Expo Spork & Mari - Vignettes

[HighVoltage]

Mari jumped as the sound of a door slamming shut broke her out of her trance. The now lukewarm water streamed down her, rinsing microscopic bits of blood and gore off her body. That was odd. She was sure she’d set it to hot. She reached out and twisted the knob, only to find it didn’t budge.

Weird. She’d have to talk to someone about that. She’d only been in here a few minutes, the water should still be its usual scorching temperature. She ran her fingers through her hair, frowning when it snagged and caught slightly on their rough, wrinkled texture.

Mari looked down at her hands, eyes squinting in confusion. They were pruned from an extended time in the water, which didn’t make sense. She’d just gotten in, had just taken a second to let the water wash over her. Or had she? Had she gotten clean already? Was she clean?

Her heart climbed into her throat as Mari ran her fingers through her hair again, feeling all the hardened flecks of dried blood still coating her hair, saw the crimson caught in the lines of her hands. She stared down at the shower floor, at the inch or so of blood-soaked water that had slowly built up around the mass of viscera and hair that clotted the drain.

A clatter came from somewhere in the apartment, the sound of Spork existing and finally coming home. Mari’s head jerked up at the sound, hand fumbling to slam the water off. Before the flow had turned to a trickle, she had already ripped the curtain open, hurriedly stepping over the edge of the tub.

She stumbled, legs far too shaky, foot catching on the edge as she was overcome with the sudden need to get as far away from the shower as possible. She caught herself, twisting the doorknob a couple times before she realized the issue and turned the lock.

“Spork?” She called out hesitantly, bare feet cold against the vinyl flooring, voice trembling ever so slightly. She began moving as soon as she heard their reply, stumbling forward on unsteady legs in the direction of their voice.

As soon as she got in range, Mari threw her arms around them, fingers digging into their clothing, completely oblivious to the fact that she was still dripping wet from the shower. She pulled herself tight to them, drinking in every bit of their warmth and still shivering from the cold feeling she just couldn't shake. They felt slippery under her fingers, and she had to keep adjusting her grip to hold onto them, to keep them from slipping away.

Her legs trembled and Mari felt them buckle, tightening her grip on Spork with a faint squeak as her heart suddenly began to pound out of her chest. It was only temporary, and after a moment Mari was able to get her feet back under her, although she still clung to Spork like they were a life preserver in a storm.

"Hey." She croaked out quietly, some vague attempt at normalcy. Even that took effort, as though the words were stuck in her throat. The thought just made it tighten further, and Mari let the silence fill what little space was left between them, if any.

 

[Katpride]

…Except that Mari would probably be grossed out by there being something weird on the doorknob, and probably blame them, and do they really want to deal with that? No, no they do not. Sighing, Spork flicks open the cabinet under the sink and drops to a knee to dig through the assorted cleaning supplies stored there. Their questing hand bumps into the distinct tubular shape of the Clorox wipes after only a few moments’ worth of searching, and they pull the whole container out, tucking it under their arm and absentmindedly kicking the cabinet shut again as they head for the door.

Mari’s voice stops them in their tracks, surprise rooting their feet to the floor just a few steps away from their destination. They recover quickly, calling back a “Yeah?” and, after a moment’s consideration, tossing the whole container of wipes at the door and abandoning their task in favor of moving towards her. Their earbuds are their next victims, yanked unceremoniously out of their ears and shoved in their pockets after they hastily pause their music. They’re moving quickly, because Mari sounds… scared, almost, and they don’t like it. It takes a lot to freak her out, and even more to get her to sound so spooked. She could be fucking with them, of course, but in any case it’s probably better to check it out than assume it’s nothing. “You o-? Oof.”

She barrels into them with a surprising amount of force, clinging on impact with her arms wrapped tightly around their waist, skin freezing cold against their bare midriff. It’s enough to make them yelp and stumble back a step, though they’re able to steady them both with a hastily-placed hand on the wall after a moment. “Whoaaa-kay. Hi, you god-damn gremlin. What did you do, jump in a river? You’re freezing!”

Their other hand had landed on her back, halfway to returning the hug, and they realize belatedly that her hair is dripping wet, the cool water streaming down her back and falling in rivulets over their knuckles every time she moves. Wait, no, it isn’t just her hair. She’s drenched, covered in water and not much else, and their confusion spikes, both because of these troubling details and because she still hasn’t said anything, not even a single snarky remark about stealing their warmth.

Uncaring of the water soaking into their clothes, they take their hand off the wall and hug her properly, concern beginning to overtake their own instinctual snark. She’s shivering, they realize, another twist of discomfort joining the uneasy feeling in their gut. What the hell?

“Hey. Wh-” She trips on nothing, suddenly dead weight in their arms, and they catch her, of course, arms tightening around her back to haul her back up, but in the process it’s like their mouth dries up, words shriveling on their tongue until all they can manage is a tiny, nervous laugh, an almost tentative heheh? that dies all too quickly in the face of her worrying silence.

They can’t seem to find their voice again, so instead they just smooth their hand over her hair, noting both its squeaky cleanness and its terrible dryness, no doubt the result of too much shampoo and not enough conditioner. Maybe not any conditioner, they note with a frown, pinching the ends between two fingers. It isn’t like her to forget.

She finally speaks, then, and they blow out a breath, relieved and concerned all at once.

“...Hey,” they reply, voice just as quiet as hers and twice as gentle. They drop the ends of her hair and go back to petting it, bending their neck just enough to rest their forehead on the top of her head. “What’s got you all spooked, Mar? Need me to kill something for you? ‘Cause I’ll do it, no questions asked. …Except maybe where. And what. And how dead you want it, like, for realsies.

