CW: Death and Pee
The changeling was dying.
Her breath was coming in little gasps now, sounds of open mouthed gulps for air. Gathering, but never enough to keep. The changelings in the infirmary had stopped packing her wounds via her request and were just hovering - waiting.
She didn't have much time left now.
There was a hum in the Janus Order infirmary - the gathering cluster of workers like buzzing bees, hovering over her - speaking in changeling tongues, some to each other— some to her, voices soft, offering promises they knew they couldn't keep.
The sea of freshly packed bodies stuffed in dark polos and slacks parted for one form coming through, starting to bow, but stopping and straightening at a sharp look delivered their way. This was not the time for formalities - many of them would have time for that later.
Otto Scarbaach approached the cot where the changeling lay - despite everything, she'd kept her small, pale, human form, blonde hair laying like a halo around her head and sticking to where sweat rolled down her face, some falling into her gasping, open mouth. Gently, he bent and pulled the strands away from her forehead and mouth, holding the locks between his fingers. This caught her attention and she opened her eyes as she tried to sit up to greet him, but found she couldn't move much of anything anymore, a look of shame on her face as she coughed towards him, unladylike. Otto placed a hand on her small shoulder and shook his head in reassurance, shushing her as he eased her back down against the bunched pillows.
Grasping his hand, her voice trembled weakly in a request and Otto had to lean close to hear it, careful not to touch where her shirt had been ripped violently open in shreds, abdomen stained a scarlet red.
He sharply relayed the request to the nearest member - and they returned a bit later with a chalice filled to the brim with dark red wine. Otto tipped the golden cup to her lips and she sucked greedily until she couldn't anymore, coughing and wincing. Otto placed the cup aside when he saw her choke and patted her back and shoulder to help ease the discomfort. She shook her head, trying to get some of her pride back, a playful smirk on her lips as her wrapped chest swelled.
"Q-Quite alright C-Commandant… It's the best wine… I've ever tasted… I'd be glad to choke… finally… on the fruits… of…"
She fell silent.
The room of changelings fell silent.
Otto, still holding that hand that held his, reached his spare to close her grey eyes. He set it on her red chest, stood up and stepped back - staring at the body of the changeling that had been run through with a sword, laying on that stretcher, a wistfully smirk smile still on her face.
"How long?"
"Nomura found her early this morning - we've gotten cleanup and -."
" NO ." Otto spat, in his direction, "How long?"
"A year till retirement, sir. Her fleshbag guise been selling wine for years, sir - but she's never tasted a single drop. She was saving it for…her - um… retirement."
Otto, frowning down at her a moment more, turned to leave, the chalice in hand, still full of wine - barely a sip taken, for most of it had spilled and mixed on her front. For a moment, Otto saw the face of Stricklander staring after him through the crowd, but kept his eyes from meeting his, not wanting his empathy for his duty and position which he'd fought to achieve. The polymorph didn't need to command to tell them what to do with the fleshbag-bound body - they had been doing it for years now. Returning the ashes to the wind - finally free.
Otto Scarbaach shut the main door to the men's bathroom and locked the deadbolt to the wooden door quickly behind him. He set the chalice atop the small makeshift tile shelf that was the indention to insert a mirror and turned on the tap, letting the water come gushing out the squeaking faucet. He simply held his hands under the flowing water, watching the scarlet swirl so gracefully, and attempting to wash the spilled drops of wine from his sleeve. He glanced up at the reflection, spotting the golden cup, something more red than the wine on the lip, dripping inside the dark drink and onto the white countertop.
He wiped it away roughly with the palm of his hand, before shoving the whole cup into the squat, small sink, the sudden movement sending the mix of wine and water and blood sloshing over the sides, landing on the floor and over his shoes, staining everything it touched.
And still, Otto Scarbaach didn't cry.
He was a changeling - changelings didn't mourn the ones they'd never known.
It had been a rather uneventful week leading up to that morning, vocab books and reading reports and remembering to check the cursed "eeee-mail" with more than a heart racing ding! to turn out to be only a coupon for Bed, Bath, and Beyond.
