Work Text:
There’s a demon in Ros’ castle. The kingdom’s castle. She swiftly corrects, Foolish’s castle.
She made it, of course, and there’s a kinship Ros shares with all her builds, like any beloved creation.
But it’s not hers, of course. Just… a byproduct. Something too small in comparison to Bad’s cathedral, that got dwarfed and made Ros look pathetic, that spited her—
One she was actually building more of, scaling the walls with stone and mortar, before she was rudely interrupted.
“You’re so annoying.” She breathes, watching the orange glow of torch and sconce flicker as Bad passes by them. Ros is refusing to give him the attention of her sight, instead swearing herself to looking at her blueprints scattered about the wooden table top.
“Mean!” Bad scoffs back, “I haven’t done anything!”
And Ros rolls her eyes for the umpteenth time since he’s arrived. He’s not even doing anything. If there’s a goal to his idling, Ros can’t see it. She could almost call it hanging out, if her time with the king hadn’t shown her Bad does anything of the sort.
“Have you seen Pili today?” He asks, and Ros wipes a stray eraser smudge off the table.
”Yes.” She says.
“Did he threaten you?”
“Of course.”
“Mm.” Bad hums, sweeping out the hallway, back in, around the carved design in the floor, “Yeah he’ll do that.”
“You two must get along quite nicely,” She says, an edge to her tone that she can’t soften, “He told me he got you deepslate.”
Her eyes kite to him in time to see him shrug, nonplussed, “He needed a pickaxe.” Then, as he’s running a finger over the woodgrain on the wall, “I knew he wouldn’t do anything with it.”
“He could’ve.” Ros snips back, “He’s going to. You should’ve heard him— He was talking about how I was so alone and no one was here—“
“I told him loud and clear that I count any attack against you as against me.” Bad says, “And it’s not my fault none of your kingdom is awake.”
She wishes Clown were here. His absence feels stronger now, even though she knows he’s only a few ender-arrow shots away. His hermitage feels more like a punishment to her than anything else.
“But you get to hang out with me!” Bad chirps, giving her a smile of sharp teeth, “Isn’t that fun?”
Ros turns back to her desk with a tightened jaw. “…Yeah!” She tries, strained, “Very fun.”
“Oh, and here you are, all alone— Poor Ros.” Bad intones in singing tune, the echoes of it bouncing off the stone walls, “Poor, poor, Ros.” There’s a slight ringing tune, like the murmur of a choir of ghosts backgrounding his words.
Ros’ hand twitches from where it’s laid flat on the table. She keeps still, however, waiting in still tension as Bad’s voice draws closer. She hopes her inaction is itching below his skin.
This time, he’s close enough for Ros to scent the sparks of rotting flora and gunpowder that follow him like an aura of death, “Defenseless, sweet, Ros—“
Ros’ hand snaps to her lance and she strikes out in a wide berth, the point of her blade making a long pale scratch across Bad’s netherite chestplate. He squawks, reeling backwards. His tail flickers like an active flame behind him, betraying only the barest hint of irritation that hides in his cheerful laughter.
“Need I remind you that I am not defenseless.” Ros hisses, still brandishing her lance at his chest, “And to you, I will never be sweet.”
Bad’s milky eyes widen, hand pressed to his chest with faux-offense. He pouts audibly, lip jutted, “Aw… Never?” He punctuates his silence with a heavy sniff, “But I thought we were friends!”
His whines grate on her ears. She huffs, tucking her lance back to her side, “We are not friends! We are mortal enemies! And even if we weren’t, you’ve done nothing but hurt the kingdom since you got here!”
And Bad has the audacity to balk, jaw slack, “What? Name one—“
“You blew up the castle!”
Bad throws his hands up with a shriek, “That was an accident! I’m an innocent victim in that!”
“You hit me!”
“In self-defense!” Another sniffle, and Bad throws himself dramatically against a pillar, wrist raised to his forehead like he’s shielding himself from the sun lest he faint, “That chicken hurt!”
“You accuse me of treason, you try to get me to go against my king—“ Ros scowls, running a hand through her violet shocks of hair, “As far as I’m aware, Bad, you want me dead!”
Bad is a fluid being of motion. He doesn’t stay still, his tail asway or mouth moving included. Yet, at Ros’ words, he slows to a frightening stop.
