Chapter Text
Tamsy rouses from his slumber, shuffling under the covers as he slowly becomes aware of his surroundings.
He lifts himself up, hair falling onto his shoulders as he rubs his eyes, seeing Arkha approach the bed.
“You’re awake, I just finished cleaning,” he notes, sitting next to Tamsy as he makes himself comfortable under the covers with the blonde.
He looks around, no messy sheets, no stains, and my body feels oddly refreshed, “hm, I noticed.” He replies, propping his head up against the pillow as he stares at Arkha, who doesn’t meet his gaze.
Tamsy brings his hand out of the covers, tracing the man’s muscles, “what did you see?” He asks nonchalantly, not even looking at Arkha as he finally looks at him, gray eyes wide.
“Normally, people don’t want to talk about hidden things inside them,” he says quietly, turning over to tuck his blonde hair out of his face, Tamsy’s eyes flicker, then squint as he scowls.
He huffs, “well I’m not exactly normal, am I?” He retorts, then looks at him with a grin, “besides, I’m curious, I wonder what you saw within me, I bet it was fun,” he muses, leaning in closer to Arkha as he rests his head on the man’s shoulder.
Arkha sighs, “first thing I saw was blood.”
“Wasn’t mine,” Tamsy states, the other raises a brow, “how do you know?” He smiles, “I just do.”
Seeing that Tamsy wasn’t willing to provide anything other than small commentary, he continues.
“Then a book, the cover was blurry.” He recalls, it was worn and old but the front was completely blurred from his memory.
The smaller man smiled, “interesting.”
“Next were black and white clouds, separated by a line of clear sky.” Ah, the border. His grin grew wider, “symbolic, isn’t it?” He comments, fiddling with Arkha’s hands as he looks at him through his thick lashes.
Arkha doesn’t reply, “there was an angry, faceless mob. Seemed like you were in the middle of it,” he says, eyeing Tamsy. The blonde merely hummed but Arkha pressed further, “Sphereites, I’m guessing?”
That made Tamsy’s eyes crinkle with twisted joy, “who’s to say?”
They stare at each other like that for a moment, tension building, until Arkha decides to turn his head away, “after that, I saw a blinding light, it was just pure white.”
The blonde lets go of his hand and then traces his neck, “akin to God’s light?” He suggests, voice uncomfortably close to his ear.
Arkha doesn’t say anything and ignores him, “the next few things weren’t even visible, but I felt it. It was anger, then disgust, and lastly, indifference.” He says, hand grasping Tamsy’s wandering one.
The blonde huffs out a quiet laugh, “oh my, I was quite young then, such juvenile emotions.” He says lightly, “if it makes your poor heart feel better, I’m no longer like that now.” A cruel smirk adorns his face, his lovely, angelic face.
The cleaner frowned slightly, “how young were you?” He asks, voice low.
Tamsy thinks for a second, “maybe around Rudo’s age? Or even before that.. Well, whatever, it was years ago anyways,” he says offhandedly, dismissing the topic as he eyes Arkha to continue. And he does.
“Then, it was through a mirror.. But it was your body,” he continues, eyes trailing down to the blonde’s neck and exposed upper chest, which are promptly covered as Tamsy tuts.
He lifts a finger to Arkha’s chin, lifting it so they make eye contact.
“My eyes are up here, Arkha.” He states, pale yellow eyes full of amusement.
The man’s breath hitches, as Tamsy continues to speak. “My body is littered with scars, that’s a fact. I don’t care for them, they are insignificant and hold no meaning to anyone, so don’t get the wrong idea.” He asserts, voice seething with annoyance.
Follo’s scars probably got to him. Arkha concludes, merely smiling casually and nodding.
He stares ahead, “the last one..” He trails off, deciding whether or not to reveal the last thing he saw, which was his own face with pure, unadulterated joy. Is that how I look like to him?
Tamsy bats his lashes at him, “the last one?” He repeats, but Arkha chuckles and wraps an arm around the blonde, pulling them closer as their bodies are flushed against one another.
“That one’s a secret,” he finishes, nuzzling into Tamsy’s hair as he closes his eyes. The blonde makes a face, “what? Tell me,” he orders, poking at Arkha’s chest and arm, which the man doesn’t respond to.
He looks up and sees his boss already asleep. Miffed, Tamsy clicks his tongue and begrudgingly nestles into Arkha’s embrace, slowly falling asleep to the sound of his steady breath.
In the middle of a polluted zone, Tamsy stands at a high point, wearing a cloak to cover his figure as well as his mask, turning only slightly as he sees Mymo approach him, posture confident with his arms spread wide.
“Cloud-gazing? No news of trash storms rolling in anytime soon!” He greets, voice loud and obnoxious as ever.
How can anyone bear to listen to him?
He glares through his mask, “remember the plan?” Tamsy asks, sticking strictly to his professional tone, not wanting to deal with Mymo anymore than he has to.
The man nods, then flashes him a self-assured smirk, “as clear as day, Angel.” He confirms, a disgusting look forming in his eyes as he stares back.
Tamsy snarls, quickly closing the distance between them.