Otto's morning had been the worse way to awaken, but the mundane life of his fleshbag cover had made up for it, giving him time to practice what he wanted to say - everything he'd throw and screech and shout - and seethed in the euphoria and anticipation of releasing his anger and firmness towards the person he wanted to so desperately.
He was no fool at who was responsible for yet another loss in their small, sparse group.
The bell rang for lunch and Otto ushered the teens out of his room and to the cafeteria, where a roar of boisterous noise could be heard doors down. Flinching at it, he opted out for the Teacher's Lounge, carrying an empty cup of what was once filled with coffee hanging loosely in his hand. The door swung shut and Otto looked up to be met by a chest and neck, continuing up to see the face of Senor Uhl - surprised at bumping into each other at the door.
"Oop! Apologizes…" The mountain of blonde hair muttered, staring at the man that he hadn't met yet, a bit confused, "I do not believe I have seen you before. Who are you?" Uhl asked, tone almost accusatory.
"Otto Scarbaach." The polymorph introduced, wanting to clear the air of any possible conflict, holding out a pockmarked hand, "I'm the new English teacher."
After a moment of processing, Uhl took the small hand in his dainty own - his face not betraying any embarrassment of his overcautious and firm state.
"Ah - yes. I've heard many things about you from Strickler. He talks much about you - even before you came - but good things, of course." Uhl finished, letting go of the hand, "I heard you are strict with you teaching - keep the kids in line."
"Indeed, I am."
" Gut . We need more structure around here sometimes - the two boys - Jim and Tobias -."
Otto sighed through his nose, "Say no more - I know what they are like. They are my new neighbors…"
An expression Otto couldn't read crossed Uhls face as he continued his path to the door - not wanting to be late to his class.
"Then I have one thing to say about those two…" Uhl muttered, a bit sympathetically, as he began to exit and close the door, "May your suffering be short and may God have mercy on your soul."
Then, with a clang, it shut, and the only sound could be heard was the cracking of the mug as it it the floor, Otto's mouth hanging open.
The day came and went and the night crept in like spilled ink, the dawn obscured by the dark of the spilled cosmos - small sparks of light finding their way through the low hanging clouds of the evening.
It was his night off - thanks to Strickler's big mouth. He'd had to have told Nomura with one of their modern devices what all had happened the night before and during that early morning check in. He'd been given the phone and charger in passing in the hallway of Arcadia, and, carefully, after letting it sit in his palm, he flipped it open, staring at the illuminated screen and at the unread message in his inbox.
Walt: Coffee?
No time - no date - so very clear, Walt. How cute - his big brother was taking the role again - worried about him - look at that message.
He rolled his eyes and began to fumble with the clicking keys.
Otto: Sure, alright - tomorrow after my classes then.
Walt: Did you get Nomura's message earlier?
Otto: I did - you two didn't have to do that.
Walt: It's alright - she got and signed off for her delivery - she was managing unpacking tonight anyway - I'm tomorrow - look out for your late one soon - you're on duty then. Tonight you can take a rest.
Otto's fingers hovered, the itching feeling of guilt of his most recent lie scratching his throat before his phone dinged again, staring at the screen, blinking a bit.
Walt: You don't have to be okay, you know.
Another beat, his face flushed, before he typed.
Otto: I am Grand Commandant, same as you, witnessing events like this morning comes with my job.
Pausing - again.
Otto: And I am fine.
He shut the phone with a snap before he could see Walter's reply, shoving his phone in his pocket, legs still swinging over the side of the Bridge, staring between his feet, the space between his feet and cement far below.
Waiting for the two trolls, form outlined in the pale eye of moonlight - he found he was just on time as six eye broke through underneath the bridge - a soft fog blurring the image. He swung his legs back over to his side of the Bridge, heading down the steep slope - taking on a new face, one of a nervous fleshbag learning to be the Trollhunter.
At least some of his guise spoke the truth.
"Are we there yet? Why are we walking?"
"With our friend occupying the ring - I believe an alternative is in our cards of favor." Blinky spoke, leading Otto along the empty canal, carefully stepping over a gathering of flotsam in the path - his ears pricked to the passing wind. "And, in my travels this early evening, I believe I have found a good solution."
