Anger
He loathed to keep himself inside, but he had to. It was a skill he came to master over time, but not one he truly enjoyed.
That crap Disgust pulled earlier was completely out of line. Anger refused to risk a sidelong glare at the prissy stick of broccoli, fearing that she might notice and start another fight.
And this time we might not be so lucky. Anger winced as a crackle of flame whipped the inside of his nonexistent stomach. He grunted, actually thankful that the music and clamor radiating from Dream Productions was complete overkill. Dammit, dammit, he cursed, thinking of Disgust and how horrible she's been lately. Why am I still mad over this!? Dammit! His ruminations played themselves twice over, and on the third go the pressure Anger dug into his palms lightened, and his jaw slackened slightly.
Kick. Scream. Burn. It took a lot of willpower for Anger to abandon this train of thought, despite the urge to act on it was strong, and the idea so very enticing; drug withdrawal would be easier to ignore.
He tugged on the collar again, to alleviate some of the heat building underneath. He turned his mind back on the party at hand, which, despite these loud idiots, he anticipated to be a pleasant evening talking to someone other than his coworkers. It'll be fine, he thought, confidence swelling. I'll just stick to my kind of crowd and let the rest play itself. Before long, an easy grin spread itself across his face, and thoughts of Disgust were locked in a far corner of his mind.
Sadness's lessons are really starting to pay off. The thought made him chuckle bitterly.
But the fire drake was still raging, hissing, trying to get out. Anger winced with every lash of its tails. Even at a whisper, his voice was harsh as hot coals. "One, two, three, four," he roughly snapped his jacket, then ran his hands over to smooth it out, "five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten." He gave a drawn sigh, expelling the heat building within. Though his innards still felt like an inferno ready to burst. Just one lit match, and...
He had to force down the grimace, Sadness appeared right beside him, glowing like a polished sapphire in that dress. Her eyes, gentle, unbiased, and impossibly empathetic, seemed to hold a smile in themselves that couldn't quite flex the muscles in her cheeks. Compared to his, hard, angry, avoiding direct contact like the plague, she was the veritable yin to his yang. "Are you excited, Anger?" she asked, but what she was really asking was, 'Are you feeling okay?'
He shrugged coolly, gripping the sides of his ashen jacket. "Yeah, yeah, just alotta people is all. I'll be fine once we actually get there."
Mercifully, that seemed to placate her. With a lamb's smile and a slight nod, she turned to engage in conversation with an overly-avid Joy (which meant, she listened to Joy as she yapped a hundred words a minute, only responding to nod every time her friend paused to take a breath).
Watching her, the wildfire inside died to a smothering burn. Then suddenly a chill.
Fear, he thought abruptly. Where's Fear? In this moment, Fear, ironically, was the only one of his coworkers that didn't make him want to kick a chair.
He didn't have to look far; no more than a couple feet from the pair of friends, Anger noticed Skinny on his messaging device, typing something out.
The Boss, probably. Anger felt the annoyance in his gut seethe with shared contempt. The Boss could go screw itself for all he cared. He's been working his ass off for that half-bit dishwasher! Give him a break! Anger marched on over to him, glancing briefly over his shoulder to find Sadness still "chatting" with Joy; he could barely hear his own boss over all the noise and music blaring several yards away.
Perfect. Though she wouldn't see it, Anger looked to Sadness, stricken for the briefest of flashes, before gazing up to Fear, his face like stone.
Hope she doesn't see this if it goes down one way... "You gonna be on that all night, Pencil-neck!?" Wrong as it felt now, Anger had always relished in raising his voice to such obscene levels, the rush of energy that drove his particles into a sizzling, snapping dance, like grease ready to jump out of the frying pan.
He loved it as much as Fear hated it. He would always yelp like a little sissy and drop what he was holding whenever Anger yelled at him, no matter the reason. Once, he even let his cup of coffee go crashing to the floor when Anger screamed an offer for a refill from the kitchen. That was pretty funny. Anger was hoping he would achieve the same effect now, and if the phone didn't break, well, the Memory Dump is just five feet away, and he has one hell of a throwing arm.
Which was why it was not only surprising, but downright concerning, when Fear only slowly glanced up from his phone, face pale and eyes glassy and wide. He almost looked disinterested: his face was long, his mouth thin, expression effectively blank. Not even his hair rose slightly in curiosity, like it normally would.
What is he, deaf? Anger frowned, loath to repeat himself. "You heard me, Mr. Bean?"
There we go! He almost snickered when Fear puffed his cheeks out; he always hated being called that, an extension of that derisive nickname he was always teased with, "Beanpole".
