Goretober 2021 - Burns
Stilton tells his new apprentice Gorgonzola how candle holders get their signature head candles. Gorgonzola doesn't take it well.
Warnings: Gore, specifically graphic descriptions of burns and some other unpleasant things. Stilton's kind of a jerk in this. If I need to bump up the rating or put another warning, please let me know.
Gorgonzola let out a long sigh as he trudged through his new home. He dragged a garbage bag, half full, behind him.
Piles of crushed cans, both for alcohol and soda, littered the place. The walls and floor were stained yellow-brown, and a thick layer of dust coated the shelves.
He'd been cleaning for almost an hour now, but it didn't look like he made any progress.
Gorgonzola threw a nasty glare at the heavyset man on the couch. The slob was currently making his way through his third can in that hour alone, dark eyes fixed on the flickering television screen in front of him.
He finished off the drink with a loud burp and crushed the can against his wax-covered head. He then tossed it to the side, never taking his eyes off the TV, and the can clattered next to Gorgonzola's feet.
Gorgonzola's nose wrinkled in disgust. He still couldn't believe that this guy - Stilton the candle holder - was his new mentor.
To say Gorgonzola was disappointed was an understatement. He'd wanted a nice, shiny job like a chef or a businessman, something respectable.
But what he'd get? Work as a crummy candle holder in a city that already ran on electricity. There wasn't anything respectable about that at all. Even worse, Stilton didn't seem to have even the tiniest crumb of respect for his craft or even himself. How was Gorgonzola supposed to learn anything from him?
Everybody knew candle holding was a job meant for those at the very bottom rung of society, the kind of people who were too stupid to trust with garbage dumping or ditch digging. In the one week Gorgonzola had known Stilton, the man had been living up to the stereotype.
All he ever did was drink soda or alcohol, occasionally fill in for a broken streetlight, and yell at Gorgonzola to do stuff. Absolutely nothing to do with teaching candle holding, not that Gorgonzola thought it was a difficult craft mind you, but still, if this was gonna be his new career he wanted to learn something.
Heck, he didn't even know how that candle Stilton wore on top of his head worked!
He knew Stilton could control its size by making it grow or shrink on command, and it seemed to flare up whenever he got upset - which happened a lot. But that was the extent of the rat's knowledge.
Gorgonzola sighed and picked up the can.
No use in moping about it right now. If he was going to spend the next ten-odd years of his life in this shack, he might as well try to keep it livable. He made his way to the kitchen.
He brushed a group of crushed cans and fast-food wrappers off the counter and into the bag, then groaned in dismay.
Behind that particular pile of garbage was a candle. It was still lit, and so much wax had melted from it that it was practically glued to the counter.
Gorgonzola may have only been ten, but even he knew this wasn't safe. He didn't care if Stilton was a professional, just because the man could control his own fire didn't mean he had any power over other flames.
Gorgonzola blew a puff of air and the light was snuffed. He reached out to grab the candle, but when his hand wrapped around the stick pain shot through his palm. He recoiled back to see a thin layer of wax across his hand.
He groaned and smacked himself in the head. Stupid! He should've known the wax was still hot. He peeled it off, taking away quite a bit of fur with it, and threw it into the bag.
That was it. Forget cleaning, he was mad.
Gorgonzola turned his eyes back towards Stilton and scowled.
"Are you just gonna watch TV all day, or will you actually teach me something?"
Stilton looked up at him. "Teach you what? We hold candles. That's it. Or is that too complicated for your little brain?"
Gorgonzola fumed. "How about your head?" He demanded, pointing at the orange candle. "How's that work? Is it like a hat or what?"
"You wanna know?" Stilton leaned forward, his expression grim. "Ya really wanna know?"
Gorgonzola blinked. He'd never seen his master look so serious. But still, he couldn't stop himself from making a snide remark. "Uh, yeah? I kind of have to since I'm your apprentice and not your housekeeper."
Stilton snorted. "Alright, mister apprentice. I was gonna let it be a surprise, but since you want to know so bad, I'll tell you."
Stilton gestured him over, and Gorgonzola scurried to the couch. He hopped onto the seat next to the master candle holder, ignoring the uncomfortable springs that poked at his back, and turned to Stilton with expectant eyes.
"A candle holder getting his candle is a very sacred ritual," Stilton began, his voice echoing through the run-down shack. "It's also a very painful one."