The jarring flip gives her pause. Ros can feel the urge to apologize start boiling in her stomach. She withholds, only at Foolish’s behest; When you see this man, Ros? Never utter the words ‘sorry’ or ‘I apologize’.
“That’s not true.” He says, in a tone that Ros could almost call gentle, “Not even slightly, Ros, I’d never kill you. Not— Not like maliciously.”
Ros bristles, defensiveness raising the hairs on her neck. It is true, she almost wants to scream, Pangi would’ve killed me! Your team almost got me slaughtered!
It comes out as a pained wheeze, sealed mostly by her lips.
Because unfortunately Bad is not nearly as simplistic as she wants and despite everything, despite it all, Ros believes in her heart that Bad never intends for her death out of hate.
He’d defended her against Pili. She heard him, clear as day, telling others to back off, because he’d take any attack against her being congruent to an attack on him.
Pili, Harry, the faction of Hostiles, they hate Ros.
She doesn’t know how Bad feels about her. Pitying, though, if his actions speak to his thoughts. She’s not nearly special enough to be seen as someone worthy of being a target, instead a subject to his sympathy.
She can’t even be his mortal enemy without him giggling at the thought.
Ros hates that even more, she finds.
She thrusts out the point of her spear again with a frustrated hiss and she sees sparks of netherite glinting off her blade.
He side steps her next swipe with ease, crowing out; “Hey! Hey, hey!” with climbing pitch as she advances. He goes out the door, then further still.
It’s not until she’s pushed him back out into the rain that she arcs down to his feet, and Bad jumps back on unsteady footing on even unsteadier ground. He’s half-standing on a step, half on the platform. When he lands Ros revels in the tiniest of wobbles in his balance.
“Oh.” He mouths, lips curled into a smile, “Is this where you kill me?”
Good question.
Ros’ knuckles go white. “Yes…” A pause, “No.” She grits her teeth so hard she worries they might crack, “I don’t know yet, so don’t try me!” She warns.
“I’m not doing anything!” Bad defends, palms spread, “You wouldn’t kill me, right, Ros? I’m an innocent guy! I haven’t done anything!”
She can almost feel Clown’s shadow on her back. Overlooking, those deep and dark grooves of his mask spread into a smile but never shining through with any emotion that isn’t leaked by his voice.
When he is silent, Ros’ mind fills in the blanks. And he’d been very silent after Ros left Bad’s cathedral a couple nights ago.
Ros lets out a shout of frustration, swirling her spear through the air so quick she can hear the cutting wind, and jabs the butt of her weapon at the center of Bad’s chest.
He falls backwards with a small yelp, landing flat on his spine in the packed dirt and stone that makes up the path.
“You’re awful and I hate you!” She shrieks, ears ringing and pumping with blood and rage, “I hate you so much, I wish you would just go away!”
Bad blinks owlishly up at her, seemingly content to lie in the mud. He tips his head back, “Huh. Not what I expected.” He murmurs.
The knife in her gut twists.
Of course. Because Ros is never what people want.
She sniffles. And the sniffle devolves into a hiccup, which turns into a sob. Then suddenly her cheeks are soaked more with tears than rainwater, and no amount of wiping at her face with her sleeve will dry either.
“Oh, uh—“ Bad croaks, and when Ros spies him through her blurry vision, he’s half-crouched in the dirt, looking pained, “Uh, no— Don’t cry! It’s fine— You can kill me if you want!”
“Shut up!” Ros yells, sniffling wetly.
”Oh-kay then!”
Ros covers her face with her hands, trying desperately to clear away the ruddiness of her cheeks. She hates crying in front of people.
Bad takes a rocking step forward, “Do you… want a hug?”
“No!” Ros hisses, “I don’t like hugs. And you’re too loud and it hurts my ears.”
She hates that people keep touching her. That people are so noisy and she says nothing. She hates that she lets them embrace her without asking, that she accepts them with a smile and does anything to make them happy and still falls short—
His palms raise in defense, voice much quieter, “Okay. No touching, then.”
She rubs an arm over her eyes, coughing through the force of her sobs.
“Maybe we go… go inside? To cry?” Bad suggests, shuffling awkwardly in place.
Ros just cries harder, shoulders wracking with sobs. Bad slowly eases around her, armor clinking with each shift, and Ros hears the door behind her creak open.
“Um, maybe—“
Ros storms inside, shouldering past Bad. Her hair is soaked, her armor is gonna rust, and Ros can’t even kill her worst enemy, her self-proclaimed mortal enemy!