Otto opened his mouth to ask why before Blinky began to tug him along and up the steep slope, a sudden left, something catching his attention. The man followed, feeling the iron grip of Blinky on his sleeve, and Arrrgh gently nosing him from behind, the wet nose hitting the back of his neck and the small of his back, supporting him up. He waved his hand behind him to urge him to stop once they made it to the top - he could take care of himself - thank you very much, and didn't need a pair of parent figures to help him along like he was learning to walk.
A few steps into the woods and Blinky stopped, releasing his hand, thank God, and turning to face him, holding up a finger to silence any possible protest.
"Listen, Master Otto. Listen close…"
"Are you going to tell me to close my eyes?"
"Why, of course…"
A sigh through his nose, but Otto obliged, closing his eyes, but remained tense, listening close to the night. A frog burped, a raccoon chattered, a loon called, lonely, a pair of hands were resting on his -
"Wait!" Otto's eyes shot open, the shoulders being touched tensing in the moonlight, taking a step back, running into a quiet Arrrgh. " What are you doing?"
"You are acting too tense, Master Otto. I was simply adjusting your shoulder down, a bit less bunched up from your neck."
"Warn me next time, oh Mein Gott. .."
"My apologies, I didn't mean to frighten you - wrong of me to assume the belief of humans and their acclimation to touch would all be the same - that, and trolls can be quite quiet."
Otto was quiet as he rubbed his arm, feeling a few of Blinky's eyes still looking at him, as if scrying into his soul.
"What?"
"You are troubled…"
"What if I am? Does it matter?"
"A clear head gives way to another dawn - holding it in does no one any good." The troll paused, "What troubles you, Master Scarbaach?"
Otto paused, trying to figure out a good consistent story to tell, one of many he'd have to remember.
"A distant friend died today." He spoke, both a lie and a truth, "I did not know much of her - but it rubbed me the wrong way."
Blinky nodded, gentle, fatherly, as he did.
"I see…"
"But I am fine - it was just very unexpected this morning - threw me on a loop for my teaching today."
"English, yes?"
"That is correct."
Blinky bore his tusks in a small smile, trying to be reassuring.
"A noble profession - you must be good with children - now -." He held up his hands, showing him nothing in them, no knife to stick through his back, but holding no pressure or force, "May we try again?"
Otto took a breath, a moment to gather himself again - he was not some upset crying whelp and he nodded, sighing gently.
A pair of hands on his shoulders again once Blinky was a bit behind, guiding him forward and into a small clearing - and this time he kept still, closing his eyes after they had come to a complete stop.
He listened, letting his breathing come to a less panicked state, something gentle as he could manage and the soft squeeze affirmed he was fine - he was doing just fine.
Then, he heard it, a distant scrabbling, something a touch metallic, but mostly something scratching, like a cat to a scratching post.
Otto turned his head in the direction of the sound, silently indicating its presence, and he practically felt the beams of Blinky and Arrrghs smile, disgustingly sweet.
"Very good!"
"Yeah, sure. What is it?" He asked, opening his eyes, realizing his haphazard glasses were slipping off his nose, carefully pushing them back up his nose.
"Goblins, Master Otto - those are the sound of goblins."
There was a pregnant pause, Otto's face draining of color, and idea of what he had to do forming in his skull.
"Goblins?" he asked, in feigned disbelief, as if the little creatures were an unheard phenomenon.
"Yes, goblins. Small, beady eyed creatures that are signs of activity of the Darklands and shadows."
"Darklands?"
Blinky patted his shoulder, "My my, we have a lot to catch up on - now -!" He gestured towards the small weight in his breast pocket.
Otto covered it with a hand as it illuminated, hiding the light feebly. He stared at the pointed finger, the glowing, pulsating Amulet, the human hand hovering over his heart as he breathed in.
"What… What do you need me to do?"
The clanging of metal against stone rung out over the storage complex and the poor, defenseless chain length fence didn't stand a chance against a slice of Daylight, an Otto sized opening made just for him. He stepped over the threshold, checking for cameras and any possible security dogs inside before remembering who he'd been seeking. They would never pick a place with cameras - a shitty non-climate controlled storage cabinet had to do. The Amulet clicked as he sheathed the sword back on his back, held there by Deya only knew what.
