically…”
Looking back at Chiiwa, he sees her still looking down at the edge of town. Turning to contemplate it himself, he can't help but wonder who's being thrown away in the early morning, the sky hasnt even transformed into its usual blue and a man is being killed. Huffing awkwardly, he grips the plush in his hands tighter as he looks down at the disturbing sight.
“Well, it's not like any other views in the slums is exactly pretty…”
Humming, the girl sends him a critical eye that sends his mind into a frenzy. Thinking about what she might be seeing when she looks at him like that, before looking back towards the bottom of the sloping houses, as if her eyes can’t help be drawn to the sight even as Rudo’s own gaze can't decide whether to stare at the sky, the ground, or the girl beside him. A small silence passes between them, the awkwardness of the situation making his hands shake and sweat gather on his skin despite the cool breeze that occasionally brushes past them
“Did you know…”
His eyes dart back to the girl's side profile as she finally starts to speak, still in that slightly off tone that rings just slightly off to his own ears, for reasons he can't fully understand.
“That apparently they put us here so we’d constantly remember what our ancestors did? An incentive to keep us in line…” a soft frown cements itself on her face as she continues, “We do anything bad, and we’re tossed into the pit, doesn’t matter what we did or why, they just see us as the descendants of criminals…filth…”
Her cheeks move slightly as she takes a small breath, as if she were biting the insides of her cheeks and finding her words, “And they force us to watch, call for a public execution in the one spot that most if not all of the tribes folk can see from miles away, a constant reminder of how close to judgement we are…”
He wants to say something, anything, but his mind is racing. He's holding a plush rabbit in his hand, its fur still bright and soft; observing an execution with his friend as she talks about the current state of their lives. He hadn’t expected that this would be how he spent his morning, but as he looks down at the scene before them once again, it causes his mind to race.
“They don’t like us Rudo, no matter what we do, or how we try to repent for our past sins, they’ll never see us as anything more than the filth outside their doors. And I’m…okay with that y’know?”
Looking up in shock, he feels like this is the moment to break his silence; say something to dissuade his friend's thought process that she's fine with being seen as trash, no better than the filth that the apostles spew at every opportunity.
“What? Chiiwa–”
“But I really don’t want to come out here one day and see you out there, so I…really need you to stay out of trouble okay?”
She casts a small glance his way once more, her brows furrowing as she tries to find some way to talk some sense into him he's sure, or maybe she's just frustrated with their lives; their situation, or more likely his own actions. He isn’t used to her being so outspoken about her feelings, usually the one that tends to coyly step around conversations that reveal too much or get too deep towards the unfairness of their world. She just found her own way to cope with their reality, and he respects it; it's not like he can say much when his first reaction to anything is to get mad and threaten to punch people's faces.
Though he supposes he isn’t surprised that she seems to be more realist than optimist, whether it's because of the current circumstances or she actually finds this important he can't truly say. It's almost refreshing to hear that she cares for him, spoken out loud rather than hidden in his chest, it soothes a part of him that he hadn’t realized needed soothing.
A small sigh escapes the girl, “I know that you feel some sort of…connection to trash or whatever, and that's okay. The apostles do throw out some really good stuff, but is it truly worth dying for? If you get caught, they will throw you into the pit…”
He can't help the small huff of amusement that escapes his own lips as he thinks back to his old man, “That's what Regto said…”
Chiiwa finally cracks a small smile, that small moment of neutrality, or perhaps apathy, slowly but surely seeping out of her as she gently pushes his shoulder, “Yeah, dummy! Because we care about you, and we don’t want to lose you over something so…inconsequential.”
“Yeah, that old softy…”
Looking back at Chiiwa, he studies her side profile with reverence. She always looks the best in the colours of new mornings or emerging dusks, as the sun's light bounces off her soft locks and turns it into a shining amber much like a halo of light. He’s sure he has a rose tinted gaze whenever he looks at her, like it's more of a reflection on who she is to him rather than a subjective fact of who the girl is. In this shitty town, she is the light at the end of the tunnel; he doesn’t care what the rest of this town thinks of him, as long as she believes him to be something different than the bastard child.