Gorgonzola quirked an eyebrow. "Huh?"
Stilton held up a hand to shush him. "First, they'll strap you down to a chair. It ain't exactly a comfy chair, it's old and full of splinters, and they tie you right up against it to keep your back straight. I know that sounds mean, but we can't have wax and blood getting all over a nice and fancy chair, now can we?"
"B-blood?"
"That's right! 'Cause getting one of these bad boys," Stilton pointed at the orange candle sitting atop of his head, "ain't easy. You gotta earn it, and BOY, do we earn it!"
Gorgonzola wondered why getting a staple accessory for such a lowly job would be so difficult, but he didn't dare to interrupt.
"Once they've got you all tied up, they shave your head and grab a metal rod and a candle. Now, these things are hot, I'm talking scalding here."
Gorgonzola froze. Scalding? No, no, no…
Before he became of age to be an apprentice, Gorgonzola lived on the streets. Being a street rat, in his case quite literally, was never easy, not even in Marzipan City.
Every day he had to worry about shelter, safety, and hunger.
The shelter was any place he could get out of the elements. It didn't matter if it was in a garbage can or under a bridge, if it kept him warm and dry it was a good a place as any to sleep.
He had to be on the alert at all times. There were a lot of weirdos running around Marzipan City, and he learned very quickly that being rude was a good way to get most of them to back off.
Thankfully, there was one easy trick and he and the other kids picked up for getting food.
They liked to wait under the windows of restaurants.
Those places were easy pickings. There was always a chef stupid enough to leave a nicely baked pie out on the windowsill, or some kitchen hand who'd much rather throw failed recipes into the street instead of taking the extra steps to the dumpster.
The only thing to it was that you'd never hit the same place twice in one month. You had to keep jumping between different restaurants, and you had to make sure it was never in a set pattern because otherwise you'd get caught.
It was something all the street rats did. It was easy, it was safe.
Or at least it was supposed to be.
No one had expected the chef to throw out scalding hot soup, especially not the little girl who'd been waiting patiently under his window for a scrap of food.
"They take the candle and start heating it up at the base. Then they get that iron rod and jam it against your head."
Stilton's voice interrupted his thoughts. Gorgonzola looked up at his mentor and tried to focus on his words, but his mind kept wandering back to that little girl.
The soup splashed across her head, face, and shoulders. It was still boiling, even as it ran down her skin and to the ground below.
"Now this piece of iron is gonna be the worst pain you ever experienced. You've got grown men screaming and crying for their mommas like little girls, it's so bad! But they're not gonna stop, no matter how much you beg. They need to get that candle on ya, and this is the best way to do it."
Gorgonzola had been several meters further down the alley, busy digging through a pile of trash bags when she started to scream.
It was an awful sound that made his blood curl and fur stand on end. He turned around, and the smell of soup wafted to his nose.
A crowd started to gather at the alley's entrance, and the chef stuck his head out the window to see what all the ruckus was about.
"They gotta melt your skin off to get the candle to stick, so they hold that iron there until they can see the white of your skull. Your flesh starts bubbling then dripping down, it's a real mess."
Gorgonzola watched in horror as the top layers of her pale blue skin peeled away to reveal a raw pink.
She'd struggled to her feet, tears pouring down her face as she blindly reached for help.
She was still screaming, and the sound was so bad that Gorgonzola wanted to bury himself in the garbage, away from her and that awful noise, but he couldn't look away.
Somebody yelled at someone else to call an ambulance.
"The parts of your scalp that don't melt away get cooked real good. It smells kind of nice once you get past the wax and screaming."
The chef disappeared back into the window for a few seconds and returned with a bucket of water. He threw its contents onto the girl, and her screaming stopped for a brief, wonderful second as the icy water shocked her system.
However, only a moment later, she began to sob. It wasn't like the pitiful crying Gorgonzola was used to hearing from the other kids whenever they felt sorry for themselves (something he'd never admit to taking part in), but a broken sound that still left him on edge as her screams had.
The smell of soup still hung in the air, and Gorgonzola's stomach, despite his horror, groaned in want. Thankfully, the sound of the girl's cries drowned out his noise.
"But you can feel every little drop of wax and skin dribble from the top of your head to the floor."
He could still see parts of her skin peeling, torn edges of blue and pink littered across her arms and neck.
