004: THE WORLD'S BIGGEST FAILURE
A/N: …is apparently not Feharan, much to my own surprise.
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The first time Blackened met Mukhari, the man had screamed like a teenage girl and promptly smashed the king of Bibles into his face.
The second time Blackened met Mukhari, the man had screamed like a teenage girl and promptly flung the king of Bibles into his stomach.
The third time Blackened met Mukhari, the man had screamed like a teenage girl and -- well, Blackened didn't like remembering where the king of Bibles had hit him that time. Regardless to say, there had been a real fear that Blackened's parents would have been sorely deprived of grandchildren.
The eighty-third time Blackened met Mukhari, there had been no screaming, only a lot of swearing, and the king of Bibles had been dodged. Unfortunately for Mukhari, the book had landed in the fireplace and promptly turned to ash.
"You weren't supposed to do that," Mukhari said afterwards, scratching his head in confusion.
"Big-ass bruises are no longer the height of fashion," Blackened replied. "And you forgot to scream." Mukhari always screamed, even in the dead of night, even in extremely public places, even in dungeons they were sneaking around in, trying to avoid attracting the attention of monsters.
"Fuck!" Mukhari slammed his fist into his palm. "I thought I forgot something. Can I scream now--"
"No," Blackened said. "I think I like this new-and-improved 'hello'."
"You're a goddamn no-fun bastard." Mukhari flopped down on the ground next to Blackened, much like a dead fish. "I miss my Bible, bring it back, O great master of human embroidery."
"I don't miss it," Blackened said. After Mukhari pushed off to sleep on the roof or wherever it was he slept, Blackened was going to collect the ashes and piss on them. "I don't miss the thing at all."
"I'm sure you will in two days' time. You will weep like a little girl, I assure you. Damn! Do you know how rare that thing probably was? I've never seen a bigger one!"
"That's because you went and pasted loads of dirty pictures between each chapter--"
"Exactly," Mukhari said, mournfully. He prodded the ashes of his beloved Bible with the poker and pulled off a salute -- or at least tried to, while lying in a most undignified position, flat on his face. "Fare thee well, kind and benevolent soul, for you have fought the good fight and whatever, this is a load of bullshit, come on, Black, let's go get fucking wasted already. We can streak this time. I bet you love streaking. And I'm going to make people pay to see me streak, I need buy another Bible and more pictures, those ones were getting old anyway."
Blackened arched an eyebrow at Mukhari. The only people whom would pay to see Mukhari streak would be the sort Mukhari regularly tried to sell Blackened to.
Mukhari waggled his eyebrows conspiratorially. "Streaaaaaking."
"You're sick. And you can go get wasted and go streaking with some other sick bastards. I'll stay right here." Blackened got up and threw another log on the fire. Even if he'd liked running around naked, he wouldn't have done so on this particular night; not when your nose froze off as soon as you opened the door.
Though it would be for the good of mankind if Mukhari froze off his reproductive organs. In fact, Blackened thought encouraging Mukhari to freeze off his reproductive organs went under the category of 'Saving the Future Generations'.
"You can go," Blackened said, with maniacal cheerfulness. "I'm sure it'll be fun. You haven't gotten drunk since, er, one o' clock this morning" -- when you puked all over my feet -- "it's not healthy to, umm, be sober for so long"
Mukhari was now regarding him with the one-eyed glare of suspicion. It was amazing how much suspicion the ex-priest could channel into an one-eyed glare. Then again, Mukhari was constantly complaining about how Blackened could melt down armor with his glares. But at least Blackened had two eyes. At least his eyes weren't weird and freaky with a pupil that was paler than the iris.
It didn't seem right, somehow, that such a psychotic-looking eye belonged to Mukhari, who spent his free time getting thrown out of windows by angry drunks.
"Hell, you're trying to do something weird, aren't you," the aforementioned window-breaker said. He stuck his tongue out and lapsed into deep thought.
With a colossal effort of deduction, Mukhari said, "Is it because you want to see me naked?"
Blackened snorted and blew a strand of hair away. "Ask me later, when I feel more suicidal."
"You're always suicidal. You're a black-hearted wrist-cutting bitchy moany girly little twerp." Most people were twerps, according to Mukhari. He'd called one of the high priests a twerp, the one who was about nine foot eleven and caused earthquakes when he tip-toed. On the other hand, Blackened was a head shorter than Mukhari.
"I must be suicidal, if I still haven't shoved your head into that fire," Blackened said. He felt pretty suicidal for being a priest, too, when he'd lost all faith in any god a long time ago. Then again, Mukhari had once climbed to the top of the Pronteran Church and shouted 'God sucks dick for half a zeny!' and he was still alive. Which only made Blackened doubt the existence of God some more.
At least Mukhari was no longer an official priest. That was what he still called himself, but the Church denied any connection to him. That wasn't hard, when Mukhari knew shit-all nothing about common acolyte skills, and the only reason he ever made it to priest-status was because a) the Church didn't want him frightening the acolytes and b) he somehow kept coming back. All in all, he was -- had been -- the most useless priest Blackened had ever met. Blackened didn't do magic, either, but at least he was a halfway decent doctor. Mukhari's one great talent lay in chopping off limbs with a sadistic glee. The man had once walked around whacking people with severed arms. Admittedly, he'd been both drunk and high that time.
He was also useful when it came to hunting maggots. Any maggots Mukhari wanted to use were the ones that ate living flesh; therefore, Blackened always knew which maggots not to choose.
"See? You're doing it again," Mukhari said, jabbing the end of the poker into Blackened's side.
"Doing what?" Blackened asked, jabbing the heel of his foot into Mukhari's forehead.
"Being all dark and broody and doing that I'm-thinking-about-real-important-philosophical-shit right now," Mukhari said. When confronted with Blackened's all-purpose blank-stare-of-confusion, Mukhari said, "What I mean is, you look like you're constipated."
The heel of Blackened's foot went down again. Repeatedly. Mukhari yelped.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Your heel-bone is shaped like a dagger, this isn't fair!"