He picked his way along, ducking and shuffling and keeping to the shadows, instinctively covering the Amulet when a flash of movement could be seen crawling over small empty boxes, a crate of empty glass bottles rattling with the light weight. Cast in the inescapable edge of a low hanging lamplight - Otto watched as the door to storage unit 33B rattled close with a metallic clang.
"This is you first mission, Master Otto. Always be afraid…"
Breathing in, feeling the air enter his lungs, he stepped out from his hiding, steeling his stone, his gut and blood and heart like iron - biting, burning cold.
He took hold of that metal door, the steel crunching under his fist, as he forced the door up, the muffled chatter coming to an abrupt halt as all the bodies in the unit turned.
Common Lower Goblins, green slimy skin, flesh like a frog, tooth and fangs and patches of hair - exactly how he remembered them in the Darklands, scuttling and sniffing and speaking amongst each other.
There was a long pause before one goblin of the horde chirped, stepping forward from the mass of pressed goblin bodies, smelling the approaching changelings' scent, person unfamiliar but, something familiar in the world of flesh bags. Otto took a half step back and their eyes glinted in the armor from head to toe, the creatures taking pause very suddenly and all at once, as if a unit, just realizing what said changeling was wearing.
Fragwa made a tentative step back from the Grand Commandant and his newfound attire, ears twitching in visible confusion, sniffing, mouth open in a muted snarl.
"Waka Chaka?" He asked in a hiss, eyebrows tightening, eyes narrowing.
Otto, sighing through his nose, staring down at the two dozen green goblins gathered on the floor of the storage container, reached and pulled the door down and closed, plunging them in stuffy, suffocating darkness.
The sword materialized in his hands, casting them all in an intense blue light, the glowing electricity of magic sparking from his fingers.
He was a Trollhunter - Blinky was counting on him - depending to protect the public.
But, Otto Scarbaach was a changeling — there could be no witnesses.
"I shall send you flowers..."
Then, with shaking hands, he raised the sword over his head.
The night was silent now, too quiet, as Otto found himself at the edge of the bridge again. This time, his companion was the rain, which rolled off his shoulders in small, harmless beads. He wiped the remainants from his sword, the already sticky and filthy rag he'd found on the ground doing no help to hide the evidence of what he'd done.
He didn't know if all Trollhunters felt the way he felt - and he didn't care.
Otto Scarbaach did not feel like a hero.
He wasn't sure if heroes ever felt like heroes - or anything special at all. Perhaps they felt normal - as if he'd ever known that before.
Perhaps they felt like a monster - he was a bit too familiar with that one.
But what was done was done - for the Glory of Merlin, Trollkind, and whoever else claimed to hold the chain attached to his neck.
He frowned in a soft pout, looking at the brief glance of cracked glass lenses through the streaked gore, before huffing, impatient, checking at the watch somehow still visible through the armor.
Damn - now he must know how they fe - .
"DIE SPY SCUM!"
If the voice, so hauntingly recognizable and so shrill, wasn't the reason Otto fell over the edge of the Bridge, the 50,000 volts coursing through his body did the trick, a snarling cry escaping his mouth as he dropped the sword, his body clenching before falling off to the side, rolling.
Scrambling, he recovered faster than he thought possible, grasping a hold of the safety bars, dangling, quite precariously over the edge. He heard the sword split the concrete below, glancing down as the blade disintegrated in a blue flash, before shooting back up catching a glance of a recharging taser pointed towards his head.
"Wait!" Otto cried out, snarling up, eyes narrowing, glasses knocked askew. "Jim?! Tobias?!"
Indeed, his worst nightmare, the last person he'd wished to see, was staring him down the barrel of a taser gun, one in each hand, as if both of them armed could destroy all evil in the wretched world, expressions firm. That is, if expressions could be firm, it was hard to tell with their soft fleshbag faces shoved into a panty hose leg, the rest of the women's garment hanging like some sad, ponytail.
"Dammit Jim!" Tobias cursed from behind his panty hose covered face, frown smushed in the leggings, "I knew that wouldn't work!"
