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Jabber’s ribs fucking ached after all that laughing. A burning, festering, delicious ache that stabbed and shocked and burned and punched with every little twitch and spasm his body made. It hurt so good, Jabber thought he might just cry. The broken snap of his lower ribs grating like a knife right up snug against his soft, little lungs. One wrong move, and pop! There would go his lungs, popped like a too-full balloon. And then his airways would flood with his syrupy blood and he’d cough and he’d choke on he’d—oh!
He sighed, deep and pleased, as his laughter settled into snickers. The wound on his chest was pulsing in time with his heartbeat. He let out a small whoop of delight as he clumsily fumbled to feel at the wound better. Maybe he’d poke it at more, dig his fingers all up in it and get it open and raw. “Mmm, my boy got me fucked up! Ain’t that right—“
When he tilted his head to look over at Zanka, the blond’s hysterical laughter had turned into a choking, wheezing sound as his hands clawed desperately at the ground. Sick.
“Ah, can’t swallow anymore?” The headrush was getting to Jabber as he felt his lips lazily creep into a smile that made his cheeks hurt wonderfully.
Zanka made a strangled sound, nimble hands clawing at the ground. “F-” Zanka struggled to get air in as the laughter continued, as if against his will. Those baby blues of his rolled towards the ceiling as his dark pupils contracted to teeny-tiny points like a needle, like the tip of Mankira’s claws. “‘S, I’ll kill y-ya–” the threat fell flat when Zanka could barely finish a sentence without the shrieking, high laugh that ripped his throat raw. “‘ll kill you so–”
Awww, look at him go. Jabber almost felt a twinge of fondness, the kind that people felt for small, helpless animals, or bugs that people admired before they crushed them. That hallucinogen was really working wonders. He’d have to keep this particular strain along the wicked edges of his precious Mankira more often.
Jabber sat up to watch the sight before him and the movement twinged his wounded side like a red-hot firepoker sooo well that he had to bite back the groan as he settled next to Zanka’s prone form.
Zanka wasn’t looking any better from up above now that Jabber could see all of Zanka spread out and twitching. Mmm, Mankira’s poison was working right as rain and boy the sight was pretty pretty. The cleaner’s pale face was all flushed and red from his blood vessels trying to work out that awful little toxin cozying up inside his arteries. Sweat beaded all along his temples and those dark, choppy brows. Tear streaks cut through the bloodstains that dripped down to his temples. There was even a little drool dripping down the cleaner’s raw, bitten lips. The sight was wonderful. Was Zanka feeling as good as Jabber did? He hoped he did. Jabber spent a long time tweaking his toxins for Mankira before this fight.
“That’s,“ Jabber emphasized the letter with a hiss as he pointed to the Zanka’s lips. They were slick and stained with blood from their fight. Jabber scooted a little closer to let Zanka in on the secret. “--from…? Guess what it is.”
Zanka’s hands twitched as he choked around his laughter once again. The sound was wet and thick.
Jabber laughed and flapped a hand loosely in the air. The dim light caught the glint of Mankira and he took the chance to admire the way his knuckles were all swollen and purple from the fight. “Nah, I’m playin’. You’ll never guess! So that paralytic is from trash beast venom I got off of—“
Zanka continued to twitch and giggle as Jabber rambled about the journey on how he found that particular chemical thread that had led to the bloody, twitchy mess the cleaner was now in. Jabber wasn’t sure if any of it was landing in Zanka’s lil’ brain with how cooked he seemed, but maybe some words were sticking. Maybe. Who knew!
“—and I was like, oh, I know this is gonna work beautifully with that neurotoxin I been cooking up the past few days, oh boy,” Jabber continued, cocking his head as his vision wandered to the pooling blood. Frothy blood and drool spilled down the side of Zanka’s lips to trail down his cheek. A small puddle bloomed beside his head. Some had even gotten into his two-tone hair, making the strands wet and stick to his skin.