"What'd I do this time?" he asked sardonically, fingers still running over the screen as his eyes bore into Anger's. "Did I accidentally breathe some of your air?"
Anger huffed. "I asked if you were gonna be on that thing all night," he said, jamming his hands into his coat pockets.
Fear looked down at his phone, and in a flash of rage Anger was ready to take the stupid thing and break it if the nerve hadn't frantically mended eye contact half a second later. "Oh..." Fear blinked, as though just returning to reality. His brows suddenly shot into the air. "Oh, I'm sorry, Anger! Sorry to be so rude. Amygdala, I thanked him for letting us use the recall tube."
Anger furrowed his thick brow. Bull. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. But then we just got caught up in arranging our next meeting and, well," a rueful smile, "ugh, he wants me to come back after the party. Can you believe it? Apparently, the daily report I gave him was incomplete, and we have to compose a new one." He rubbed his eyes tiredly, a groan filled with distress and exhaustion resounding in his palm. "Cutting corners, I swear..."
"Oh." Anger rose half his brow. Is he lying, or...? Late nights were a common occurrence for Fear and the Boss, so it could be true.
Anger couldn't decide what to feel, and frankly, he didn't wish to dwell on the matter further; the Boss was a topic that always managed to piss him off. Just as Riley would with her friends, not completely understanding their plight but lending sympathy regardless, Anger resorted to the default response of, "That sucks, man," and a clap on the elbow (his height forbade contact with Fear's shoulder).
Skinny shrugged guiltily. "Yeah, it's been exhausting these past few weeks, but what're you gonna do? Work is work, and, well," he let out with a grievous sigh, "we gotta do everything we can... for Riley."
Anger nodded, and even offered a reassuring grin. He could appreciate Fear's dedication to helping Riley. Way better than, and Anger had to purge the thought, lest he really gets a fire going, Disgust. "Always for her," he agreed.
Fear nodded back, smiling down on his friend as he pocketed the device into his waistcoat. "I can chat with the Boss later," he said in a conspiratorial whisper that Anger couldn't help but crack a grin at.
It was as Anger was about to turn and start walking towards Dream Productions that Princess Perfect yelled in her whiny, bossy twang, "Come on, people! We haven't got all night, let's get this show on the road!" She already stood five paces ahead of them, one hip stuck out (the side with the leg slit, of course, because why shouldn't she show off?), hand on said hip and her foot tapping impatiently. Her shawl practically glowed from the dazzle of Dream Productions filtering through.
"You don't gotta wait for us, Princess!" Anger yelled back as he began his march, Fear at his side.
With a roll of her eyes, Disgust whirled around and started walking. "You're my entourage, dummy!" she yelled into the sky, lacking the respect to even look back over her shoulder.
"What in Riley's name is she wearing?" Fear muttered beside him. Anger looked up at him as they walked, and was met with confusion written all over Fear's face, in his slightly-parted lips, and the single brow hovering above his head.
Anger followed his gaze and almost barked out laughing; that stupid dress Disgust had on waved with the exaggerated swing of her hips. It was almost obscene. "I told her it was too much," he admitted.
"Which?" Fear snorted. "The dress or the makeup?" He stared for a couple seconds longer before shaking his head, then quickened his pace, as did Anger, both of them not wanting to behold the sight any longer. I may not be her father, but I'll be damned if I let her wear something like this again to Riley's college graduation. Or marriage. Whichever comes first.
Glancing to either side, Anger realized they were missing two heads. "I'll send ya a postcard!" he yelled over his shoulder. It wasn't angry, but his throat still tingled pleasingly.
"Oh my gosh, what are we still doing out here?!" Joy yelled in shock. "Sorry Sadness, we'll finish this talk later. Let's go party!"
Joy appeared cartwheeling to a stop beside Disgust, followed moments later by Sadness on speedy little footsteps. Disgust gave each of the late arrivals a thin smile, which Joy returned in magnitude triple the size. "This is our night, people!" the green Emote proclaimed.
Anger slowed his pace for a moment to take a gander. In spite of the incident back home, he had to acknowledge Disgust's mastery of the sewing needle; the ladies were downright gorgeous. At least she was doing something useful with her time instead of lying splayed across my sofa, eating potato chips.
He didn't get to actually see Joy after she did her little "how do I look?" twirl after exiting her bedroom, wherein he only offered up a grunt of approval, glancing briefly from his paper, to satisfy her. She was a veritable starburst, her earrings of said phenomenon twinkling like twin stars wherever she jerked her head, and the flouncy material of her gown was such a sharp orange that it literally gleamed like fires in the light of a falling sun. Anger chuckled a little as he watched Sadness try more than a few times to lace her fingers with Joy's, but it seemed that whenever she got close enough, Joy would twirl around or do a cartwheel.
