{Night 07: Boy In The Trash}
Uriel and I froze, stopped dead in our tracks, about four meters away from the well.
The boy half-buried in the garbage next to it glared back defiantly with one eye.
He was a Not-Rot. Rotters didn't have black hair, not even with that chunk of white in his bangs. I briefly debated the possibility of him being a mutt, but dismissed the idea. His skin was too fine, almost like the dishes royalty ate off of in stories my mom told me. Zaria was the lightest-skinned Rotter, and this kid was white. His hair was ragged and looked self-cut with a dull knife, falling past his shoulders in matted clumps. It was a little hard to tell that it was black and white under all the filth covering him. His open eye was crimson, dark and dangerous while still looking bright and vivid. He was caked in dried blood, and his shut eye looked like it had once been a waterfall of the stuff. The only thing he was wearing was a rag wrapped around his waist. You could see his ribs and the bags under his eyes. He looked younger than me, perhaps twelve.
All and all, he was rather pathetic-looking.
"What're you looking at?" he snarled.
Uriel and I exchanged a look, then crept over to the well.
I didn't recall there being a lot of noise last night, or any commotion at all... Where'd this brat come from...?
I cranked up a bucket of water with Uriel's help. I looked thoughtfully at the water-skin.
... Nah.
I turned around, coming up behind the boy.
He shrieked as the cold water was poured over his head. "Y-you bastard!" he spluttered, turning around to try and hit me. I easily stepped away, and threw the bucket back in the well. "Wh-wh-what the hell was that for, fucker?!"
"Rots may not be the cleanest of people, but you're filthy even by our standards." I declared, already cranking up the next bucket. When it came up, the boy did his best to retreat, but was apparently too weak to even get to his knees. I doused him again. "There now— Doesn't that feel better than being caked with shit?" I asked, recalling how my mother would ask me the same thing when washing me after sludge-ball.
"M-m-maybe I like b-being caked with sh-shit! Trample off, f-fucker!"
It was amusing how similar of responses we gave.
"One more bucket?" I asked Uriel. The boy hissed, trying to crawl away on his hands and knees, but slipped in the mud. "Oi, oi, don't undo all our hard work!" I scolded.
Not long afterwards, the boy was sufficiently doused and the skin filled. I gave it to Uriel and turned towards the boy. He spat at my feet, trying to scoot away, but he was too slow. I easily grabbed him and put him over my shoulders like I used to put Uriel when he was still small. He began to kick, flail and swear.
"Hey, watchit, if yer too feisty I'll drop ya!" I warned, setting off back into the village. Uriel followed after us, holding his head up high, skin-strap in his mouth.
"Then drop me! Leggo! Hey! Listen to me!"
I pretty much ignored him, turning to Uriel. "Go home and give Mom the skin. Be careful with it, yeah? I'll be with the quack or Zaria." I instructed. Still holding his head up so the skin didn't drag on the ground, Uriel went off towards our hut. I gave the swearing boy on my shoulders a small jolt, making him squeal, and headed towards the quack's. Heads poked out of huts and curious gazes followed us. But no one stopped me. They knew where I was going just by looking at my 'find' and his condition.
When I got there, Master Alban raised an eyebrow at me.
"Jeez, Mal, can'tcha be like norm'l Rots an' bring 'ome clothin'?" Zaria asked, the only other one in the hut at the moment.
"Snow-sabres, boys, what's next? Dragons?" Master Alban muttered as I dumped the boy on the ground before him. A small, pained cry left him. "Careful, can't you see he's injured?!"
"Doesn't stop 'im from bein' feisty!" I snapped.
"And you, shut up!"
The boy stopped whining with surprising obedience. I blinked in surprise.
Master Alban knelt before him and began to examine his wounds. With small gestures of his staff and muttered words, the boy's wounds were cleaned and started healing. Zaria sidled over to me, elbowing my ribs.
"Story?" she asked curiously.
"He was just sittin' in the shit nexta the well. Was caked in shit when I found 'im, but I doused him three times... Li'l asshole."
The boy yelped as Master Alban touched his thigh, jerking away. Zaria and I jumped at the noise.
"Damn, you're torn up... What the hell happened to you, brat?" the quack muttered, murmuring a command. I watched with wide eyes as a purplish glow touched the boy's wound.
"N-none of your business! Go die!"
"... Mal, are you sure that tiger of yours doesn't need a special treat for all those tricks you make him do?"
The boy gasped, eye wide and muscles tense with horror.
"Kids are too fresh, not flavorful enough. But 'e has an eye on you, quack." I answered with a cute smile. Master Alban flipped me off. Zaria burst out laughing, clutching her stomach as she hollered gleefully. "So? What's yer analysis, oh great-and-mighty-quackiness Alban?" I said with a bit of a leer.
"Other th'n thatcha need a spear shoved up yer shitter?"
"Ooh, are you giving me yours?"
Zaria was practically dying next to me, she was laughing so hard.
Alban scowled, muttering a command as he touched his staff to the boy. His wounds healed mostly up. What was left behind were ugly, grayish scars, warped and bumpy-looking.
"My analysis... is that you brats need t' get the fuck outta my house now!"
I scooped up my find, and Zaria and I bolted, laughing and yelling obscenities. Master Alban yelled something about being careful with the kid's injuries, to which I'm sure I responded with something perverted.
After a while, we stopped running, and the kid started beating on me again.
"'E's kinda cute, na? Ya gunna keep 'im?" Zaria snickered, poking the boy's cheek. He snapped his teeth at her.
"Hey, you play nice!" I scolded, jostling him. He squealed, holding stock-still. "An' ah course I'm gunna keep him! I found him, dinn'ah?"
"H-Hey! I'm right here! And I'm not your fucking possession, bastard! Leggo!" the boy yelled, struggling again. Zaria and I whistled casually. "Don't ignore me, you bastards! Hey!"