Oh, that looked nasty. Jabber ogled at the way the reds of it shone in the dim light. Was that a clump of blood or lung tissue stuck to Zanka’s cheek? He must be hurting so good right now. Jabber almost felt jealous.
“And that twitching-twitching in your whole damn body you’re feelin’?” Jabber nodded his head where Zanka’s nails had scratched lines into the dirt. They had cracked and chipped along the worn lines of keratin, blood and dirt gathering underneath them. “That’s from this nasty lil’ chemical I cooked up a bit ago. Isn’t it great! Doesn’t it pack a punch?”
“Eye glue,” Zanka slurred around a giggle, as his lips stretched into a tight, too wide smile like it hurt him. “Glue…in…muh eye…”
Jabber snickered, tapping his own temple softly. “Gets you all fucked in the head, yeah? Bet you can’t even feel none of your fingers or toes or face or nothing. But you somehow still feel awful!”
Zanka tried and failed to close his eyes amid his snickers, but he couldn’t coordinate his muscles properly anymore. Paralytics, ain’t they fun. They stayed wide in a way that made Zanka look dopey; drugged out the same way that Jabber did when he felt a really good blow. It was so silly! It was so good.
Zanka wearing his expressions, like wearing Jabber’s skin. Zanka should rip his skin off. Would Zanka do it? He hoped Zanka would.
Zanka still hadn’t responded. Wow, Jabber’s man was out of it. How the mighty fell, or whatever Zodyl was always spouting off on. One second Zanka was spitting venom so powerful and fierce and deadly. Swinging his staff left and right. Biting Jabber’s own claws!
And now, here he was twitching on the ground, doped off his ass on Jabber’s pretty, pretty Mankira.
Zodyl really was right, how the mighty did fall. Hard. As hard as Jabber was still right now.
What were they talking about again?
Zanka said nothing. His body had gone completely still.
That was odd. Jabber frowned. “Wait, you dead already–?”
Jabber refocused his vision again to see Zanka’s eyes going in two different directions. Zanka gurgled something, but it was so illegible that Jabber had to laugh.
Oh good, he wasn’t dead! Jabber continued.
“Can you even see me, man?” Jabber squinted. Oh, was that Zanka furrowing his brows? Jabber leaned in closer towards the other’s face, his locs brushing against Zanka’s chest as he did.
Ah, no, that was just him trying to blink again. Silly Zanka. Blinking wasn’t gonna solve any of his problems.
The man of the hour’s laughter was finally broken by a hoarse, strangled cough that brought blood foam to his lips, down his chin. “Whatzat, I can—assistaff—fight just fine, hyo—fucking—“ Zanka proceeded to writhe against the ground like a chopped-off lizard’s tail, eyes finally rolling to the back of his head. Another manic google amidst his closing airways. “Top o’ m class…”
Whatever words he was gonna say were drowned out as eyes widened and Zanka began to choke.
Jabber hummed, lips pressing together like a secret as he leaned in closer, bracing a hand besides Zanka’s head. The strain of it pulled at the broken ribs just the way he liked. Oh yeah, that was the shit. “Yeah, you’re probably gonna die, buddy,” he clicked his tongue. That was a stupidly long name. “Zan-zan? I’mma call you Zan-Zan, Zan-Zan.”
Zanka posed no argument as he continued to choke. One of his eyelids twitched. Fear? “I’m s’posed to feed ya to the trash beast alive, but now you’ll probably just be dead when I do. You’re stuck on your back and choking on your own blood and drool. Ain’t no way you’re gonna be able to cough up all that sick on your own, y’know!” Jabber chuckled. “And I mean, you don’t even know what I’m sayin’ right now, right, Zanka?” Jabber frowned.
Zanka thrashed on the ground, the muffled cry in his throat smothered by his flooding airways. Jabber could hear the blood better, and the rattling sound of fluid seeping into the windpipe. That wasn’t good. Well, it was good for Jabber and bad for Zanka. Airways flooding! Red alert, red alert! Jabber had the image of a slot machine and bit back the giggle in his throat. Press a button, everyone’s a winner!
