{Exotic fruits left to rot}

{Chapter 1: Cleaning up a mess}

Closing hour, the best part of most of the casino workers night because it meant they would get to do whatever the hell they wanted for the few hours before the boss would send them home.

The casino lackees all sat surrounded at the bar, drinking and rambling on to each other about their nights, the patrons, and things they saw. But as they talked, Chips, a dealer, went quiet. "Are you alright, Mr. Bettigan?" Pirouletta, a performer at the casino, asked him as she sat next to him.

"Yeah I just.. has anyone seen Mangs? I've barely seen him other than at his station at the pool tables." Chips asked, leaning on the counter, to which most of the casino lackees shrugged but Rumulus, one of three bartenders, spoke up.

"He's in the kitchen. He always insists on cleaning up for us." Rumulus says, taking a shot. Chips raised an eyebrow, his curiosity peaked. "So you have him slaving away in their cleaning while you drink out here?" Chips asked jokingly but Ol' Ethan spoke up.

"Nah, he chooses to do it lad, he'll often not give us a choice." Was all he said, Ol' Ethan's Scottish accent thick as ever. As Chips questions the bartenders, Mr. Wheezy can't help but grow curious so he gets up and slips into the kitchen without being noticed.

The kitchen is quiet and strangely cold, Mr. Wheezy shudders as he walks through. He makes his way to the sink where he finds Mangosteen himself washing dishes, his gloves off, sleeves rolled up, and a far off look in his eyes.

"Mangosteen." Wheezy said suddenly, startling Mangosteen into dropping the plate into the sink with a loud crash with a loud yelp. The two stood in awkward silence as Mangosteen slowly covered his face. Wheezy cleared his throat with a chuckle and a slight smirk. "Mangosteen? You alright?"

"Yep. Yep yep yeppp." Mangosteen laughed out, dragging out his words as the startled dealer came to his senses. "Sorry Wheezy, I wasn't paying attention. What's up?" Mangosteen asked with his well known casual smile.

"Nothing, I heard that you were in here and came to see what on earth you could be so important that you won't come be social is all." Wheezy responded, adding a slight tone of mockery towards the end. Mangosteen sighed, rubbing the back of his round head nervously.

"Just cleaning the dishes, I like to make sure everything is clean before I go home.. I don't have time to hang out, I gotta get home." Mangosteen rambled as he resumed cleaning the dishes quickly but efficiently. Wheezy watches quietly as the eight ball cleans the dishes.

The two sit in silence for a while, quietly enjoying each other's company. The sounds of running water and dishes clinking together being the only sounds between them. The humble silence was ruined however, when Ol' Ethan came bursting in, screaming about how Chips was fighting King dice with pool sticks.

Wheezy almost ran out but just as he went through the doorway, he turned back to Mangosteen, who remained at the sink Mangosteen glanced back at Wheezy and just gave him a nod. Wheezy nodded back then ran off, eager to see the battle of pool sticks.

__________

Mangosteen tiredly walked down the street, his umbrella in one hand and some extra food in another. Though he was drained, Mangosteen walked quickly to get home for he was returning later then normal. As Mangosteen's home comes into view, he smiles tiredly. Mangosteen climbs up the steps, closing his umbrella quickly. He unlocks the door and slips inside quietly.

Mangosteen walks through the living room, when the lights click on and he sees his younger sister, Fig, slowly blinking. "A-are you just now getting home??" She asked, approaching the eight ball. Mangosteen sighed and pulled the seven-ball into a side hug. "Yeah.." Mangosteen admits, which gets him a glare from Fig. "I know, I know."

Mangosteen picks up his sister, who while is only a few years younger, still is as weight as a skinny teenager. "Kaffir is gonna kill ya if they finds out you came home late.." Fig said with a smug smile as she attempts to grab the food. Mangosteen keeps it out of her reach, almost spinning his younger sister around as he holds her in one arm.

"Kaffir doesn't need to know, ok? Also, I brought you guys some food from the casino, it should last as a few days, they gave me a lot." Mangosteen acknowledged as he placed the bag in to fridge. Mangosteen hummed as he sat on the couch, his baby sister in his arms. Fig yawned pulled the heated blanket on top of the two of them, slowly blinking.

"..So how did the doctor's appointment go?" Mangosteen asked quietly, rubbing the back of Fig's head. "I ain't getting better but I ain't getting worse.. they did confirm I can't move long distances without the wheelchair which sucks." Fig mumbled quietly. "Oh, I'm sorry." Mangosteen mourned, feeling bad for his little sister.

Fig hit him in the face playfully, sticking her tongue out as she promptly scolded him "Shut up, don't apologize asshole, it is not your fault." Mangosteen chuckled weakly but went quiet when he heard creaking. He sat up and looked over at the doorway and saw his two youngest siblings standing there as if they had just woken up.

Without saying a word, Jackfruit and Mulberry climb on to of their brother and promptly fall back asleep without saying a word. Over time everyone somehow sensed Mangosteen's arrival home and comes down the the living room where they all pile around the couch, ether falling back asleep or quietly converstating with the eldest in the house about his night.

Mangosteen smiled as his siblings gather together just for him, but as they slip into slumber, anxiety strikes him like a sword. Mangosteen manages to pull himself out and slip away from his dear siblings. Mangosteen loved his family and would never ever leave them, but at times he wanted nothing more than to jump off the balcony.

As he climbed up the stairs he pulled a flask out his pocket, popping open the lid and taking a swig of the vodka inside. Mangosteen cringed at himself, knowing he shouldn't drink, but who cares? He was a casino worker, a dealer in souls, he worked for the devil!

Who cares if he drinks? Who cares if he smokes, who cares if he hasn't slept properly in months, who cares if he has grown paranoid, who cares if can't handle dirty environments because him and his siblings were abandoned on the streets when he was 15, who cares that his soul doesn't belong to him?

Who would care if he killed himself?

Mangosteen stood there on the balcony of their two story home, staring off the cliff as tears violently poured down with an empty flask in his hand. Mangosteen slid down to his knees with a pained gasp and a quiet sob escaped his lips. He could feel his head begin to literally melt as he clutched his mouth. He could feel his stomach churn as he gagged, trembling as the vile black liquid spilled out onto his gloves hand.

Mangosteen curled up, his body shaking violently as images of the past flashed through his head. Unholy and detailed images of the deaths of his older siblings. He was only fifteen. Fifteen and taking care of his seven younger siblings on the filthy streets. He could barely makes end meet till he met the devil himself in a bar. He had struck up a conversation, hoping to get some extra money out of the patron when he struck up a deal. The devil could offer a better work environment, more money, and a job he would actually enjoy. All he wanted was one single thing.

His soul. He took the deal. And he never regretted it. Though his soul belongs to the devil, he has never had a happier work life.

Mangosteen took a deep breath as he finally began to take shape again, the nausea subsiding and the vodka finally taking real effect. Mangosteen laughed weakly to himself as he shakily stood up and walked back inside. He changed his clothes, brushed his teeth, took out his contacts, and went back downstairs, where he promptly cuddled up with his family and fell into a slumber.

Maybe things won't be so bad.