“Don’t call me that.” He snaps, it’s clear that Mymo thinks less of him to feel better about himself, shrugging and twirling his jinki between his fingers.
“Is that not what you are? Hmmmm?” The reporter taunts, and Tamsy has the urge to kill him before any of the Cleaners do.
His taunt is meant to demean him, lower Tamsy’s position in the grand scheme of things since Mymo will become a ‘God’. Ha! This delusional freak! And angels are servants of God.
As if I’ll become this idiot’s plaything.
He steps back and keeps eye contact with him, “words are your greatest strength and can be wielded as a sword,” Tamsy states, pulling out his sword, pointing it right in the reporter’s neck.
He watches the man gulp, a small bead of sweat forming as he tries to hide his fear.
“Don’t make me use mine, Mymo.” He says with finality, wings forming on his back as they flap to lift him into the air, sun shining off the thin thread to make it glow, giving off a divine aura.
And just like that, Tamsy leaves Mymo to enact the rest of the plan, flying up towards the sphere, piercing through the white clouds and seeing the Watchman’s silhouette in the far distance. Its body is ominous and haunting, but Tamsy ignores it.
There’s a dull, pointed pain in his eye, then spreading to all over his body.
Damn Watchman. He curses, flapping his wings harder as he reaches the black clouds of the Sphere.
He flies up to his safe house, a small unsuspecting shack within the slums that no one cares about, quickly shedding his cloak and mask.
Tamsy changes into noble Sphereite clothing, taking out his labret and hair, letting it sway with every move he makes.
As he takes one last look in the mirror, he scrutinizes himself.
Tight clothing. No piercings. No trash beasts. No Arkha.
Only stuck up over consumeristic people who treat those below them like shit.
As he walks out, he dons a cap and a stern look on his face, imitating a guard on duty.
Once he passes through the slums, entering the noble side of the Sphere, he smiles gently and exudes a kind and compassionate spirit, similar to a loving mother. On the inside, he’s absolutely fuming.
I would genuinely rather be on the Ground eating shit than be in this sorry excuse of a society.
People glance twice at him, waving, nodding towards him in greeting, women compliment his hair as men blush then look away embarrassed, realizing he’s a man.
But then, there’s some who recoil slightly at the sight of his scar.
He pretends to not see them, walking languidly towards the castle at the highest peak on the Sphere.
After an hour or so, he reaches the staircase to said castle, acknowledging others who’re leaving or arriving just like him.
As he enters, servants rush to his side, donning him in more appropriate, noble, and dignified clothing, making it stick to his skin as it accentuates his figure and hides the scar on his neck.
In an act of small rebellion, he lets his hair sway onto his left side rather than the right, showing his scar that goes all across the right side of his face.
To no one, Tamsy wonders out loud, “it feels nice to be home, doesn’t it?” He lies, a soft smile adorning his lips.
One week goes by painfully slow, much to the blonde’s chagrin.
He spends his days deep in the castle’s library, researching everything he already knows about the Ground and Watchman’s series. Sometimes, he stays in his large and luxuriously furnished room, simply fiddling with Tokushin in hand or reading through the Watchman’s book, bored out of his mind.
On most nights, he lays in bed and thinks about the Ground. How he misses the freedom, the suspense and thrill he experiences there whereas up on top, he can’t even rollerskate through the streets without being looked down upon and stopped.
Under the covers, Tamsy closes his eyes and thinks of the missing warmth beside his body. He indulges in his memories for just a moment, thinking of Arkha but then he lights a fire within himself, a corrupted grin on his face.
I need to find some sort of exercise right? He thinks, donning a cloak hidden within a secret room. It’s been a couple of days since the last execution… Yeah, that’ll do.
As Tamsy sneaks out to fulfill his growing need to ‘stretch his legs’, which in reality is to cause trouble.
Such as, framing a murder or tricking some poor unfortunate soul to commit a crime, sending them to the pit as he watches within the crowd, desensitized to the noise and rave.
He isn’t swayed by people’s anger anymore, and sadness is too pathetic to even watch.
And as Tamsy stands in the crowd the next day, he sees the criminal’s last look into the sea of people, a look of utter hopelessness. However it isn’t directed towards him, but beside him.
He sees a woman staring ahead, tears welling in her eyes as she covers her mouth to muffle the choked up sounds.
The blonde turns his head, “miss?” He says slowly, she doesn’t answer.
And as the executioner reads out the man’s crime and sentence, he’s dropped into the abyss.
He’ll be dead before he even hits the Ground.
But right before he was released, the final look in his eyes was not mournful resignation or bitterness to the hypocrisy of their world, it was… Love?
The woman beside him hides her face in her hands, and as he leans closer, he can hear her sob.
And strangely enough, he doesn’t think it’s out of sadness.
Instead, it’s out of fondness.
Tamsy grimaces, and hurries to leave, leaving the crying woman and crowd as he runs into the slums, careful not to be seen by anyone as he removes his clothing and throws on his cloak and mask, forming his wings and lets himself fall off the edge of the Sphere.
As he falls, he witnesses the blank space between the clouds, noticing its brightness.