Anger fell in beside her. She looked over and smiled sweetly at his approach. "So what was Gold n' Gruesome yapping about?" he asked, despite instantly knowing the answer before Sadness even opened her mouth.
How? She was still smiling. "Nothing," she simply said, shrugging her blue shoulders.
Anger playfully narrowed his eyes. "That was a whole lotta nothin' she was talking about."
"I only asked how she was," Sadness assured him. "After that, she just... went on talking about how happy she was, and how great tonight's gonna be." A sound that may or may not have been a giggle pattered gently in her throat. Anger was amazed he could hear it over all the noise ahead. "She got so wrapped up in explaining her joy that she forgot to actually start going to the party. That's so like her, but also," her brows knitted slightly, "unlike her, you know?"
Both of them looked over to their left, where Joy bounced and skipped like she were eleven years old again, only ever breaking rhythm to twirl blithely on her bare toes. A smile of pure jubilance dominated her features, and Anger was willing to bet money that she was humming along to the music blaring over the speakers propped above the front gate.
"She's certainly happy to be here," he observed.
"Yeah." Sadness's voice suddenly sounded distant, as though half of her was lost in some memory.
"She likes telling me when she's in a really good mood," she told him moments later.
"Is that so?"
Sadness nodded. She gave what Anger would only describe as a weary smile, but almost all of Sadness's smiles could be described as such. "It's... tiring, to always hear her, but I'm glad. She's been taking every development in Riley's life in stride. I'm happy the two of them are excited for college."
Anger nodded quietly in agreement.
"And I'm also so, so happy for you, Anger."
He fought hard not to just roll his eyes and stomp away, leaving his friend sputtering and confused. He couldn't do that though; maybe with Fear, but not to Sadness. So he just stared straight ahead and kept marching. "Are you really?" he asked lightly, just to keep it from getting awkward.
Sadness gave a tiny nod. "You've gotten really good at controlling your outbursts," Anger's heart clenched, "and you just seem so much happier now because of it. I'm really, I'm..." For the second time in the span of two minutes, he heard her giggling. "I'm so happy I was able to help you, Anger."
She took his hand in her's.
Anger wanted to spit in it, snap at her, just so she wouldn't be happy with him any more. He berated himself at the turn of a second for thinking such a horrible thing. But what could he do? Anger panicked inside, and without thought he turned and gave her the biggest, fakest smile he could muster. She ate it up without question. Anger never thought a grin from Sadness could make him feel so small.
After that, the two lapsed into a silence. Not an awkward one, where there isn't much to say, but a comfortable kind, one where only two friends could relax in each other's presence without need for talk. It was comfortable for Sadness, at least, as she gradually released his hand and let it fall to his side, and her grin reduced to a content smile.
Anger was still considering whether or not to scream and charge ahead. He was still feeling her hand wrapped around his own. Quickly though, he found himself bombarded without distraction from the absolute hellhole that lied ahead.
Anger was certain he was the only one grimacing at the increasingly annoying clamor plaguing Dream Productions, the closer they neared the arched threshold. At the far right of the group, he shot a quick glance in their direction to see. Sure enough, they were all cooing and grinning at all of the breathtaking sights and sheer volume of gussied-up mind workers. Dozens of spotlights thrust into the air, swaying about, turning the sky purple and gold and giving the studios that Olympian-bronze shine. It made everything look delectable and pristine. The Emotions weaved through the crowds, practically holding hands so they wouldn't get lost in the flood of jellybean bodies. Voices belonging to hundreds enveloped them: shouts to friends across the studio lots, laughter that was thunderous and others shrieking.
The urge to yell and barrel through it all beguiled Anger, but he couldn't do that. Never again, like this. So he grabbed Sadness by the hand, and she offered up the sweetest of smiles. Determined, Anger clenched his teeth and kept marching.
He and Riley despised New York City for this crap.
While on most nights the movie-esque studio complex was bustling with the activity of actors, writers, directors, and prop designers, all scurrying to get where they needed to be for the graveyard shift, tonight the Main Street suffocated with every conscious being that served some form of a purpose in Riley Andersen's mind. Amidst the rapids of jellybean bodies, all moving towards the celebration's locale, Anger could spot Imagination inhabitants peppered throughout: cloud people, tree people, witches and zombies, specters and wraiths, even a dog-sized dragon with a top hat flew overhead on rhythmic beats of its wide, red wings. Anger smiled, forgetting the bodies brushing against him for just a moment as he realized that his girl graduated high school and still loved her fantasy stories. He briefly wondered if they would run into any of the "future Rileys" that she dreamed into existence during one of her sleep sessions in class.