The plush in his hands almost burns, a war raging in his mind of whether or not to just leave without showing her this small, battered thing; even if she had technically seen it just yesterday. It feels oddly like crossing an unspoken line, that she’ll see it and immediately see through him. See all the feelings that have been slowly being fed since meeting, every interaction building it into something more profound and all encompassing. He doesn’t want anyone to see them, scared of them being labeled as sinful or wrong, all because he is the one to feel them. He already has so little to his name, outside of fixed trash and his relationships to the two people who don’t hate him just by existing.
Looking from the plush to Chiiwa, he sighs and gently coughs as he brings it out from behind his back, resolved in looking down at the grim sight of people cheering for a criminal's death as he pushes the plush in the girls general direction.
“...I, I wanted to give this to you the other day.” Clearing his throat, he resists the urge to look back at her face as he's sure she's now facing him.
“ I don’t know why, really, but I found it…in the dumps so I wasn’t all that sure you’d like it but, it reminded me of you…or at least I thought that you’d like it. So yeah, it's here if you…want it.”
A silence rings out around them. Sweat starts gathering on his hands once more as they begin to slightly shake, the feeling on the plush still very much in his hand causes him to almost forget the whole thing and run away. Why would he think that she wanted something from the trash? That he was anything to her like she was to him, he was so fucking stupid–
“Rudo…I don’t know what to say….thank you!”
Snapping his eyes back over to Chiiwa, he can't help but regard her with wide eyes as she gently takes the plushy from his hands. The weight of the moment dissipates in moments as he looks upon her smiling face.
“It's perfect!”
Chiiwa holds the plush with gentle hands, fingers petting its soft if not slightly rugged fur, it was probably softer than most things found in the slums anyways. Snapping his body to face her, he raises a hand to the back of his neck as he looks apon the scene with something akin to affection bubbling up in his chest. A sudden thought flashes through his mind, quick and almost casual in its nature, a brief ‘I think I love her’ disappears as fast as it had entered his mind; the ruin in its wake uncared for as Rudo stands there, staring at Chiiwa’s blushing face. His face feels hot enough to leave him light headed and with a sudden shout of goodbye he turns and dashes away down the street, back from wence he came; feuled by nothing but adrenaline
Internally screaming he doesn’t even pay attention to all of those he passes; the tribesfolk, the garbage, the shoddy buildings–it all means nothing in the face of the sudden, if not expected, discovery of how deep his feelings ran. The idea that he could experience something so…normal despite the anger that sticks to him like his own shadow seems almost impossible.All of the shit he’s gone through means nothing due this one small revelation, small to everyone else but massive to a boy who has little to nothing. He finally has something that no one else can take from him no matter how harshly they beat or curse at him, this was his small piece of paradise in the hell that is this piece of shit town.
The rush home was a blur, adrenaline coursing through his blood as he ducks and weaves through various alleys and streets. He's quick to round the corner of his nighborhood, boots thudding against the cobbled street as he fights the urge to whoop and holler in the still quiet streets. He barely blinks as he makes his way down the street, a grin wide on his face as a new hope rises in his heart much like the morning sun. He barely registers when he makes it back home, the thought of shoving this in Regto’s face all he can think of as he rushes past the torn curtain of their storage room. Running up the stairs, he's blinded to the door that's busted off its hinges as he skips through the entrance way and into the small aboad, barely caring of how Regto will yell at him to calm down as he shouts out for him.