Zanka was putting up a good fight though against it. He somehow managed to fight the paralytic enough for his legs to twitch, as if trying to kick Jabber and the poison away. The sight was impressive. Most of the time, it took an hour to even regain feeling in the major limbs after being hit with a dose of Mankira’s finest.
Zanka was doing it in less than five minutes.
It was almost impressive.
Almost.
Because it should not have been coming from Zanka. Zanka, who hadn’t been pulling shit like this when he fought Jabber earlier. No, because Zanka had been holding back.
That little twinge of frustration, of disappointment, almost made the pleasurable high in his gut dull. And that? That made him angry.
The smile on his cheeks faded to something frustrated and tight as he looked down at Zanka. Zanka. Such a disappointment. Zanka had showed such, such promise. Such potential! That little acid throw trick would’ve killed cooked him to a crisp if it hadn’t been for Mankira. Zan-Zan was supposed to give Jabber exactly what he had been looking for: a real fight. None of this pansy-ass hopping around. Little jab here, little stab there. Papercuts. Nah, Jabber wanted that real shit. Painful shit.
Zanka was supposed to give him it.
Zanka hadn’t.
“You know, Zan-Zan, my man,” Zanka exhaled. His body lilted closer to the other so that now he braced himself with his forearm against the ground. Zanka’s bloody drool soaked through the sleeve of Jabber’s shirt. Jabber wished it was the acid from earlier, that it was burning his skin, branding him. Would’ve given him a better burn than Zanka had. “I’m kinda mad at you. You were the one giving me this big show on fightin’ me, and you don’t go all out?”
Jabber clicked his tongue in a no as his fingers tapped against Zanka’s splayed out hair. The strands were rough against his burned fingertips, almost like straw. Jabber found himself rubbing one of the strands between his fingers, mesmerized by the little prickles that tingled along the back of his hands from rough hair grating against the numb, burned tips of his fingers. Like rubbing sandpaper. Thrilling.
He kept doing it as he continued to speak. “Cuz like, a part of me is wanting you to die. Like really die. Dead. Not in the ‘I try to kill you’ way but in the ‘I watch you die right now’ way. I was never told to keep you alive when I feed you to the trash beast. You feel me? You let me down, man,” Jabber didn’t hide the hurt in his voice. Why should he? Zanka deserved to know. “Here I thought I found my match and what do I get?” he frowned. “A low-life. Just like the rest…”
Jabber’s teeth found the inside of his cheek, big down hard. The pain did not bring him that pleasure it was supposed to. Instead, it was like a bad hit. Enough to only remind him of the itch that needed to be scratched and made the ache even worse.
“Why’d you go and do that, man?” Jabber whined, head flopping to rest on Zanka’s chest. He could hear the rabbit-running-thumping-screaming of Zanka’s heartbeat against his forehead. Far too fast than it was supposed to be for someone laying down. The chemical was accelerating the cleaner’s heartbeat like a car hurtling down the freeway to try and deal with the poison. Try and fail. Zanka would be dead soon anyway. “Got me all keyed up and ready to play, and you blue ball me dude. I’d’ve never treated ya like that.”
Jabber huffed, moving now to smush his cheek against the chest. His fingers still played with Zanka’s hair. He had started scrubbing the hair where the little cuts on Jabber’s fingers were the worst. The sting barely registered. “You were so feisty back with that little spherite. And with that acid trick!” Jabber’s other hand thumped the ground. “Dude! You coulda got me!” He still remembered the encounter, the way the acid arced in the sky, the sneer on Zanka’s face.
The temporary excitement died in Jabber’s throat. Zanka still choked. Jabber could hear the fluid in Zanka’s throat. He pressed his lips together in a thin, thin line.
Slowly, he lifted his head from Zanka’s chest, locs falling around his face as he moved himself close enough that their noses brushed. Like this, Jabber could smell the saccharine sweet of his poison, bile in the back of the cleaner’s throat, iron of his blood on his teeth. The fleeting idea to bend down and lick the blood straight off the cleaner’s teeth flared through him and died the next second as he stared at Zanka’s buggy, dopey eyes.