Before long they were deep enough into Dream Productions where, while still packed and loud and annoying, the Emotions at least didn't need to fight their way through and could actually breathe. The studios were squat little warehouses now, yielding space for everybody to spread out and reform their personal bubbles.
Fear smoothed out his waistcoat, shivering. "That... was unpleasant," he stammered, feeling around to make sure he still had all his parts.
Anger shuddered, all those people touching him even though there was no one near him. He was sure Disgust was feeling the same, yet when he looked over she was already pacing down the street without them. He ought to be mad, but, frankly, it would be best if the prissy little Emote was out of his sight for the rest of the evening.
"I never thought there could be so many people in one place!" gushed Joy, her orange skirts flouncing, undeterred by being practically molested by half of Riley's mindscape. "Look at how well-dressed they are! And listen! You can just hear the excitement of this place, it's amazing!"
Anger didn't know how his teammates responded to Joy's zeal, their surroundings were so deafening, though he had no illusions that they responded with something other than the usual awkward silence.
His attention was drawn back to the headache surrounding him, all of these gabbing fools swaddled in silk and dressed like penguins. Their chatter was loud and pointless, and so many were speaking at once, each talking louder than the group nearby as if one was purposely trying to out-yell the other. He consciously pulled at the collar of his dress shirt, huffing deeply. He ignored the pain in his stomach, painful as it was.
He couldn't understand what all the fuss was about. Mind workers were still yapping, inconsiderate morons, but in surplus. And Dream Productions was still Dream Productions: glamour and bling crusted over the ugly business of nightmare creation and miserable wet dreams. The amount of times Anger had to wake Riley up from one of those rivaled Fear in the early days, before their girl lost control of her own bodily urges.
Riley isn't about that trash, Anger quietly fumed. His stomach burned but he smothered it with a count of ten. Small stuff, easy as pie. She isn't, yet the big cheese around here doesn't give a damn. They just want to squirt out a quick couple films every night. It reminded him too much of the despicable business that was Hollywood, a hatred he and Riley both shared. But Hollywood was a massive corporation run by billions of faceless men in suits, and any real attempt to change things would either be doused by Fear, or end with Riley's incarceration.
Dream Productions was just a stain in the mind of an eighteen-year-old girl, and Anger basically had immunity. "I mean, brain cells are a dime a dozen, but where are ya gonna find another Anger?" he always reasoned.
But try as he might, and oh, did Anger try, no amount of "friendly visits" to Dream Productions seemed to change their ways, and the supply of backup cameras these people had appeared infinite, even after he burned down that warehouse back in eighth grade. In the end, he learned that there were some things that screaming and violence just couldn't solve.
That definitely rang true for one, crippling aspect of Anger's life that he had to deal with every day.
Being one of the shortest inhabitants in Riley's mind led to many inconveniences that just brought Anger's particles to a searing fizzle. There was nothing more humiliating, or frustrating, than being unable to fetch a mind manual on a shelf that even Sadness or Disgust could reach if they stood on her tiptoes. Or Fear, the lofty beanpole, all too often he'd grow lax and become careless of his surroundings, usually mistaking Anger for something to lean an elbow on like he were some piece of furniture (Fear had gone through many sweater-vests over the years because of that). And there was no greater sleight than when Joy, in a burst of pure ecstasy, would disrespect Anger and actually pick him up and dance around, humming loudly over his screams of protest. Then she would giggle at the bonfire snarling atop his head and pat out the embers. Insulting.
Tonight though, Anger's size proved more an annoying inconvenience than inadvertent humiliation from his coworkers. He could barely see their destination from beyond the shoulders of mind workers. Incidentally, Anger was stuck glaring holes into the jackets, dresses, and asses of a couple hundred brain cells from here to there. Even worse, those in front of the strolling Emotions would turn to the sound of Joy saying, "Excuse me!" and gasp a little after realizing who they were. They would stand aside, parting for them a path like Moses at the Red Sea. At least they wouldn't have to weave through the crowds and move at the speed of thawed honey like everybody else.
It pays to be a VIP, Anger thought. It was certainly pleasant. But what was unpleasant were the stares. He felt the weight of them, ogling them as they passed by, heard the whispers of "Riley's Emotions" and "those guys are from the top". It was bad enough that they stood out like sore thumbs in this ocean of cool-green, but the lavish outfits of his female coworkers just made the asymmetry that much more obvious.
All the more reason why we should get to the stupid party.
But it wasn't long before the four Emotions, waited on by a sneering Disgust, found themselves gawking up at the towering party site.