God’s light, my ass. He scoffs, entering the clouds below him as he lands on an abandoned building top.
Tamsy looks around, not seeing anyone within miles. It’s just a deserted wasteland. And in the corner of his eye, he sees a worn out, ripped up poster that reads ‘Doll Festival’.
He grins, so this is the result of Mymo’s grand plan. Not bad. The entire area was destroyed, the barrier to protect the town from falling trash completely shattered, a large dome crumpled, streets filled with broken pieces of concrete and decorations.
He takes off his facial mask and replaces it with a gasmask, finally breathing in nonpolluted air.
As he puts on his choker, he taps it, “Mymo?” Tamsy calls out, only to be met with silence. He chuckles to himself and releases the choker, “ahh.. He got taken in by the Hellguards I’m guessing,” he wanders outloud, making his way through the rubble.
“Then that leaves Gountess with… The Cleaners.” He states, face lit up with twisted determination, wings flapping again to avoid walking.
Tamsy flies through the air, looking down upon the trash heaps and various towns on the Ground, putting his blonde hair up into a bun as he sees the Cleaner’s base in the distance, settling in a concealed area to deactivate Tokushin.
He sneaks in through his room window, which he left open before he left, shoving his cloak and mask into the deepest corner of his dresser as he changes into more loose fitting clothing and puts his labret back in.
As he lets his hair down, he revels for just a moment.
Fuuuuckkkk the Sphere! Fuck the Sphere! I fucking hate that place!
The blonde sinks his head into his sleeves, then suddenly pulls his hair in irritation.
Once he collects himself, combing his fingers through his hair as he quietly leaves his room as he makes his way to the infirmary.
It’s quiet.
Eerily quiet. It’s night time now, everyone’s asleep, lights are out. It’s perfect.
As he creaks the door open, he sees only one patient in a bed.
Gountess.
He’s hooked up to a million IVs, an oxygen mask stuck to his face, and tucked in all snug courtesy of Eishia. There’s fake flowers and cards all across his bed, if Tamsy didn’t know any better, he would’ve assumed he died.
The blonde creeps his way to the side of his bed, shutting the door with a faint click, he looms over the sickly man.
“I know you’re awake.” He says, voice low and hostile.
He watches Gountess crack his eyes open, “are you… Here to kill me?” He rasps out, grimacing at his efforts, Tamsy smiles and hums, “not right now, but I do need a favour from you, Gountess.” He says, tone light despite the heavy topic.
The man glares at Tamsy as he leans in closer, grabbing him by the neck and squeezing it slightly, just to scare him a bit.
“Where is Mymo right now?” Tamsy asks, moving his fingers to the choker around Gountess’ neck, tugging it harshly. The other smirks slightly, “kill me.. I don’t care.” He says proudly, and Tamsy chuckles letting him go as he falls onto the bed, wincing.
He activates Tokushin, “oh my, that’s quite sad, isn’t it? How would she react if you told her that?” He taunts, forming a flower with thread, it’s a lily.
This gets a reaction out of the man, his eyes go wide as his mouth forms into an ugly snarl, “you fucking bastard,” he rasps, mustering all the strength in his body to try and lunge at Tamsy.
He doesn’t move an inch, simply smiling at the man and deactivating Tokushin, “now, now, Gountess. I would never hurt a revered celebrity, much less your beloved,” he lies, soft words flowing freely from his mouth as he lifts a sleeve to his mouth, hiding half of his twisted grin.
“Unless I have to, I just need this small favour,” he reiterates, switching back to his innocent facade.
He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, “it won’t hurt anyone, I promise.” Another lie. It’ll certainly hurt someone, but I doubt Gountess cares about Mymo, only the information he holds. We’re quite similar, aren’t we Choker-maker? The blonde muses internally, watching the man sigh defeatedly, looking down at his lap.
He mutters, “last I heard… Was that he was getting transferred to a different prison,” he confesses, “somewhere closer to the Hell Guard’s main base.. They’re almost there,” he continues, voice ragged from the lack of use.
Tamsy hums, if I go out now I can wipe him out before anyone notices. He pulls out a book from his satchel, casting the same memory altering spell he put on Amo on Gountess; in his state, the man wouldn’t be able to fight back at all.
Gountess promptly passes out after, and Tamsy makes his move, leaving from the windows instead of the door, already set on killing Mymo.
Hell Guard’s base, huh? That’s quite the trip. Maybe I’ll bring souvenirs for everyone as a gift.
His mind flashes to sweets, then to Arkha, imagining the man’s face as he receives foreign treats.
Tamsy bites his lip, thoughts taking a twisted turn.
I can’t wait to see what face he makes after I kill that pathetic fuck! He’d probably be so angry, losing all that precious information… Rudo too!
As Tamsy zooms through the air, excitement gets the better of him, unable to hide it as he loses himself in his sadistic fantasies.
Ahh.. This is so good! The only other person who has access to all the knowledge of the Ground and Sphere mysteriously dying without a word is sure to fuel his hate! To free him from those pitiful feelings of camaraderie and family!
Don’t worry, Mymo. Your death will contribute to history. To destruction.