Zanka thrashed under him. The choking was growing worse.
Zanka would die like this if he didn’t find a way to clear his throat or Jabber didn’t intervene.
“What’s hiding in that brain of yours, Zan-Zan?” Jabber murmured, his own eyes going fuzzy as he stared unblinking at Zanka’s own. He could almost see the wrinkles forming on the pale pink organ, imaging tracing his fingers over the line. “I know you’re hiding from me. Why?”
Zanka did not answer.
He knew there was something in Zanka. Jabber always had a nose for those kinda things. Like a dog sniffing around. Jabber always found the best chemical when no one else thought it was useful. Jabber always found the best way to make his blood sing when everyone thought he was crazy. Jabber always knew how to make himself scream when no one else could, because he knew, he knew, he knew! Exactly what to look for.
His senses were pinging like lightbulbs about Zanka, but he had been wrong.
Or had he?
Jabber grabbed the front of Zanka’s shirt, shuffled closer. Now their noses did brush, but it meant Jabber could look even closer at Zanka’s eyes as his eyelashes brushed the cleaners own fluttering, stuck eyelids. Eye-to-eye. Skin to skin. “Why ya hiding from me, Zanka?” He whispered. “What, you think I can’t take it? That I’m not worthy?” The words were a hiss, jealousy a thick and dangerous vice that bid him to dig his nails tighter into Zanka’s shirt. “Why you keeping the good stuff away from me, huh?” He shook Zanka then, hard. “Huh!? What typa game do you think we’re—“
A shuddering gasp tore from Zanka’s throat as he coughed up a large mess of blood, drool, and sick. With how close Jabber was to Zanka’s face, it sprayed across his cheeks, danced across his nose. It was hot from fever, where it had stuck like sap all along the back of Zanka’s slim throat.
The rattling inhale of breath as air flooded Zanka’s airways was like pills in a jar. Zanka’s fit of coughing dissolved into hitched laughter and pained moans. “Sky meltin’,” Zanka slurred. More tears streaked down his cheeks, even as his face stayed in a loopy smile. “Why the sky meltin’--”
Jabber only half-heard him speak as he felt liquid bead against his lip. While Jabber’s sense of smell was near burned away from all the chemicals, he could still smell the iron over the stinging in his nostrils. The taste slid over his tongue, settled in his mouth and the back of his throat. When Jabber swallowed, he could taste Zanka there. It burned, just the way Jabber liked.
Of course…
Just as fast as if it had struck him, the jealousy vanished, replaced with the curiosity once more. Like turning down the heat on a Bunsen burner to a nice, steady simmer.
No, Zanka didn’t seem the type to hold it over Jabber’s head and keep his strength to himself. He was so feisty, so cruel. If he had had the strength to beat Jabber into the dirt, he would have.
If Zanka had known about the strength he had, he would’ve destroyed every last piece of Jabber.
Jabber giggled, the sound high and breathy as one of his hands pressed against his lips. His fingertips felt welt and sticky, and he fought the urge to lick them clean. “Ah… I see what game you’re playing. Zan-Zan. You just need a little help, yeah!” He patted Zanka’s chest. Zanka only moaned in pain in response. “A push.”
It made total sense. Jabber was always holding himself back in fights, cuz no one could ever give him what he wanted. It was like walking in a playground and only Eve toppling sandcastles, when all you wanted was to topple mountains. Zanka was holding himself back cuz he never knew he could topple mountains. He was stuck on the playground, building sandcastles, always sandcastles.
“That’s all you need, right, Zan-Zan!” Jabber tapped Zanka’s nose. “A push. An honest-to-god push. Ain’t no one ever pushed you like I can before. Cuz I…” he sighed. “I know you. I know your type, man. You’re like a baby bird needing to be flung right outta the nest—“ Jabber laughed, throwing his head back. “And I can be like your little mama, flinging you out there so you can give it back to me twice as hard, yeah?”