The "excitement" that Joy heard earlier was a familiar tune rumbling deep from the tower at the far end of Dream Productions: Hypothalamus Heights, a leering monstrosity presiding over all the filming studios and warehouses, whose profile appropriately matched that of a Hollywood big-shot's penthouse, gaudy and flashy and without much substance. It wasn't cozy, but it was a place for a party, though it did serve as a living complex for the Dream Workers. Tonight, however, it was the stage for a celebration of Riley's successful and relatively healthy childhood.
Their leader stepped forward, a determined look on her face but mirth twinkling in her giant blue eyes. "Come on, Emotes!" she cheered, pumping a fist in the air. "Let's get this party started!"
They wordlessly followed Joy inside.
It was outside with a ceiling. That's how Anger saw it.
The party floor couldn't have been larger than a proper football field, and even still Anger felt claustrophobic. Leather sofas and recliners were clustered at every corner, or at random points across the floor, surely set up with no real order in mind. Not that it mattered; everywhere he looked, there were groups of mind workers and a few imaginations sharing the space, chatting excitedly amongst their cliques over electric blue drinks and bowls of snacks.
Where they weren't sitting, they were standing, doing much of the same or moving toward the singular, throbbing mass in the center of the room that bounced to the heavy thump of music pounding against the walls. Strobe lights flashed, beams of colors zipped spastically across the walls in shades of red and gold, green, purple and blue. Enormous flatscreens covered every wall, showing a highlight reel of key moments in Riley's childhood, such as the joyful time she made a goal in her first Prairie Dogs game, her first Foghorns game tinted violet, a gold-purple haze when getting accepted into her university and, from today, graduating under a blazing golden backdrop. Some of them, though, were completely random, like a fearful memory where Riley was playing a video game and got startled by a manta ray swimming past her screen, or a sad time when she accidentally stepped on a butterfly while visiting a walk-through sanctuary.
They just got lazy near the end.
It was as Anger opened his mouth to point out this fallacy, that over half the room turned to the five that just entered, and let out with a startling uproar of cheer and applause. The Emotions all blanched to the wave of sound hitting them, and only a few of the cries close by were even vaguely discernible:
"You guys!" they heard someone yell. "You guys rock!"
"They're from the top!"
"You guys remember that time when Riley-?"
"HAIL TO THE KINGS! HAIL TO THE QUEENS!"
"None of this would be possible without you five!"
And then a much louder voice, coming from somewhere in the back: "LET'S HEAR IT FOR RILEY'S EMOTIONS EVERYBODY! Hip-hip!"
"Huzzah!"
"Hip-hip!"
"Huzzah!"
"HIP-HIP!"
"HUZZAH!"
Anger winced, their ovations were so thunderous. I'm surprised Riley hasn't been woken up yet. He tugged hard at his collar.
Joy, of course, was loving it. She waved her arm high above her head in a typically animated fashion. "Hi, everybody!" she cheered.
Sadness offered a much more subdued gesture in turn, as did Fear. Disgust merely flipped her hair and grinned smugly at them all. Anger grimaced. His head felt like someone beat it flat with a mallet. Wordlessly, he marched forward, the first break away from his coworkers.
"Wait, Anger-" He felt a tug on his jacket sleeve.
Anger glared over his shoulder to find Sadness, staring at him with deer-in-the-headlight eyes. The look alone was enough to subdue his annoyance. "What is it?"
But Sadness began stammering, her mouth opening and closing as if trying to speak without saying any words. What's her deal? "Don't you want to stick around a little?" she suddenly asked. "I mean, w-we, everybody's glad to see us. M-Maybe they want to talk to us a little?"
Waves of cheer and applause continued to beat down and wash over him. "They can find me themselves." Anger yanked his jacket out of her grasp, but then Sadness just lunged forward and grabbed him by the wrist, insistent as a ghost. Stop touching me, he wanted to growl. Why are you acting like this?
"We should stick together," she uttered quickly. She glanced around. "I mean, this is a big place, right?"
"When did you become Fear all of a sudden?" He wanted to snicker, Anger wanted to find amusement in Sadness's naivety, but his head pounded from the noise and everything underneath his dress shirt felt like a veritable sauna ready to burst at the seams. Cool air, fresh air. Away from here, away from her. His thoughts were frantic, but he managed to collect himself just enough to explain, "Kid, Fear's already gone, and I saw Joy cartwheeling into the dance floor. Disgust is probably grinding on some unlucky mind worker." He forced a chuckle, though it did little to alleviate the burn in his gut.
