Commissioned [completed]

Chapter 22 - Introducing Slappy

"_______," Papa greeted.

"Terzo," you greeted back. You were back amongst your easels, mixing some shades you already knew you would need.

He came to lean on the desk as he often did, and he watched you set up.

You were always aware of his attention, his stark white iris glinting.

"How is your back?" You asked to somehow shake the heat of his gaze

"Uh, sorry, Pittore?"

"You slept on your couch last night," you justified. "Really, you should have let me; I've been on Sodo's couch for like a week—"

"Oh, no, I'm Papa, I'm old but not that old, and Sodo is...."

"An ass?" You asked simultaneously as he said, "un piccolo cazzo."

"How close was I?"

He frowned and shrugged, "less uh," he gestured to his behind, "and more," he made a presenting hand toward his crotch.

"Not too far off then," you chuckled.

"I've seen you hunching the last few sessions; there's no way you should be sleeping on a fucking couch," his ashen voice became gravel.

"Ah, that's not the couch, that's the chair... thing," you arranged brushes.

"Chair?" He piques a brow.

"I got grabbed by the.. husk in my motel room, then I fell on it, hit the armrest, then the legs beneath," you gestured to points on your back you knew you were still bruised to shit.

"Uh, yes, I recall now," he licked his teeth, "I should have words with Sodo."

"He did pretty alright by me, actually... except for dying.." you conceded.

"Your uh, report told me he used you as bait?"

"Not unwillingly~ Sit, Papa."

"Yes, _____," he responded in kind and nonchalantly picked up the skull taking his time arranging himself, leaving you only to watch. He stroked his thigh, finding a comfortable position, checked himself in the mirror and returned eye contact with you. "Do you have a fucking deathwish?"

"Huh?" You honked, forgetting everything. All of it, your entire life, and all that was important. Your eyes only flicked for those golden claws.

A cheshire grin peeled across his face.

"Oh fuck off, you do that shit on purpose." You slashed a sly grin on your painting.

"What do I do on purpose?"

"Eh, uh, eeeh," you floundered a hand about to gesture to the hand creeping up his thigh to the open legs to the face.

"Yes, I do; I'm posing for my portrait. Does my professionalism offend?" He asked innocently.

"Peh!" You exclaimed, "Professionalism?!"

He grinned, "you didn't answer my question."

You had to think, and he watched you calculate, remembering the question, "no, don't help... uh... deathwish, no, I don't have a deathwish."

"Are you sure, Bait?"

Why did it chill your spine when he called you that? "I just didn't want to tell you, and I didn't want to admit how big the situation was, and I don't want the situation to begin with."

"You can't just avoid that someone is openly trying to kidnap you, Pittore!" He said indignantly.

"No moving your skull hand," you ordered and continued painting quietly before he caught on.