Otto felt the boiling rage rise up in his chest, meeting his eyes.
"What the HELL are you doing?! Are you trying to kill me?!"
"S-Shut up!" Jim squeaked, nearly gasping at the nerve of himself, "We know who you are!"
"Do you now?" He asked in a cool tone, despite his predicament, grabbing for the other bar in a metallic clang of the armor, a clawing worry at the back of his neck.
"Yeah!" Toby spat, pulling off the hose, tossing it aside, "You're a government spy!"
There was a beat of silence, a pin could be heard, before a boisterous, mad sounding laugh broke the silence of the night, the body of Otto Scarbaach pulling itself up, over the rail before tumbling down in a heap, still cackling to himself.
The tazers in the boys' hands lowered a notch, the pair looking at each other, looking at the man, back at each other, before their faces grew a delicate shade of pink - mouths opening and closing.
"What's so funny?" Tobias asked, seething, but in a squeak, the fire killed by the bucket that was Otto's light, airy laughter.
"You are!" He chuckled, snickering, face full of teasing without holding back, lip curled. He wasn't sure if it was just them - perhaps it was everything leading up to them - he wasn't sure - it was fuzzy - God, he was tired.
"W-We saw you! At the ancient business! Travel agency! We saw the platform go down!"
Otto started catching his breath then, everything from his head to his toes aching as he grabbed a hold of the railing, trying to get up again.
The boys aimed the stolen tasers at him again, a silent warning, and Otto stayed still, slowly bringing up a hand.
"Boys…" he spoke, tone dry and firm as nails, "I will not hurt you. Put them down."
"No!" Jim spoke up, stepping forward a bit, a touch more brave, "T-Tell us! Tell us what you are! Right now!"
Otto seethed, growled a bit in defiance as he rose to his feet, looking down on the very frightened teens, who blinked up at him expectantly.
The polymorph was stuck between a rock and a much harder place - teenage stubbornness - so much unlike his own.
Then, he got an idea - a wonderfully terrible idea. The armor faded in a flash of blue light as he leaned forward, smirking, placing a very human hand on one of their shoulders, shaking it.
"Name your junk food - I'll pay your price for silence."
The place was empty, as was foretold by the prophets of two slurping and chewing teens, suckling hungrily at thier lo mein and dumplings, as if they'd never eaten in their entire lives.
Otto couldn't help but stare a bit when they dug in, a single noodle poised between chopsticks before he used said utensil to smack the tops of their hands, hissing at them.
"Manners! Were you born in a zoo?"
"Quick question: were you born into your position? Like – is there an institution somewhere – a spy school?"
Otto sighed through his nose, shooting back a heated glare, stronger now, now that his life wasn't on the line.
"I am not a spy nor ever will be one – Now eat your food - stop behaving like a child!"
The pair ducked their heads and did as they were told, slurping a bit less loudly now, lest they catch the stray waitress and cooks attention, both staring at their phones.
Happy Dragons' Noodle House wasn't far from the edge of downtown, just what Otto wanted to see, seeing how his ability to move was further from exclamatory and, thankfully, was one of the few things in this godforsaken town that was open 24 hours. They'd shuffled in, named their choice of drink, mostly soda and a coffee, and sat down to wait for their meal, the cute smiling dragon staring at the polymorph from all sides, sure to rip his throat out at any given moment.
Otto made a disgusted noise at the salt and pepper shakers, the rosy-cheeked creatures giving him nothing but the urge to vomit. Was nothing sacred these days?
"Hey…" Jim protested, pulling the pair of kissy, magnetic dragons towards him, before using the contents inside, "they're cute… and in love..."
"They're disgusting…"
"That's what you think…" Tobias muttered behind his wall of noodles, slurping silently and without fuss when an elbow found his gut, poking in the ribs.
Jim turned back to Otto, a bit of soy sauce at the edge of his mouth.
"So..." Jim inquired, lifting an eyebrow, "not a spy?"
"Nien."
"And not a Nazi?"
Otto gave a not-so-amused chuckle and leaned forward on his knuckles.
"I'd rather be dead."
The seriousness in his tone prompted a look back and forward from Jim and Toby, but nothing more.