"Wait, really?" Sadness looked around, noticing that all of their coworkers have indeed split up. "They're already gone?"
Gah, what's her problem!? Sadness's childish empathy and sudden clinginess only worsened Anger's despair, and made it all the more impossible to keep his cool right there in front of her. The last thing he wanted was to blow up in her face, in front of all of Riley's mind world no less.
He channeled some aggression into whirling around, pulling his hand free in the process, and he gave his friend a hard look. "Kid, it's a party! Go and meet new people! These guys?" He gestured a thumb to the masses behind him. "They're the only other people we'll get to talk to that don't have the mugs of our color-coded posse. You hearin' me? Relish this night! We won't get another like this soon, you know?"
He supposed she did, as Sadness finally ran out of things to say. She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it at once and nodded quietly, much to Anger's relief. Her eyes shimmered in the disco lights.
Anger felt compelled to ask her what was wrong, but...
Shit, shit, SHIT!
His head might as well have been shoved in water. In fact, with his sanity burning away and mind clouding with ashen smoke, Anger wished someone would, just to put a swift end to this insufferable torture.
"And I'm also so, so happy for you, Anger."
He breathed hard. Exhale. Exhale. Breathe in. Exhale. Breathe in. Do they have apple bobbing? he wondered in one second of madness, then the next, Where's the exit?
He wove and pushed, uncaring if he knocked over Riley herself, as insane and unlikely such a scenario was. Someone cried out. He thought it was toward him, but Anger only heard noise mingled in a chaos of more noise. Where happened to it all?
To the yelps of those he shoved past?
The music blaring overhead?
The laughter?
The chatter?
"You've gotten really good at controlling your outbursts..."
The fire roaring in his head, screaming, bellowing, rattling its cage to be let out?
It was noise, just stupid, pointless, nonsense noise.
And this shirt, he wanted to rip it off. Be free. He needed to breathe. Breathe. No, no. That would bring up questions. Questions led to finding out. He couldn't be found out. Not like this. Not for Sadness, she'd be so disappointed in him.
Air. I just need air. Fresh air, air from outside, not in here, stuffy and fake and full of a million different perfumes. Why am I getting so mad over this crap? he wondered lightly, as if pondering the weather for the day. These random episodes of baseless outrage seemed to be cropping up faster than weeds nowadays, as if in response to Sadness's efforts to control them.
"And you just seem so much happier now because of it. I'm really, I'm..."
It didn't matter. Closer and closer, the exit door grew larger in his sight until its cobalt blue filled his entire vision. Some mind worker saw him and stepped out of the way. Only out of the corner of his eye did Anger see the terror in this man's face. He'd better not talk.
Anger forgot about him half a heartbeat later, as cold air punched him sharply and offered relief to the sweat-stained dress shirt cloying to his body. He breathed deep. Outside. Exhale. I'm outside.
He could feel it, the pressure, building and building. Welling up his stomach, up his throat. He could feel the pressure burning behind his eyes. He squeezed them shut, grit his horrible teeth hard. Fear told him not to do that; what did the beanpole know?! Was the door closed? He didn't care. He was outside, and no one he cared about could see him.
The pressure rose, and rose. It hurt like hell, it hurt like fire. For one, last, moment, Anger looked back on Sadness's words, with a chest full of fire and damp with regret:
Giggling. It was so sweet and delicate. "I'm so happy I was able to help you, Anger."
A savage, monstrous roar rattled down the alley and back, deep into the forlorn night settled above Dream Productions as an inferno cut into the gloom, a dagger blazing fresh from the forge several feet tall.
Anger screamed. He roared. He kicked the wall and stomped his feet. He grabbed at his collar and tore at it until the top button popped loose and his tie was a heap on the floor, the red "A" clip tinkling when it hit the pavement.
It was only an instant, but it felt like an eternity before his throat was too raw to scream any more, and his belly hollowed of feeling. The flames fizzled into a smoking ruin amidst the ember cracks breaking open upon his skull, already beginning the relatively painless process of closing again. Anger felt himself begin to fall, and stuck out one hand to lean upon the cool brick wall of Hypothalamus Heights.
He panted and gasped, staring bug-eyed at the ground between his shoes. "Crap," he breathed, still reeling. "God... damn it all..." He squeeze his eyes shut, shame spreading through his chest. I'm sorry, kid...
"So how long's it been since you had one of those?" purred a voice.
Anger brought his gaze up, only to let it drop the instant he remembered who that mischievous inflection belonged to.
He used his free hand to give him the finger. "Eat shit, Moriarty." His voice was weak and hoarse. "I think Disgust wanted to see you."
"Oh-hoh!" A light titter. "Dear Disgust actually wants to see me?"