Some of the crowd had made their way into the alley. One woman grabbed the girl under her arms and hoisted her to the window. The woman yelled something about a sink, and the little girl's sobs grew worse. The chef pulled her inside the kitchen.
The sound of running water came from the window, and the wailing of sirens came from a few blocks over.
The chef and the woman were yelling at each other. Gorgonzola couldn't tell who'd been more hysterical; the sobbing girl, or the chef who kept crying that he hadn't seen her, didn't know she was there.
"Once all the extra skin's melted off, you can feel the top of your head crinkling. That's the bottom layer of your skin before you get to all the blood. Ever seen how a paper just crumples up when it's getting burnt? That's how it's gonna be for the rest of your head; sloooowly peeling up from your skull as it's charred black."
Gorgonzola shuddered. His scalp was starting to itch.
"And then they grab the candle. The bottom part's all melted by now, and they press it up against your skull, right where they had the hot iron. The wax starts dripping down your head, and it joins what's left of your skin and melts into it so it's all glued together.
"That's… that's awful," Gorgonzola murmured. He fought to keep his quivering hands in his lap and away from his head.
"And when it starts scabbing up, it's gonna itch. Oh, it'll itch! Worse than any flea you've ever had. There's gonna be a ton of blisters too! You'll want to scratch it, but don't, 'cause it'll mess up the wax job and we'll have to do the whole thing over again."
Gorgonzola could see it in his mind's eye, ugly blisters bursting open to ooze blood and puss as his fingers ran back and forth across his mangled scalp.
He curled his hands into fists, his fingernails digging deep into his palms.
"And when that's healed up, your dome's gonna be ugh-a-lee! Don't worry though. The wax hides all the scars, so you don't gotta worry about scaring off the ladies," Stilton said with a wink.
"That's… nice," Gorgonzola croaked out. He didn't care if he scared off any ladies or not, but he didn't know what else to say.
He hadn't seen the girl himself after they ushered her into the ambulance, but he heard rumors from other street kids. The doctors had to shave off all her hair to treat her scalp. Ugly patches of pink marred her face and shoulders. She was covered in shiny blisters that leaked yellow and red.
Everyone had been scared of her, even after the blisters went away. Her skin wasn't like it used to be, now covered in ugly splotches that were wrinkled and purple.
"I know it sounds bad, but you need to understand, getting your candle is the most important thing a candle holder can do. It's a huge honor, it's how little snot-nosed brats like you become men! Ain't ya excited?" Stilton then let out a burp.
Last Gorgonzola heard the girl was doing okay, a lot uglier now, but happily studying as a certain chef's new apprentice.
Why would anyone want to go through something like that? Gorgonzola couldn't wrap his head around it. But still, he nodded.
Stilton frowned at him, and Gorgonzola fidgeted nervously in his seat.
"Just don't get me started on what happens if the wax gets in your eyes," Silton said.
Gorgonzola couldn't stop himself from squeaking out the question. "W-what happens?"
The few times the girl's eyes were open they'd been bloodshot, but she mostly kept them squeezed shut despite the tears that gushed out of them.
Would the wax turn his eyes red like that? Or would they do something worse?
"Oh boy!" Stilton belched again, not even bothering to turn his head away. Gorgonzola flinched back and his nose wrinkled from the stench, but Stilton continued on, unperturbed by the rat's reaction. "If the wax gets in your eyes, it gets real nasty! Your eyes will melt!"
"What?"
"Yup, your eyeballs will start to melt, and they'll end up as a puddle of goo on the floor. Sometimes people's eyes don't melt all the way through, they just get stuck hanging halfway out of their sockets and on their cheeks, like this."
Stilton patted his face, his fingertips landing just beneath his cheekbones.
Gorgonzola groaned and rubbed his eyes. He pressed his hands hard enough to see colors bursting behind his eyelids.
Eyeballs were soft, weren't they? Almost like jelly. Would the wax make them boil? Would his eyes really ooze out of his sockets in one long, solid piece like Stilton described? Or would they run in small rivulets down his face like melting thrice cream down your arm?
The thought made his stomach churn.
"You know how wax turns hard after it cools down?"
Gorgonzola nodded.
"Well, wax cools down really fast. Especially when it's dripping down your face. It ain't unheard of for the wax to cool off in somebody's sockets after it melts their eyes. There are even people who are so unlucky that their eyes only melt a little, and the wax fills in the rest of the socket. It's just sitting there, on top of their eyeball - or eye blob, I guess, 'cause it ain't a ball no more!