"What are you then?"
Otto sighed through his nose, setting the prepackaged chopsticks aside on the paper sleeve, and began.
It was one of the greatest shitshows he'd ever told.
He kept it bare bones, believable, something he'd be proud of for years to come. A humble teacher from Germany, coming to the US of A, finding a magical Amulet that spoke, Trolls, Trollmarkets existence, things of the sort.
"Two of my friends, trolls, were going to meet me after my first mission – they did not show – perhaps they got caught up somewhere – or are already home – at this close to dawn."
"First mission?"
"Hunting - I was hunting goblins. Terrible beasts…" He felt dirty saying that, but kept his cover - guises - he had to remember guises.
There was an awestruck silence, the boys stared at the other, a habit it seemed, some sort of code, Otto didn't know.
"We want in!" Toby nearly leapt from the spot, "I mean - ! How cool is that! Defending the world from evil! We could even be superheroes of Arcadia, and no one would know it!"
Otto blinked, grabbing his wrist to pull him back down.
"You're not serious…" Otto spoke, eyebrows furrowing, "Tell me you're joking."
"Why would we be?"
"You are stupid, incredibly so. I cannot believe -! I -! Do you know why I told you these things? So you'd stop pestering me and leave me alone!"
The excited features faltered a bit, "There's… only one? What about us? We can help!"
"Absolutely not ."
"Come on! We - We can be your apprentices! You - You can be our ticket to - !"
" Enough - we are done talking."
There was a stunned silence, Otto sat back down from where he'd stood from his seat to quiet them, firey and smothering. Tobias returned the look, chopstick shoved on the table.
"I'm part of yearbook committee."
"I'm sorry - wha - ?"
"I will publish everything you've told me - us - unless we get to help you." His face grew to one of silent pleading, "This is our ticket to fame! If not here, perhaps we can make - !"
A fist slammed against the table, causing the whole thing to rattle, the couple stirred violently, Jim holding them protectively close.
"That is quite enough from you, Tobias Domzalski."
"It's Tobias Domzalski Lake - in case you ever gave a fu-."
The knife on the table flashed up, poised at the boy, instinctive, precise. Otto didn't hold it close, but, it was in his direction, and, in that moment, Tobias' face grew horrified, staring at the tip, before up at Otto, eyes wide.
There was a stillness in the air as noone at the table breathed, the only sounds being the retro turntable in the corner, some muffled song playing from the speaker that wasn't blown out. Realising his behavior, what he was doing, who he was doing it towards, Otto stopped, slowly lowering his culinary tool to the table, along with himself.
There was several seconds of stilled silence. The light on the wall flashed four AM, the dawn was creeping, slow.
"Alright." Otto spoke, voice as calm and collected as a spring wind. "You shall have your time in the Sun - expect me to come by tomorrow night - I will bring you to Trollmarket - let you see - but only under the pretenses you will never speak a word of it - no more threatening me here - it does not make you tougher than you believe - are we clear?"
The pair of rounded eyed faces nodded carefully, hearing him quite clearly now.
There was another sigh from the man, before he stood, the scaping of his chair against the tile making them jump a bit in surprise.
Otto tossed a five dollar bill their way, humming.
"There - take that - leave it as a tip. Eat up little Trollhunters," He finished, unceremoniously, heading for the door before either could protest, the bell announcing his leave out of the squat shop and straight into downtown. "Your food is getting cold."
Anything to avoid either party, Otto found quite peaceful, and sitting alone, on a park bench, at 4:30 in the morning, seemed like a prime example. More than one glance had proved neither had followed him, thank God, and the silence was all the more sweeter as he sat, reeling, recovering, from that morning, afternoon, and evening. More than what he usually handled, he confessed, but it all came with the job.
Yep… all with the job…
He opened his eyes at the distant sound of thunder, the storm moving on from the downtown slopes of Arcadia and past the overlooking hills and mountains, as if the day was shooing them out themselves with a broom. It was a funny image - one to imagine - but it didn't last long, as a sound filtered through an open window far far behind him, in the Museum, still quiet and still from the night.