Anger wanted to give a threatening growl, disinterested in these games the ratty little cretin liked to play, but he just felt completely drained. "Look Mor," he sighed, "it ain't a matter of 'want', it never friggin' is. I've spent eighteen years looking through the eyes of the best kid on the planet but half the stuff I've seen I never actually 'wanted' to, while there's still so much that I 'want' to see that I haven't yet. Point is, shut up. Disgust doesn't 'want' to see you, but she needs to. So go in, find her, and leave me the hell alone." He paused. "And if you breathe a word of this to anybody..."
"You'll what?" Moriarty playfully inquired. "What price is my silence? A date with Sadness, perhaps? Or Joy? Will you let me cook popcorn atop that lovely hot plate you call a head, mayhaps?"
All words made to get a rise out of him. Yet, Anger felt numb to every single one. He finally had the energy to lift his head, and meet Moriarty in the eye. "How does all your teeth sound?"
Moriarty, just like Bing Bong, Rainbow Unicorn, and several others, appeared just as he did the day Riley imagined him. He was technically four, but his face was that of a humanoid creature in his thirties, with a top hat shading his yellow eyes, but leaving his ever-present sneer exposed to the sunlight. The patchy longcoat he often wore was an exquisite dark leather, which twirled behind him without ever uttering a sound, perfect for sneaking up on people. His trousers were gilded in a number of silver and gold trinkets, with little pouches tied around his thighs and ankles for carrying an assortment of surprises and gifts. When sized with the other Emotions, he stood a head taller than Joy, making him a giant in Anger's eyes.
Moriarty was dreamed into existence by Riley when she was fourteen, and well-into her fantasy craze after reading The Lord of the Rings and becoming infatuated, as many teenage girls did, with a dark and mysterious antihero that had a heart of gold. It made Anger gag to recall.
Thus, they were plagued with the existence of Moriarty. He starred in a couple dreams in the early days, and now resided in Hypothalamus Heights, Imagination Land, Long Term or even the Memory Dump, depending on who you asked.
Though the imagination found his place in recent years as a gatherer of sorts for the Emotions, bringing them special foods, materials, games, and a constant supply of makeup for Disgust in return for, what he calls, "a jovial gathering," which usually amounted to lying around Headquarters for a couple hours before slinking back to his nightly escapades.
It was no surprise that he made Fear uneasy; he often called him "mad" and "literally insane." There was some truth to that; many times Moriarty's sanity came into question with just how random and unpredictable he could be. In one instance, when it first became realized that Moriarty wasn't like the other imaginations, he was babbling away with Joy as she and her coworkers were trying to focus on getting Riley through a test, running back and forth pulling memories that held the answers for her. Some were missing, and Fear was freaking out. Sadness tried calming him down. Nobody divided their attention to entertain Moriarty
That is, until, he casually announced, "Oh, I always wanted to know what would happen to a Core if I did this!"
Fear's shriek was what grabbed everybody's attention.
All eyes were on the gold and green Mixed Core Memory Moriarty held above his head, face twisted in glee. The image inside showcased Riley's tolerance for her father's goofy antics he would perform in public.
Sadness didn't take two steps toward Moriarty before he slammed it into the ground, shattering the Core.
The silence following it was even louder, but Sadness's despair was loudest of all.
Fear and especially Anger were just staring at Moriarty, horrified, utterly speechless. Joy had to step away from the console, both hands placed over her mouth.
Moriarty chuckled darkly. "There," he said, reaching into his coat "now that got your attention." He placed a gold-green memory inside the Core Capsule, this one noticeably brighter than the one lying in pieces at his feet.
But Anger was positive Moriarty would never do anything to actively harm them. He was just a righteous pain in the ass. He at least had the decency to never try and top that last spectacle. Otherwise, he'd be ancient history. Anger would see to it personally, and perhaps Moriarty knew that, too.
"And what would I say to sweet little Sadness when she sees me drinking my meals through a straw?" The man smiled wide, each of his teeth yellowed and rotting, in cheap reference to his "medieval" background.
Anger turned and sat back against the wall, sighing as he slowly slid down its length and sat on the alley ground. In no time guilt and shame riddled every particle in his speckled body like a virus. It made him sick to his stomach, despite it being cold as a dead furnace. "Just get out of here, you little cretin. I'm not in the mood."
"Clearly. And that seems to be just the problem." He took a seat beside Anger, bending over briefly to brush the spot off with a gloved hand before lowering himself. He folded his knees into his chest. "I take it the lessons aren't going well?"
