Fool's Gold | God Tamer x Tiso

Chapter 10 - In Which Quirrel Shares Some Stories

"Say, do you like stories, warrior?"

Quirrel tells Tiso three tales. Tiso hates all of them.

-

Tiso wished he had a hot spring.

Tiso wished he could eat something other than flavorless soup.

And Tiso wished he never had to look at white ash again.

Does it always take this long for bodies to heal? Or has his shell been spoiled by Tamer's pampering? He's not counting the days, not that he ever was, but he swears he's spent an eternity stuck in this cave, bored out of his mind. Surely even Quirrel's feeling it too, the itch of being in the same place for too long.

All Tiso can do is observe, and from where he sat he could see the signs of such restlessness boiling up in the stranger, though they were subtle. The bouncing of a foot, the rhythmic tapping of fingertips, little things that gave away what his body craved. Why Quirrel didn't just give in, Tiso had no clue. Tiso wondered what Quirrel had to gain from this. Perhaps he's hoping that Tiso will be indebted to him when he finally heals. Well, if it's geo he's after, he's going to be in for a disappointing surprise.

Whatever the case, Quirrel's boredom seemed to increase just like Tiso's. But while Tiso would stay quiet and silently vent his frustrations in his mind, Quirrel would always try to entertain himself by spouting some horrible small talk at him.

"Good morning, warrior," Quirrel greeted as he noticed Tiso was awake. He had been occupied with breakfast. More soup, Tiso frowned. "How are you feeling today?"

"How do you think I'm feeling?" he scoffed.

"Not very good I assume," Quirrel shrugged, "but there was nothing wrong with asking."

Tiso had wondered, multiple times, if a bug could die from restlessness. He wondered that if he were to stay still for long enough, would his shell begin to fuse with the makeshift bed he lay on? Would his muscles become stiff and rigid after not being used for so long? Would he decay here and forget how to fight? It was a thought that crossed his mind every time Quirrel spoke to him. Empty words, hollow concern, it angered him, made him want to move, but moving was the one thing he couldn't do.

"Spare me your feeble attempts at conversation and just tell me if the food's done or not."

"It's not," Quirrel said. There was a pause, then, "I believe you would do some good from a distraction."

"I believe it would do me some good if I didn't have two holes in my shell," he stated flatly.

"Yes, see, that's precisely the issue," Quirrel said as if that was some astute observation. "You've done nothing but sulk in your misery, and I can assure you that is doing no good to your mental health."

Mental health? He had been on the verge of death and this stranger is babbling about mental health? "If you can diagnose me with depression surely you can diagnose me with having two godsdamn holes in my godsdamn chest."

"Actually, I should check that," Quirrel left the soup for a moment, kneeling before Tiso as he reached a hand out towards his bandages. Tiso immediately slapped the hand away. Quirrel had attempted to change his bandages before, and Tiso would never let him, not while he was awake. Sometimes when he woke up, he would feel fresh bandages snug on his chest, and he could do nothing but pout about it. But as long as he was awake, Tiso vowed he would never allow this stranger to so much as touch him.

Quirrel stared at him for a moment, with that stupid thinking expression he often wore. A moment later he reached for the bandages again, and yet again Tiso smacked his hand away, this time with more force.