Jabber clumsily found Zanka’s hand and squeezed it. Blood from Jabber’s fingers dripped onto Zanka’s wrist, his shirt sleeve, the communication band around his wrist. “Yeah, I bet you will. I bet you could, so firey! You feeling me, Zanka?” The digits were rough, more calloused and chapped than jabber had expected them to be. So many secrets in Zanka’s skin, he just knew there would be more. There would be dozens more.
If Zanka lived, that is. Zanka was still gonna be fed to the trash beast. Orders was orders, and Jabber wanted what the boss-man was gonna give him. Zanka was a sorta-fun fight and all, but Jabber couldn’t just wait for Zanka to catch up to him. What had Zanka said again? Kill or be killed? Yeah, that was it. Kill or be killed.
Jabber stared down at Zanka’s face. He was so pale, like the corpses Jabber left behind after orders from Zodyl, that the color stood out like a red sunburn. It made him look like he was blushing, drool dripping down his chin and tears and sweat all over his face. He looked disgusting, foul and dead and left to rot in the alleyways as flies buzzed and people grimaced and walked faster so as to avoid looking at it longer.
“You’re kinda pretty, like this,” Jabber murmured. He hadn’t been aware his thumb had moved to brush against Zanka’s swollen lower lip. It was bitten and rough with scabs underneath Jabber’s finger. Jabber liked feeling it. He moved his thumb to see Zanka’s bottom lip pucker, see the tips of Zanka’s row of bottom teeth. He wasn’t even sure why he was doing it. Not like he was checking on a poisoning symptom, or if Zanka was dead. He just…wanted to do it.
“Real…” Jabber’s voice felt hoarse. When he swallowed again, the taste of Zanka’s blood and bile felt even stronger in his mouth, and he found himself licking at his back teeth for a stronger taste he sat and stared. “Real pretty…”
The ground rolled underneath Jabber. The motion caused Zanka to make a rattling sound and Jabber startled and managed to catch himself before he could fall onto of Zanka.
Right! Trash beast! They were still inside of it. And Jabber had a job to do, now that Zanka was defeated, bittersweet as it was.
Or…did it have to be…?
Jabber’s hand left Zanka’s mouth. He scrambled to his feet, wiping his hand on his pants and then cursing to himself when he realized what he had done. He wanted to taste the spit on his thumb, dammit. “Shit, Zan-Zan, I think our time’s up, my guy,” he said with a sigh. “Gotta try and get your ass in the trash beast’s mouth now. Zodyl gonna give me a crazy good prize if I do. But!” He bent at the waist to stare better into Zanka’s eyes. They were still glazed over, damn.
Zanka probably was gonna die. While Jabber could give Zanka as many pushes off the cliff as he could, it was up to the cleaner to take ‘em. Jabber couldn’t get soft, and the raiders were counting on him! If Zanka wanted to live and really kill Jabber, than this was the best chance he had: before being fed alive to the trash beast.
“If you don’t wanna be worm food, you gotta try and stop me, yeah?” Jabber spoke the way Cthoni lectured him, and then cringed. God, it felt weird talking like that, all high and mighty and shit. But maybe it would do the job. Jabber waggled his eyebrows and kicked Zanka lightly in the ribs. “This is mama bird time. Out the nest, you go, now!”
A faint growl rumbled the ground and walls around them. Jabber giggled. Oh, he really, really, really wanted Zanka to try and fight him now. With the walls falling and Zanka hopped up on Mankira…
He bent down and grabbed Zanka’s ankle. His fingers could wrap around the bone and he oohed at the sight. “Dainty ankles, Zan-Zan. Here, try and kick me with em as we walk, yeah?” Jabber called out over his shoulder as he started to drag the cleaner further down the hall. “I know you got the strength for it.
Oh yeah, today was gonna be good. Either Zanka was gonna fight him for real-real, or the boss-man was gonna give him a reward better than anything yet. Things were finally looking up!