Disclaimer:
Not mine. Sadly. Are Marvel's.
A/N: For a fandom so soaked in mythology,
religion, and the meaning of 'free will', I seem remarkably unable to
take things seriously.
Because I Wanted To
"You've been where?"
"Shopping."
"Why?"
"Because I wanted to."
Gressil leaned over and peered into one of the brightly colored bags Abigor had brought back from...somewhere. Definitely more classy than their regular dives, which was enough to make Gressil suspicious.
"Your shopping smells like flowers." He sniffed at the packages again and raised a thin eyebrow at his companion. "And honey."
Abigor grinned, baring fangs sharp as shark's teeth. "Exactly."
"Why?"
"Because nothing interesting's been happening."
Gressil opened his mouth for another 'why' and then reconsidered. No point, really. He'd find out eventually anyway and nothing he said would stop the insanity from rolling onward like a giant deranged pillbug in a windstorm.
Abigor was, comparatively, the wildest one of the group. He did strange things on whims that seemed to come out of too many flies blowing into his head and giving him funny ideas. Oh, going down to Georgia during Prohibition had seemed like a fun idea at the time, what with all the car chases and people shooting at each other over some of the worst alcohol he'd ever tasted. Humans always provided the best entertainment.
And then Abigor had decided he wanted a smoke.
And dropped the match afterwards in what he'd probably thought was an elegant fashion.
And proceeded to be completely oblivious to the fact that he was standing next to a 'what the hell were you thinking you fucking moron' still full of 'this isn't going to end well' moonshine.
And the expected had happened and it really hadn't been pretty.
Abigor hefted his purchases and jerked his head towards the other room of the seedy cleared-out bar they'd decided to meet in for the evening. In retrospect, perhaps Gressil should have faked a headache and left early.
"This is going to end messy, isn't it?"
"Depends on what you call messy."
The Hidden didn't strictly need to sleep, but there was a peculiar peace to simply lying down somewhere appropriate and just dissolving into your chosen element. For Wallow it tended to be dank marshes or the back end of a gargoyle or, in this case, an old tin washtub. He rippled slightly as the other two Hidden approached him, his thin hair spreading out until it was hard to tell exactly where the body ended and the water began. It was a disturbing combination of skincrawlingly creepy and oddly beautiful.
Abigor upended the bag and dumped sixty dollars worth of bath bombs into the slumbering water.
Wallow exploded up out of the tub, his body fizzing with bubbles and his hair matted with glitter and stars. He sputtered and spat out sprigs of lavender before falling over again and splattering his half-coalesced form across the floor. Abigor tossed his head back and cackled madly, like the scream of wind coming through a tight spot in a canyon.
"He won't talk to you for the rest of the week," Gressil muttered, hiding a grin behind his hand. "He'll sulk."
"Worth it, though."
Gressil shrugged as Wallow struggled to form enough of a mouth to curse at them. "A little funny, maybe."
It didn't stop him from sitting down with Wallow that evening and commiserating with him on exactly what could be done with aerosol spray and Zippo lighters.