“Regto! You won’t believe what just hap–”
Heart stopping, Rudo’s breath catches as he looks apon the disaster he's stumbled acorss, any and all warm feelings dowsed as an overwhelming fear stakes claim in his still chest. His body feels slow as he watches Regto battling with some strange masked figure, both fighting their way through the room. The couch that Regto had spent most of his nights passed out toppled over and torn; the table they had ate at just this morning splintered in two as if someone had been slammed across its surface; dishes and broken class scattered everywhere as books lay in a heap, they’re once well preserved spines broken and snapped. It was like a hurrican had stormed its way through they’re home, leaving what little furniture they had toppled over and broken as it lay in scatter heaps around their feet. It was almost a blur of motion as the parties shared blows, one trying to hack away at the other's flesh while Regto in torn and tattered clothes raised his arms in self defense.
There was something about seeing his father fighting that caused Rudo to stiffen, body creaking and chest heaving as his mind raced to try and figure out what happened, what he should do, something, anything. But the rage in his fathers usually calm steely eyes made the skin of his arms prickle in weariness; he couldn’t help but freeze the moment flashing by him in seconds, every near missed strike that would surely mean death making Rudo chest jump.
It seemed his sudden appearance into the small home had both figures pausing, as if the new presence in the room was a variable to take into consideration. Regto’s eyes were quick to filter towards the door, stiffening subconsciously at the thought of having to deal with another assailant; before his cold eyes widened from their glare at the sight of his shaken son. He only falters for a moment, and the next he grunts as a knife is plunged into his side. Whipping a hand to his side he looks down at it and back up at the masked figure in shock. In a rush of pain-filled adrenaline, he shoves the figure away from him and places himself between both them and Rudo; cursing softly.
“Rudo! Get, out of here..”
Regto’s voice cracks with tension, quivering as if the older man tries to choke back any pain, or better yet weakness, in front of the murder frenzied figure thats invaded their home. Rudo can only continue to stand there frozen in shock; bile crawling up his throat at the sudden change of emotions that rage within him. A sense of vertigo washing over his body as the adrenaline from the interaction with Chiiwa is replaced by the sickening notion that he might be watching his father die in front of him.
The mask figure from before wavers softly before standing firmly in spot, staring at the two with a dead calm that makes Rudo’s hair stand, even with the barrier of his fathers back and the guy's creepy mask he can’t help but feel they were looking right at him. They’re draped in the darkness of their home as if it were a second cloak, only the daylight from the broken open door illuminating them in the destruction.
The three of them are stuck in a standstill, no one breathing as if the air itself had a vicicous grip on their throats, nothing happens for a split moment before the masked figure slowly brings one hand to push aside the cloak that covers them. Bringing out yet another weapon with a sharp twist of their wrist, a large sword dipped in gold is held in their tight grip; their knuckles white due to the tension. A much larger upgrade than the small knife that they had lodged itself in Regto’s side.
Rudo can hear his father saying something, probably warning him to move away, run out the door and leave him to ‘keep himself out of danger’; but the words dissolve in the air the moment they leave his lips. Blood rushes through his ears and his fear blinds his senses as he darts forward and yanks the hand that holds itself to Regto’s side; he ignores the trail of blood that connects his fathers side to his hand; his hand itself dyed crimson, some darker spots already flaking off and onto the rusted sheets of metal that made up the small houses flooring.
He can hear his fathers ragged groan, the sudden jostling causing his wound to no doubt continue profusely spilling blood, but he ignores it; dashing out of the house. Dragging the older man behind him ungracefully but as fast as he can, practically leading them to tripping over eachother as they stumble down the stairs and onto the street.
Rudo refuses to look behind him, the weight of his fathers hand in his enough to spur him forward with little to no concern for the masked freak behind them. He can feel his heart beat in his throat as Regto yells whatever behind him, he can say whatever he wants provided that he stays alive long enough for them to find help.
He races around a corner, vision tunneled ahead of him, when he suddenly bumps into something solid, causing him to tumble over and take Regto with him. The two groan as they hit the cement, and Rudo’s about to tear them a new one, shooting daggers up at whoever got in their way when the stark white military comes into view. The man looks down at them as if they were no more than filth that the breeze blew in to stain his uniform with red, but Rudo couldn’t care less; any other time he wouldve dreaded seeing that screwed up face and that hand that hovers on his hip, resting above gun powered steel, but now he was like some frayed beacon of light in this shitty situation.