“But just say the word and I’ll go get my good ass-kicking boots. Just for you. I will get in there and I will go full Kung-Fu Panda on its ass. And then I’ll scorch the earth. And salt the earth. Sauté it, even!” They jostle her lightly, playfully, trying desperately to get a laugh from her, or, failing that, to cheer her up a little. Their smile is forced, fading slightly as they drop back into seriousness for just a moment. “Just say the word, Mak. Did something happen? Someone say something? Do something? What’s up?”

 

[HighVoltage]

They caught her, just like she’d known they would, even if a tiny voice had been whispering in her ear that there would be nothing there, that she’d run into nothing and slip and fall and crash into a pool of blood, that the bang had actually been the mugger breaking back into the apartment to finish the job, that any second since she got home she’d feel the starburst pain of a bullet in the back of her skull and this time she wouldn’t come back.

They caught her, and held her close, pouring all their warmth into the yawning void of cold that was Mariko Ito. She shivered against them, heartbeat managing to settle from a breakneck pace down to a rapid one. Her breaths lengthened ever so slightly, millimeters to centimeters. She couldn’t tell if her eyes were even open, she couldn’t see anything, hear anything, could only register the rumble of a familiar voice.

Spork caught her, voice rough but soothing, a cat’s tongue attempting to clean her wounds. But her wounds had all closed up, not even having the decency to pull the insides back in. And she refused to acknowledge the ones that hadn’t quite closed properly, the ones inside her that she figured would heal in time if she just didn’t pay attention to them.

Spork caught her, and with a flicker their words came into focus, sharpening as though she’d just received a bout of percussive maintenance. They were joking, at least trying to. She could hear the worried undercurrent in their words, the way that their voice remained low and soft, as if trying not to spook her. They wanted to help, to make her laugh, to cut through the tension that clung to the two of them like a particularly ill-fitting cloak.

The comments on killing for her just sent another crackle of ice-cold fire shooting up her spine and crawling along the surface of her brain. But she pushed it down, forcing a half-formed thing that could only generously be called a smile onto her face and shoving a short chuckle through it. She knew that neither of them bought it, but they were trying. They were trying so hard to help, to cheer her up, to figure out what was wrong.

Spork had caught her, and now Mari had to lie to them.

She didn’t want to, and the thought of it set something curdling in her stomach. She’d rather lie to her mother than to them, and yet that was the only option. If she told Spork the events that had happened that evening, they would have a freakout of unprecedented proportions. They may have actually rushed out murder the guy who did it. She couldn’t do that to them. She wasn’t even sure if it really happened, if she was going crazy or not. Perhaps this had all been some stress-induced hallucination, some psychotic break that came from a combination of far too little sleep and far too much caffeine.

“I uh-” Her voice was hoarse, her mouth so dry she felt like she could drink every last drop of water on the planet and still need another gallon. She coughed before starting again. “I, uh, got mugged. On my way home from work.” The lie tore at her as it came out, barbed hooks dragging through her chest as she lied to her best friend, to the person who wanted more than anything to help her.

“They caught the guy, though. Got my wallet back.” Another weak chuckle, another sickening feeling that sent an icy trickle down her throat to settle in her stomach. “Just, uh. Shook me. A little.” Yet another chuckle, perhaps enough to even convince Spork that she truly was somewhat even close to okay. It sure didn't convince her.

 

[Katpride]

“Oh, shit,” Spork breathes, their fingers digging into her skin just a little bit more as the full weight of what she’s saying washes over them. She was mugged. No wonder she sounds so shaken. When they find whoever did it they’re gonna-

“Damn.” They rock forward onto their toes, then think better of it and drop back down on their heels, resettling their arms so she’s pulled even closer against their chest. The wash of protective anger that had been kindling in their lungs gutters, leaving a sharply aching hollow that they have to take an extra-deep breath to push past. They do, and then press their cheek into her hair, glaring aimlessly at nothing in particular. “Well, that’s good at least.”

She keeps coughing out these terrible, shaky laughs, and after the last one they shake their head with enough force that they muss her hair a little. Smoothing it back down with gentle fingers, they draw back just far enough that she can see their face, their free hand ghosting over her jaw so they can make sure she’s looking in the right direction. They’re frowning lightly, and they push their shades up into their hair so she can tell that they’re extra-super-serious, even making an effort to focus their eyes where they think hers will be. “Hey, hey, no. Quit that crappy fake laugh shit. Shit sucks. It sounds awful, and I’m glad you’re okay but also, like, you’re so not and I am so walking you to the office every fucking day from here on out. What the fuck.”

They take a breath before the tangent can get away from them, shaking their head and dropping their voice back down to a more comforting patter. “Not the point. Kind of the point. But dammit, Mar, what I’m saying is it’s okay to freak the fuck out. It’s, like, your god-given right. Hell-given. Dammit.”

They’ve lost the plot. Eyebrows knit, they press their lips together in a thin line, then attempt to curve that line into a smile. They know that it’s probably somewhere between a fool’s errand and a lifelong quest, trying to get Mariko Ito to feel her goddamn feelings rather than locking them behind twenty-nine vault doors and seventy brick walls, but that won’t stop them from trying. Once in a while. Okay, all the time. Whenever she needs it. Whatever.

“Offer stands for me to go kick that guy’s teeth in, by the way. You get first dibs, though, if you want. …Actually, we can do whatever you wanna do. Like, not just assault and/or battery. Maybe some Mythbusters? …Yeah? Yeah. Let’s watch some dudes do weird science experiments. That’s just what the doctor ordered.”