She throws her lance on the ground and stomps into the kitchen. Bad follows on her heels, as lengthy and dark as a shadow.
Ros sits down in one of the chairs, throwing her head into her hands.
If he’s gonna kill her, whatever. She’s too frustrated with herself to do anything about it.
“Don’t blow up my castle, please.” She croaks instead, lip quivering.
Bad makes a choked sort of laugh, “I think we’re a bit past that right now.” He says, strained.
“Then go away.”
”Do you want me to call someone? To… help?” It comes out strangled, like it physically pains him to ask.
“No, just… Leave them alone, please. Please, Bad.” She grumbles tiredly. The last thing she needs right now is Bad bothering her teammates because she’s being hysterical.
He mumbles something unsure, the clicking of his nails spurred against the hardwood table he’s idling at the end of. When Ros glances up, his head is whipping about the kitchen, slowly growing more and more angry about something that she can’t see.
Eventually he scowls to himself and throws his hands in the air, “I have to do everything in Foolish’s stupid kingdom—!” He murmurs to himself sharply, and storms out of the room.
Ros sinks her face into her crossed arms, sniffling to herself. She’s going to have to tell Foolish that Bad was in here, there’s no doubt about it. It’s either her or the guard, and Ros would rather she be the one to deliver the news. That Bad was in here, snuck in, and left, alive, again.
Bad returns, much to her surprise. She hears him walking about the castle carpet and floors, still murmuring under his breath.
The lights go out around her and Ros leaps her head up, clawing at the fabric—linen—towel?
“You can’t be my—“ Bad’s crescent eyes never meet hers, “My mortal enemy if you’re sick or something. Like, that’s— That’s like kicking a puppy, Ros. And I don’t kick dogs, alright? I love animals.”
She blinks blearily. “What?”
He throws his hands up, “I love animals! What’s so hard to understand about that!”
“Okay?” She shrilly says back, trying to match whatever exasperated energy he’s bringing, “Me too?”
“Good! Alright, then—!“ Bad says, twisting to the cupboards and barrels and digging through them, “So you— Do the human thing. Get healthy, however long that takes.”
“Do the human thing?” Ros drawls, “Sorry, I-I don’t know how to do the human thing? Is that a code?”
He settles a steaming bowl of stew in front of her, “I don’t know,” He says, scanning her up and down, then reaching into a pile of blankets he’s settled on a chair besides her and nipping it over her shoulders, “You just do it.”
“What are you doing?” Ros asks, watching him fiddle with tucking the blanket a bit tighter around her shoulder, “This is still pity or something— Stop it!” She slaps at his hand after his claws go back to the fabric to adjust it again.
He squawks and reels back, “Okay! Okay! Okay! Jeez—“ Bad huffs. A pause, and he wrings his hands together, “Are we still… enemies?”
Ros’ eyes nearly bulge out of her skull, “Yes?”
He lets out a sigh of relief, “Oh thank goodness. Okay, well, you’re going down, by the way. Just like— Whenever you stop looking like that.”
“Looking like what?!”
Bad presses his lips together. He nudges the stew closer, “…You should… eat.”
Ros huffs and tugs the bowl to her chest, the stew nearly sloshing over the sides. “Fine…” And, after a beat, “Thank you.”
“Mhm, mhm, no problem.” Bad says, “Don’t… um…” He trails off, scrutinizing her from his peripheral, “You’re… If you ever need to talk about something? I’m here for you. Probably.”
She hates that it warms her in part, that soft edge of his tone. “…Thank you, Bad.” Ros returns lowly, palming the bowl to leech it’s warmth, “I’m sorry that I hit you a bunch.”
Bad scratches at the scruff of his cheek idly, “Nah, don’t be. It didn’t hurt.”
Ros considers throwing the stew, bowl and all, right back at his cowled head. The impulse passes with a deep, deep, sigh, “…Thanks.” She sniffs, wiping under her nose.
“No problem!” He chirps, “Don’t tell anyone I did this or I’ll make the cathedral taller— Okay bye!” And he slides out of the kitchen, out the entrance of the castle, before Ros can chuck her spoon at him.
He cackles the entire way, his giggles fading out into silence as he disappears into the white noise of a heavy rainfall.
She sighs and settles the spoon back into the bowl.
I’ll kill him later, Ros decides, sounding awfully like another mounted excuse, Much later.