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The Sphere had more than what the Ground had to offer.
It offered nothing to Rudo living in the slums, but, it had simple things that the Ground never had. It lacked trash and it was his home. However, it lacked the diverse culture and an appreciation for art that the Ground did, but to Rudo, it felt like home no matter how poorly he was treated up there. No matter how much the anger crawled under his skin, or the itch that permeated every inch of his body. It was his home, home is wherever Regto lived. However, he was far from home. The itch began to crawl out from his hands and clung to the rest of his body as he thought of the last good memory he had of the Sphere.
The soft hands of Regto ruffling his hair, his mouth open in what should be a boisterous laugh. In Rudo's memory nothing had remained of his father figure. His face, laughter, and voice all were absent the only thing that remained was the filthy uniform but every memory still had the blood stain and the gaping wound staring back at Rudo. He barely remembered the colour of Regto's hair or whether or not he had a beard and how long it could've been. The last memory that remained was the soft, kind feeling that came with Regto and how everything fell away around him.
Rudo missed the Sphere. He missed everything before that day. He would take everything back just for another day with Regto. His gloves, his connections in the Ground, the taste of sweets, the gift he gave Chiwa. He just missed the man's face. The more he thought of the memory of Regto the more his head began to hurt, pain soaring through his temples as the memory felt as if it was scribbled over and thrown into the trash. Pushing against his temples and grumbling Rudo began to attempt to remember Regto for a second time.
He remembered how softly he was held when he had an episode of nightmares. How Regto used to sing lullabies, or were they stories? He missed when Regto took his gloves gently from his hands and had let the gloves marinate while he gently massaged the Rudo's rough hands and re-wrapped the bandages. Despite the title of the Slums it was marginally cleaner than what the Ground was. He never itched the way he does now, sure, he felt pain and a growing itch with his hands but his clothes always smelt soft and his hair was washed and brushed while Regto hummed. He knew that Regto hummed. He remembered the way his body swayed to the tune that Regto had sung. He never remembered what the song was but he knew it was something Regto heard from the other side of the wall. He understood that it wasn't in the stories that Regto read to him. It is a memory that the pain and slow steady act of memory loss can't take from him.
He knew the air wasn't thick up in the Sphere and most dirt came from the floor and it never sat in the air waiting to cling to his hair. When he went back to his home it was an open space and the entire space felt cleaner than any space in the entire world combined. It was accustomed to him. He remembered the walls vaguely the bright colours that Regto found in the market. He thinks back to his fall. How Regto's body is possibly still rotting in the house. Still as maggots claim what remains. Or did they drop his body over the edge into the Ground? Is his body within the trash beasts he battles day in and out? Has a trash storm taken his body across the entire world. Where will the items in his house now, the market must've taken his belongings and house. Dust collecting until someone else finds the house, sits under the same roof that he and Regto did months prior. Coughing from the dust, seeing the blood stained permanently into the carpet. He misses that house. The feeling in his head began to drum louder as the memory began to fall apart slowly. His hand burning up and a hiss escaping from Rudo. Opening his eyes and wiping the memory away from his head, the burning stopped and he began to think about the Ground.
When he walks through the Ground on trips and cleaning sprees he always feels one thing. Extremely dirty. Rudo knew it was part of the job, as a Cleaner he had to take down trash beasts in dangerous zones. Trash beasts are made from trash so no wonder he felt filthy and the landscape was too dangerous to breathe in. Of course he felt dirty, he was surrounded by dirt. Causing damage to the lungs from overexposure. He knew how it felt to not have a mask and to breathe in the harsh air. The way it choked and tore his throat stuffing his nose and clawing at every part of his body. Cutting away at him with no mercy. He remembered how his eyes watered in agony as he was being chased and he had to breathe no matter what even if it caused him pain. He remembers the way Enjin came, saved him from choking to death before he could even exact his revenge, before he could even come up with a plan. No matter the layers he wore and how quickly he went in and out of a polluted zone his skin itched. Not just his hands but his face back and legs all flared up in burning pain from the air. He presumed all the other cleaners felt the same and either got used to it or had learnt what clothes worked best, an example being Riyo and Zanka. But when he asked them he only got an eyebrow raise, some hums, and a teasing 'you sleeping with bed bugs now Rudo?'
So maybe he didn't ask anybody else from the cleaners but began to stare at them all during and after missions. Noticed how they complained about whatever got on their hair, the stench that clung to them from the battle. Hell, he noticed how Guita seemed to sniff at her onesie and shrug as if the insulating fabric wasn't driving her mad. He saw the opened-toed attire of Semiu and August and how casual they felt when walking across HQ. This began the realisation that the only one truly suffering from this persistent itch was him. The first thing that flooded in his head was shame. He knew deep down that everybody else was used to their environment, he was the only one from HQ from the Sphere, of course he would still be itching from the heavy dust but he couldn't itch that feeling away. Was he unable to wash himself? He knew that he didn't have a detailed routine like Riyo but he can't be that bad.