Quickly getting up onto his knees, he places one hand on the ground as he points the other behind him, shifting his gaze between the Apostle guard and the street behind them; eyes scanning for any sign of the figure . “Thank god I ran into you, please I need your help there was some kind of masked man–”
“Halt! You and your co-conpirator are hereby placed under arrest for the dumpster diving and selling of illegal goods on Nobel cities soil!”
Breath skipping, his head snaps back to the guard only to blink as he now stares directly into the barrel of the guard's gun. He can hear Regto behind him groaning as he pulls himself up , muttering something Rudo’s brain can't process as the blaring alarm of danger rears his head back. Rudo scrambles away from the guard, grunting as the palms of his hands scrape raw against cobbled rock, he can’t help the small quiver that shakes his voice as he speaks through gritted teeth.
“W-what? No no, don’t you see we need help?!” His eyes quickly dart between the imposing guard and his father, the latter glaring at the guard while still clutching his side, the fall np dobt jostling the still very present knife in his side.
“Stop your yammering, you’ve been sold out so just shut up with whatever excuses you're spewing.” Quickly stowing away his gun, he crosses distances between the two
“Sold out? What are you talking about?!” He can't help the urge to pull at the cuffs that now cover his wrists, whipping his head to the side he watches as the guard throws cuffs around Regtos wrists,
“Whatever– just, my dad doesn’t have anything to do with this! Please just help him–”
“How many times do I have to say this before you get it! The only thing you’re getting is a cozy spot in the pit!”
“This is such bullshit what–”
“Rudo, just…calm down…”
The older man is still clutching his side but throws a strained smile towards the young boy, as if a smile will distract him from the red that is still seeping into his clothes or the cuffs that are being slapped onto his wrists. His heart exploding in his chest, beating so hard that he barely realizes that both he and Regto are being dragged to their feet and pushed towards the edge of town where the guillotine sits. His mind is screaming at him something primal, shiverings running down his spine with every step that draw both him and his father closer to their death.
He could feel the stares that stuck to their backs, theyre judgement like daggers as they passed by rows of shoddy houses filled with residents watching them as they slowly but surely made their way closer and closer to the very edge of town. He could hear the faint muttering, which had only grown in number the longer they were paraded around the town as pariahs, following them down the path. He wondered if they got some sick gratification to see him like this, of seeing Regto like this since he was the fool that decided to take in a child bathed in the sin of their father. They had seen him as other, separate to them due to his tainted blood. He was the stain on their history that they had wanted to get rid of since he was an orphan in the streets of the sphere.
He had tried to bite his tongue, the situation blurring and coming into focus all at once. How had he gotten here? How’d he drag his father into it? He had started his morning looking at an execution, he had pondered what it meant to be thrown down into the pit; this symbolic hell that the apostles held over their head at every slight wrong doing, and now he supposed that he was going to find out. Looking up from the rocky path, he casts a quick glance over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of Regto.
The older man was calmly scanning the crowd behind and around them, eyes blank as they drag over each guard and the other tribes folk that are slowly accumulating behind him. He has a slightly limp and his cuffed wrists are awkwardly pushed to the side as he continues to hold his side. It isnt until he turns his gaze back ahead of him that he meets Rudo’s eyes. He doesn’t know what expression his face is making, his mind a whirlwind of adrenaline and uncertainty since the moment he walked in on his fathers attempted murder; but it must be scared enough that Regto’s eyes immediately soften and he shoots yet another smile towards the young boy.
“Don’t worry Rudo, everythings going to be okay…”
“You can’t possibly be saying that, we’re being sent to the–” Biting his bottom lip, he can't help the sudden lump in his throat at the sudden reminder of where they were heading. Casting a look around him, his mind unhelpfully supplies him with the reminder that they’re mere minutes away from the edge of town.