Anger's stare hardened, burning holes into the sandy brick across the alley. Get out of here, freak. He couldn't exactly go anywhere, not like this, but at the same time he could do nothing to push Moriarty away; the man went where he wanted.
The dark-clad imagination seemed to take silence as answer. "You don't want to hurt the child, I understand that," he assumed, correctly, but assumed regardless. "Why, I ask, is it worth to keep the lie going, when even an outsider like mwah can tell you that Sadness will respect and appreciate the truth more than the inevitable discovery that you're running with a lie?"
Anger let out a humorless laugh. "You don't know her. You have no idea how... how..." Disappointed she'd be. But he couldn't bear to say the words, to breathe life into a truth he wanted gone.
Moriarty understood though, and shrugged plainly. "Eh, probably not. Probably. I'm just trying to wrap my head around your mentality behind this, the very clear torture it was to finally let all that out."
"They made me better," Anger told him, almost robotic in his inflection. "Riley doesn't get mad over stupid stuff anymore. It's perfect for her."
Moriarty snickered. "Ah, yes. A valiant sacrifice of time at the controls. The same noble pledge made by our dear friend, Disgust, if I'm not mistaken?"
Anger shifted his eyes over to him, where Moriarty had a thin smile on. "Disgust," he spat the name off his tongue. "Don't compare me to her, alright? She got lazy. With Sadness, she made it so that I don't make Riley flip out over every little thing. It's made her more mature, hear me?"
"Hmph. 'Mature' you say, indeed." Why does he find that funny? "And you?"
"I have it under control," he assured him, though he didn't know why he felt the need to.
Moriarty eyed him from under the brim of his hat. For what felt like an infinity he stared, perhaps to try and make Anger uncomfortable. In truth, the trickster was the very last thing on the brick's mind.
"As you insist," he allowed, apparently bored with waiting. Moriarty stood, brushed gravel off the back of his coat and strode to the door on silent footfalls. "Good luck with the anger management, my little friend. I'll give Disgust my regards," he said, tittering lightly. Moriarty slipped back into the party as a shadow would, quiet and invisible.
A sense of loneliness began to creep over Anger's shoulders. He turned to the right, to the plank fence he found Moriarty leaning against. No one was there, no towering man in black ready to snicker at him lurking in the shadows. He turned to the left, down the alley. No one was there; it was an eerie locale, with orange lights dimly humming, ready to burst at any moment. No sane person would want to be out here, when there was a party in there.
Anger sighed; he was alone. In silence. Relative silence, at least; the ungodly music thumping and thumping against the walls might as well have been clear as day. But that wasn't a terrible thing. It gave Anger nothing to fear as he grabbed the sides of his head and screamed.
"YES!" Anger roared. "Everything everywhere still pisses me off to no end; these people, my coworkers, this 'hole I'm trapped in and especially your sneering mug! Do you get it now, you freak!?" Fires leaped from Anger's skull as he raged, throwing shadows across the alleyway that vanished the moment they appeared. He collapsed into more gasping soon after.
Anger was nothing if not a fair Emotion. If somebody wronged Riley, there would be hell to pay, as numerous red memories of fistfights and split lips could testify. But who was there to smack his wrists when he was the one being unfair?
"It ain't fair," Anger fumed. What wasn't fair? This situation? That poor kid he was jerking around? Anger couldn't articulate or organize his thoughts, his rage, as it often did, blinded him so. Not even Sadness would be able to calm him down if she came out right there.
As soon as it crossed his mind the gutwrenching scenario played through his mind before he could stop it; he thought of Sadness, her stepping through that exit door after seeing him barreling through the party, seeing him screaming and burning out here. The true horror of these images came when she tried to stop him, wrapping her arms and pulling her friend into a tight hug to try and squeeze all the anger and pain out of him, only to result in getting herself burned by his own flames.
"No," Anger muttered.
His stomach hurt from burning so much. Quickly however, the thoughts of Sadness and the feelings he got from that imaginary scenario doused his kiln of a gut with a feeling of guilt. It was the same guilt he felt whenever she looked at him, whenever she smiled at him, when she giggled tonight and said how proud she was of him.
The guilt soothed his flames. It kept his anger in check, even though Sadness's lessons failed. In a way, she was still helping him. It was basically the same thing. What the hell does Moriarty know? I told him I have it under control, there's a system.
And as Anger pushed himself up, brushing the gravel sticking to the back of his pants, he realized how lighter his stomach felt after getting all that out. It's been weeks since he last erupted; to do it so infrequently only made the episodes more visceral and relieving. It was better this way. He cracked a weary smile.
"Alright." Anger scooped his tie up off the floor, and began the process he went through every morning anyway of tying it around his neck.