He remembered how Riyo complimented his hair when he first fell, the softness that seemed like a surprise. Touching his hair the ends and root felt just as soft as before. His head was his pride and joy, the itch never reached there and Regto had his hands stuck ruffling his hair the dust never clung for long always disappearing when he shook his head. Keeping that pride he followed Riyo on a day off and bought some similar supplies that she bought. Shampoos, Conditioners, Body washes while Riyo seemed to buy ones that had no label, something that she said she preferred when it came to scents.
His nose wasn't as strong as others from the Cleaners but he knew he preferred the clean wood smells that Regto had clinging to his skin. He never knew that buying scents was possible Delmon told him how rare flowers were, anything that had a non trash smell seemed rare. Zanka and Follo had told him of wood colognes and how lighting incense can cling to the person, buying incense sticks and sitting in his room he was dedicated to remove the clinging itch that sits on him. He scrubbed at his skin daily taking the soap bar to every nook and cranny until he felt his skin burn under the water. But as he stepped out of the shower the unnerving itch began to spread across his body again. He remembered how he never itched this much with Regto and it began to drive him completely mad.
As he put his clothing on he wrapped his hands slowly in front of the mirror facing himself rather than the bandages. His face felt like it was on fire the itch taking control and making him wish to scratch. He knew with the bandages on his left hand he wouldn't be able to scratch as effectively, but he would risk agitating and damaging his skin and hands with his right. So he continued to stare, his deep eye bags felt noticeable and his hair fell flat soaked against his face and his back. And as he continued to stare the itch began to encase the nape of his neck. Sighing, he finished wrapping his hands and began to towel dry his hair scratching at his neck with the old and battered towel irritating his skin more. He knew if anyone from the Cleaners saw him and his careless methods he would be scolded. He was only making the feeling worse he knew his skin was beginning to turn blotchy and red where he scrubbed but the feeling refused to leave no matter his methods. While within his hands were a searing heat causing unrelenting pain, the itching was akin to a fly buzzing at his ear. Throwing the towel onto the door he began to make his way into his bed. He knew if he laid under the blanket he would begin to feel suffocated so he took to laying on top of it on his back facing his broken fan. He suggested to Enjin and even Gris that he could fix any of the broken fans in the HQ but they both patted him on the shoulder, telling him the height seems a bit too dangerous for him, that the work should be left to someone taller. That may have ended with Rudo red faced and shouting childish insults but that's neither here nor there.
When he laid in his bed at the Cleaner's it felt catastrophically different to the Sphere. And as he laid there he began to think about the sudden change, how he was only thrown down from the Sphere a couple months ago. The Sphere was quiet with the simple sound of gear churning and the soft footsteps of guards around the slums. However the Cleaner's had the soft sound of vents and the distant sounds of trash falling from the Sphere. If Rudo strained his ear he could hear someone from upstairs, possibly Riyo, moving around their room a faint hum of the television playing while drawers are opened and shut. Turning and tossing in his sheets the air somehow felt too stiff and stagnant in his room itching at his neck and back Rudo pushed his body up twisting to face his window. Staring at the foggy landscape he hovered above the handle. If he opened the window he would probably feel more filthy in the morning, or he would just be unable to sleep without any airflow in his room. Shit. Scratching at his shoulder he began to stare at the pile on the floor remembering when the others in Team Akuta had poked fun at his hoarding habits but beginning to scratch at his neck further, he might realise it to be a problem making him feel weirder. He stared at the pile intensely.
He never noticed how large the pile was, nor how it wasn't ordered one bit from sorted to non-sorted. He knew that he had wiped them all down but they still weren't as clean as they were supposed to. A scratched cone with damaged corners stared at him drilling holes into his head. It felt like it was psychoanalysing him. Turning to face a stapler and then at last the mirror. Unlike the one in the bathroom it distorted his figure, according to the others its main purpose was in a mirror maze in a circus. Why that would be fun and not unnerving is lost on Rudo but he enjoyed the way the light bends and distorts. He saw how the frame was broken, split in two and stained with unknown trash juice and the foggy stain on the glass. It was the easiest of the many items to fix. He began to second think using it in a battle and to instead keep in his room to keep the members of Team Child happy when they come to visit him in his room. Staring at his face in the mirror however he began to hate how it made him look. Pathetic. His eyes were dragged further down to make him look tired and upset his features were all made to look comically pathetic. But his arms and body began to flare in indescribable pain. Hissing as he turned away from the mirror he began to stretch his limbs, pat at his forearms, and rub whatever body part he could. Groaning he pulled his upper body up. If he couldn't get the fresh air, he'll have to go for something cooler. Staring at the troublesome pile he thought that was a problem for another day. Beginning to crawl to the edge of the bed Rudo began to climb down and walk the etched out path, really how did he not realise how much he was hoarding, to the bathroom and crawling into the bathtub. Resting his head and feet on the cool porcelain of the tub he began to relax huffing against the side. His body began to calm down, accepting the cold and fresh feeling of the tub instead of his stuffy room.Maybe he can get some rest in here.