Otto took pause at that, checking his clock out of instinct, before rising to his feet.
That was the Bridge ward - no one was supposed to be in there at that time - the grace period - where guards were switched and a window to allow changelings to make haste - back to whatever hole they called their home.
The noise of a yelp had Otto up and peaked, eyes and ears pricked at the sound, hand going for the automatic in his pocket, but paused at the climb, looking around a moment to make sure he was alone, before leaping up, much further than a human should be able to achieve.
Scrabbling momentarily at the edge and pushing the rigged panel to make it wider, Otto squeezed himself in, nearly knocking over a display of armor as he rolled to the floor, but recovered in a snap, head turned and ears sharp at a pleading voice, something soft, and fearful.
He crept along the shadows - knowing well this was not the time or place - he shouldn't be here at this hour.
But, neither should they - whoever the buzzing pack was, filtering even from the hallway.
Then, ducking behind a pillar, ready to kill whatever human had fumbled and found a changeling or two trying to sneak out last minute, he risked a glance around, and stared through the hanging, construction tarp.
A group of changelings, half a dozen, maybe less and Bular, the Destroyer, were pushing back and forth a small, cowering changeling.
Pushing, Otto realized after another contact with skin, back and forward with swift punches, the head snapping, the changeling fumbling, trying to escape the ring that had formed around him, but being shoved back into the middle, where the brute awaited to give him an almighty twhack with a paw.
Broken beer bottles, spilled wine, and a dropped, small crate had indicated the crime of the tall, thin changeling, despite his weak protests, apologizes and the like, for ruining what was supposed to be a rendezvous party, something to drink before they left for their miserable day.
Upon the second strike of a new round, he was down, spitting a bit of blood from his nose out of his mouth, the stone toughness of his trollish counterpart still present but growing weaker, cracking under the pressure.
"Please…" he murmured, as Bular pulled him back to his feet by twisting his arm, holding longer and tighter than before around his wrist, preventing him from running away, "Please I - I..."
There was a beat of a shocked silence shared in the room. Something had happened Otto reasoned hiding behind that pilar, before he jumped at the sound Bular's booming, cackling laugh breaking the air. Otto turned back from putting his gun away and spotted as a clawed hand pointed towards the man's khaki britches, the Prince throwing his head back as he did so.
Otto, blinking in momentary confusion, stared from across the way to see that the changeling, had, quite abruptly and unexpectedly, peed himself in fear and submission, a look of horror crossing the young man's face at his realisation of the source of his now wet pants.
The thin changeling hunched and hid his face in his hands as the laughter echoed, the supporters of the brute ringing up in retaliation as well, as he stood with a puddle slowly forming around his ankles, face burning red in human shame.
The sounds of his whimpering chesty sobs had Otto walking out of the shadows at a brisk pace, shoving a laughing changeling of the ring aside to make room, the figure choking on a dead laugh. Stepping forward, Otto placed a hand on the man's shoulder, making him jump, before stepping between the boy and the brute, staring up with a scowl. Bular didn't feel the heat of it and didn't care, poking Otto's shoulder roughly with then end of his claw, mouth open in what was sure to be a remark asking if he'd done the same thing his age - seeing he was a coward defending coward.
Otto's hand snapped up in a flash, gripping the leather bound around Bular's wrist and tugged it down in a snap, making the troll take a half-step forward. The room fell silent, and Bular was quieted and shocked for a moment at the insubordination, but it was enough for Otto to speak.
"May I remind you who is prime manager to the safe delivery of these packages - not you, not Stricklander, not this boy - ME. How difficult you think it would be for me to make it all stop and take pause for another few hundred years?" He hissed, knowing that these promised things coming true would mean his death through Bular's burning rage - but self-preservation was the last thing on his mind - he was just pissed, "I will not stop the delivery of this operation - I am not a turncoat and we've waited too long for this opportunity - but, I will pause all operations to this project unless you stop acting like a child." He let go of the wrist, shooting a white hot glare around him, "Is this how you act when I'm gone? Disgraceful! - fucking disgraceful! - I've never had the displeasure to work with changelings as unprofessional as you in my entire life! I promise you, by the wrath of Pale Lady, I will send you all to shovel Nylogroph manure in the deepest, coldest damned corners of the Darklands if I catch you doing this inefficient Scheisse again! And you - !" He turned back to Bular, who blinked at the finger shoved in his direction, "Don't think I forget what you've done this morning - keep your claws and your sword to yourself for this rest of this mission! We need all the help we can get - any more 'accidents' and you will have no one left to build your Bridge and you can forget about ever seeing your Daddy again!"