"And here's the thing, they can't just leave the wax in your eyes, 'cause you'll definitely go blind, even if your eyes didn't melt all the way."
Gorgonzola imagined fingers digging around in his eye sockets, jabbing at the soft flesh to scrape out every last bit of wax. And the wax, wouldn't it cling to his flesh as it did earlier to his fur? Would it be like ripping out band-aids? Or would the moisture from his blood and tears make it easy to pluck out?
He wanted to puke.
"And ya wanna know the worst part?"
Despite his better judgment, Gorgonzola nodded.
"We're getting your candle tomorrow."
Gorgonzola's blood went cold. "Huh?"
Stilton belched. "Yup! I'm thinking some kinda green, to go with your fur."
Gorgonzola opened his mouth to protest, but his tongue wouldn't cooperate. "I…"
"It's really important it matches ya, otherwise you're gonna look stupid."
"I… I don't…"
Stilton pointed at his head. "See? Mine looks good, but that's because orange is my color!"
"I don't wanna be a candle holder," Gorgonzola finally screamed. "I don't wanna!"
He took off towards the door, wailing as he did so.
"Hey, where do ya think you're going?"
Gorgonzola didn't answer him, instead quickening his pace. His escape was cut short, however, when thick, calloused fingers wrapped around the end of his tail and roughly yanked him backward and up into the air.
Gorgonzola found himself dangling upside down, the only thing suspending his body weight being his tail. It hurt horribly, and he could've sworn that the skin connecting his tail to his lower back was beginning to slowly tear apart.
Even worse, he was face to face with Stilton. The man had a wide, toothy grin plastered across his greasy face. From the little rat's point of view though, that smile looked like a dreadful scowl. Either way, Stilton's expression only heightened Gorgonzola's panic.
"Were you trying to run away or something?" Stilton asked, and the blatant amusement in his tone did not go unnoticed by the apprentice.
Stilton thought it was funny. Gorgonzola was going to be burnt, tortured, and the man had the nerve to laugh about it.
"Ain't no point-"
Gorgonzola let out a scream and swung his body back, ignoring the searing pain that ran through his tail as he did. He managed to propel himself forward far enough to land a kick on his mentor's nose.
The man grunted in pain and stumbled a few steps back while his free hand darted up to his face. His grip on Gorgonzola loosened, and the rat fell to the ground with a loud thud. The impact knocked the air out of his lungs and left his head throbbing. He lied there for a few moments, stunned, while Stilton gently prodded his nose.
Apparently satisfied that nothing was broken, Stilton turned to Gorgonzola and reached out for him. His expression was dark, but the flame on his head had grown twice in size. "Why, you little-"
A new wave of panic washed over Gorgonzola and he scrambled to his feet, but Stilton's next words made him freeze.
"It was a joke!"
"Huh?"
"I made it all up, it was just a joke, so calm down." Stilton's mouth twisted into a grin, and his flame finally dimmed to its regular glow. "Man, you should see the look on your face!"
The stout man started to snicker, then chuckle, and finally erupted into full-blown laughter. He was laughing so hard he doubled over and tears sprung in the corners of his eyes.
Gorgonzola stared up at him. He didn't see what was so funny about any of this, but to Stilton, it was the prank of the century.
"But… but the candle…"
"It's a hat! See?" Stilton managed out between laughs, plucking the candle from his head and waving it in front of Gorgonzola's face.
He opened his mouth again, but no words came out.
"It's a magical hat though, so don't lose it! And don't let the flame go out too many times, or else we'll have to get another one. These things aren't cheap, kid."
Gorgonzola's mouth closed and his gaze fell.
"I ain't never seen a kid get so scared over a candle before," Stilton said in between shallow breaths. "You looked like you were about to wet yourself!"
Gorgonzola stood there, eyes fixed on the dirty floor while Stilton's laughter rang in his ears. His cheeks burned with shame, and he fought back the tears and snot that wanted so desperately to pour down his face.
Stilton ended his laughter with a long burp and fell back onto the couch.
"Now go get me a drink," he ordered, pointing at their mess of a kitchen. "And make it snappy!"
Gorgonzola nodded and wordlessly headed off to the fridge, hatred burning in his heart.
Why couldn't he have gotten a better mentor?