Crowned

Arc 1, Chapter 16: Burning Rage.

———

Pickle had been lying in his bed awake all night. The sight of her... He had not known what to think. He wanted closure of some kind. But he just couldn't forgive her, he just... Couldn't let it go. He knew it wasn't healthy to hold a grudge like this, Knife made that clear many times. So maybe he should just, tell Taco how he feels, and break things off for good. He should be transparent about his dislike.
A part of him wondered if it would be any good. If she would find it worth listening to. He wondered if it was worth saying, even. He tried to killer her so many times. That rule.
Had he wanted her dead? Or...was it he just had unresolved anger that he wished to dispel in a normalized manner?
Wha would he have felt if she really died?
Perhaps he needed to allow his too to blow in a sense that was less... Lethal. Set a line in the sand which she was not allowed to attempt to speak with him.
She hadn't attempted in the slightest, though.
She had only ever sent letters.
He didn't want to have risked it, even so.

He dragged his eyelids down, tugging at the loose flesh beneath his eyes. Their dark bags wrinkled above his sockets.
After a deft exhale be turned on his side, less than pleasant guilt washing over his thoughts in dreadful waves that soaked through rotting supports of peers that resembled what little thoughts he was comfortable having.
They were children back then.
Maybe it hadn't been fully her fault.
Maybe he'd overthought it, he's had far too long to dwell on the idea. The words. Resentment.
Even if that were the case, though, despite the situation he had ever right and will to be upset. Angry, even. He was allowed to feel displeased about the unpleasant happenings of that moment. She should know that. He wanted her to know that.
He wanted her to know how poorly he'd felt to be treated that way.

He was someone with his own feelings. He could be mad if he wanted to. He'd been upset. He'd been untrusting for ages. Despite their age it's left its mark. The worst thing that's ever happened to him. Voicing his own thoughts was important. Setting boundaries was important.
He had forgotten that hearing hers was important too. But. He often forgot that of everyone. Ignorance.
Boundaries are as important as mindfulness.

He sat up in his bed, and stretched out stiffly. He felt the weights of his eyelids tenfold the moment he dared turn upright. Furrowed lazy brows pinched in retaliation to his lack of sleep. A dampened ache in his muscles demanded he'd lay back down and attempt at rest once more. However, foolishly, he stood from his bedside and threw on a sweater hung at the foot of his bed. He knew from cranking his head around to see the seven-forty-nine on his clock that he had two hours and a bit before breakfast began. When Microphone would leave her room long enough for Taco to be alone.
He would Talk with Knife until then.
If he was awake, that was.

He'd probably take Knife with him, too. Just in case. He'd known Taco had a tendency to become violent when she was threatened or emotionally challenged in some way. Stress caused her to lash out physically which wouldn't be good on his end, all things considered.
Fan had done that recently and it had gotten the hotel into a complete mess. Everyone was scared for their livelihood, and for good reason. God knows what Taco could do with such power. He honestly hadn't wanted to find out first hand.

Silently, he opened the door, and started down the hall for Knife's room. Footsteps dulled by the carpet across the wooden floors of the hallway.

———

Fan's power potently coated the air. The flame before him guiding him further into the abyss. He saw it as such, anyway. Unfairly brought upon them, were the powers he'd been gifted. That they had been gifted. Walls were blasted in a childish tantrum, along with yells that ripped from his throat and bounced off the cave walls. A pitiful display of displeasure that to anyone in their right mind, would see as a fit of hysteria.
The orbs of his rage condensed bigger and brighter, the clattering of rocks conjoined into a wretched symphony, but its relevancy wasn't as strong to Fan. Destruction; to ruin a puzzle assembled incorrectly. To him, incorrect. He wished to rearrange the pieces into something he perceived to be correct. Of course such emotions blinded the beholder, it was required for survival long ago, after all. In his opinion, everything should've stayed the way it was before. The show, the hotel, its residents. To resume their normal lives. It was an impossibility. Unachievable. People fixated on such a proposition believe that the world can be carved and curved into a manner that would more suitably fit their narrative and needs. They believe do not see it as a state of reality, but more of, a challenge to be solved and reconciled. Their minds cannot be swayed with simple word of mouth, it must be shown by example. Their example, is their world. Their normalcy is their life. In more stubborn cases, as Fan had been, the ideas and examples that are brought forth into their vision may be ignored in favour of their world. Tragically, it was a delusion that not many could force themselves to abandon. Often, justified as warranted, or in opposition, unfairness.