He hefted the boy to stand a bit straighter, leading him along as they parted quickly for the sniffling, still sobbing changeling, and the fuming, done with the week - the day - the year - Grand Commandant.
"Clean that up! And get yourselves out of here!" He barked at the nearest member, the changeling jumping five feet back, "You shall hear from me in the late morning! Expect to buy gloves - lest you get your precious shit-stained hands dirty!"
Through the hallway and the door and the pair was out in the open, the boy wiping his eyes, legs weak - knees shaking.
"Please, sir. I'm sorry, sir. I-I didn't mean to, s-sir. I - ."
"Hush." He commanded, not gentle, but not cruel, helping the man along, "That's enough whimpering - quiet yourself."
The man did as he was told, walking awkwardly with his wet pants, too embarrassed to look anywhere near his feet. Otto saved him from further humiliation by avoiding his gaze or a look, staring forward instead, tightening his grip when he felt the other get a bit heavy in his arm.
With the brisk, seething pace, it didn't take long to get to his home, the door opening after Otto fumbled with the keys, helping the man up the stairs before uncermously shoving him into a shower, still dressed, the lukewarm water spraying over his head.
"Clean yourself up - there's a towel there - I will bring you something else to wear."
There was silence as he turned away and out the door to give the changeling privacy and save himself from more embarrassment of playing nurse. Picking his way across the hallway, he found himself on his knees, grabbing a pair of trousers and an aging Arcadia Oaks High tee three times too big for the smaller unexpected guest but would have to do. He knocked, hearing the water still flowing, opened the door a crack, placed the folded clothes on the floor, before closing the door again with a sigh.
He slid down the wall to sit by the door - rubbing his nose where a goblin had clipped him earlier, a small cut, but thankfully wasn't bleeding. After a small check on the visible parts, he came back to be aware and realized how quiet it was, knocking before peeking in, to check.
"You alright?" He asked, before realising he was talking to an empty room, the clothes gone and the bathroom window wide open, chilled early morning air rustling the silky white curtains. Otto rushed quickly to the window to look down, grateful there wasn't a pile of rubble at the bottom, the scent of the unfamiliar changeling fading fast where he'd slipped out quietly, the recent rain washing away anything tangible.
A weight settled in his chest as he shut the window,
What the fuck had he done?
He had every right to be upset - unprofessional - inefficient. But there was still an unspoken hierarchy - Bular was on top - he had snapped, shouted, pointed fingers.
He would pay for it later - he knew - just as certain as his soul would burn to a nice crisp in Hell - if he was lucky, perhaps only minimally for both counts.
Climbing out of standing in the empty tub, he made his way to the sink, twisting the faucet on, gathering a handful of cold water to splash on his face. Gathering and scrubbing, trying to get rid of the dirt resting beneath his skin, something deeper he couldn't reach, dirty water swirling, spilling, tugging a few drops of the wine stuck to his cuff.
He coughed and brought his head back up a few moments, breathing harshly to catch his breath, blinking away the dripping water from his eyes. Otto stared at the oval reflection, eyes seething back, broken glasses, a bruise hidden by facial hair, a cut on his nose from a claw, everything he saw, he stared at in a silent awe, as if for the first time.
The towel on the rack was pulled off with a much gentler force, absently, by his left hand, and he felt the fire in his blood smother to a less dangerous flame as he wiped his face and patted it dry. It was something warm, lingering, alive enough to be rekindled again.
The polymorph tossed last glance to the closed window at the breaking dawn before he was out of the washroom, heading to his room to change for the day, unfurling the tie that had wrapped around his throat, other hand fumbling with the button around his waist.
Things were going to change.
He turned a bit in his tall reflection.
And he guessed the best way was to start with himself.