“Do you trust me?”
Whipping his head around, Rudo stumbles slightly as he looks back towards his father, the sudden calm of his voice a stark contrast to the rising voices of the tribes folk around them. Despite his fathers pale face, his face was set in a dead calm.
“What–”
“Do you trust me?”
Slowly nodding, he continues to stare at his father in confusion as they’re led down the path to their impending doom. He can't help the slight edge that taints his tone when he finally chokes up the courage to respond to his father over the screaming crowd around them.
“Of course, I trust you– but I don’t think that's the problem right now–”
“We are going to be okay, Rudo. I promise you”
“How do you know that?–”
The other man opens his mouth to answer but the two are rudely interrupted as the guards harshly push them forward, forcing Rudo to snap his attention back ahead of him and hold back the sudden shivers that shock his body at the looming sight of the guillotine. Its dark wood a stark contrast to the small clearing that holds it; he can't tell if it's the fear that clouds his senses or if it's the fact that this is the closest he’s ever been to the Tribesfolks forced retribution that causes his sight to narrow and grow dark in the edges.
He had sat on the edge of the island, like any other kid of the slums that dared to stare their future in the eye; the inky abyss seeming endless and unknowable. A beast that gazes into you as long as you gaze into it, eyeing its prey like a predator in wait. Waiting for the moment you’re caught and hung over its maw, feeding its ever expansive greed as your condemned to its depths.
He had watched a man die today, sent to his death for whatever crime he had committed. Forgotten and washed away, like he was about to be, like his father before him was. Looking to the side, he swallows the lump in his throat at the sudden reminder that he had dragged Regto right alongside him. Condemned to this fate just by the crime of association, glancing down at his gloved hands he bites his lower lip as he darts his eyes away, the mere sight of his tainted hands causing his brain to go haywire and his bones to creak with how tense his body had grown.
The chanting of the crowd only grows louder as more and more Tibesfolk begin to accumulate in the clearing, a cacophony of sound as they rejoice in the purging of filth. They had probably been hoping for this moment since the moment his father had plunged his knife into the chests of tribe folk and Apostles alike; the last reminder of the great sinner wiped from their polluted town, as if this was how they clawed their way up from damnation and into the pearly gates of paradise.
He can only flinch as he's dragged up to the altar, body forced onto his knees in its center. The guards aren't gentle as they bind Rudos wrists with rope, caring little for the young boys shaking hands and his shattered reality. He wants to fight, yell, kick and scream, try something and anything to get this feeling under his skin to settle and not tear away at his own body; but with every glance towards Regto’s direction the fire that builds is quickly doused, he may not have put the knife in his side but he had signed his death warrant just by existing.
In the chaos that surrounds them, Regto is somehow still the anchor of calm that he always has been. If it werent for the crusted blood that had long since dried on his hands or his pale skin, you would think nothing wrong. He stares out into the crowd, eyes dull as if he werent mere inches away from his demise, it feels wrong and Rudo wants to scream for answers. Ask him how he can be so calm, why he isnt expirenecing the same twisted mesh of fear and rage that boil under his own skin–but then Regto will pause his assessment of the crowd and meet Rudo’s gaze, giving him a strained but reasuring grin. It leaves all the rage and anxiety to be washed away and instead be replaced with an overwhelming desperation to believe that Regto was right.
So he grits his teeth and puts his trust in the man who had picked him up from the streets when he was little more than an orphan with broken hands, already scorned by a world that refused to see past the sins of his father. He allows himself to glare at the apostle guards that push him down and the approaching figure of his soon to be executioner; barely flinching as the elder man lifts a hand and the ropes begin to be pulled taut. His stomach rolls as his body is forced into weightlessness, but as his body lay limp he simply keeps his gaze forward; looking over the now massive crowd of people.
With a sudden wave of his hand, the guards move to the side of the contraption and place their ready hands onto the levers that will throw him to his fate; with a sudden yell, the old man launches into a speech that volume rivals that even of the excited crowd around them.
“You have besmirched this beautiful, sacred land with your heinous acts. Sneaking into our beautiful city with lecherious intentions, stealing our trash and polluting our city!”
At the stated crimes, the crowd roars even louder. The rise in volume startles his eyes wide, his hands jumping to cover his ears despite their compromised position. Biting his bottom lip, he barely flinches as blood begins to trickle into his mouth.
The older man waits a few moments before continuing; his front now facing the crowd as he throws a hand out and gestures to the boy strung up behind him.
“His filth will be washed away from our streets and sent to where he truly belongs, let this be a lesson for those who witness the outcome of this depraved act!”
“You are hereby sentenced to death!”
Finally looking up, Rudo can't help the glare he levels at the entire crowd. Their faces making him nauseous as anger and disgust boil in his throat. He hadn’t been to many executions, coutresty of Regto, and yet the death had haunted him all the same. Were all of the ‘criminals’ before him treated to this degree of visceral hatred, or was he just special; the original byproducted sin that tainted their shitty town, like just him and his father getting cast away will make everything so much better. He grits his teeth and squints continues to squint his eyes
“Chiiwa! Thank god, please tell them! Tell them Regto didn’t do anything–”
His throat forcibly closes as he watches the girl's eyes dull and body slump, the bright shine of her eyes that he had been admiring just early replaced with a dark look of contempt. The doll he had gotten her dropped to the muddy floor as if it were nothing, its pristine fabric tarnished with the mud and foot prints of all of those who trample it. He’s about to yell after her again, begging her to listen to him and not see him like the sinner that everyone else does; but his voice is drowned out by the ravenous vultures that crowd around him and his demise, lips practically salivating to see him be thrown down and away–
“Send the filth to the pit!”
The chanting is deafening, and he can't help but feel dizzy. There has been a series of life changing events in the span of one afternoon and yet the violence is the thing that remains the same. He can barely think straight, eyes blurring as he scans the crowd once more; whether it be out of a cruel hope of realizing he hadnt been abandoned by those closest to him or to remember the faces of those who scorned him and his father, he couldnt tell. All thoughts went out the window when he saw a still figure in the crowd consumed by outrage, feeling their cool gaze striking through him his head rears back as he yells loud enough that he's sure the bastard heard him over the chanting that drowns out the clearing.
“You…I’ll get you for this! I don’t care if I have to claw my way back up from hell, if it's the last thing I do, I'm gonna make you wish you’d never have been born you piece of shi–”
The feeling of weightlessness is all he can process, his ears ringing and burst as the sound of wind rushing deafens his ears. Within moments the cliff's edge falls further and further from reach, gravity pulling both further and further into the inky depths of the abyss. He whips his head around and frantically scans the sky, the clouds tumbling all around him doing little to distract him despite his stomach hurling and cramping at their violent battle with gravity.
Rudo’s eyes lock onto Regto's figure that now hangs over the edge, their body slowly shrinking as he continues to fall into the unknown. He wants to scream and shout, the injustice of it all eating at him as he watches his father become little more than a spec. His body feels heavy, mind reeling with a rage so deep and complex that it feels like his very bones are on fire.
He wants to curse every single person on that dumb sphere, have them feel a fraction of the betrayal and agony that sears his chest as he falls into the depths of hell with nothing but a small hope that Regto's words were more than simple empty promises in their last moments. He glares into the distance, barely shaking as he sees something that resembles a curled giant between the smog and clouds of the sphere; just another unknown to add onto the now seemingly endless list. Whether he has to climb back out of the pits of hell or drag them down with him, he doesn't care. If it's the last thing he does he'll get revenge on the bastards, the thought comforting him in his final moments awake; his body finally succumbing to the darkness as he's knocked unconscious.