Of Monsters And Men | Discontinued |

Episode Sixteen - Matty

The walk to the masked man's apartment is quiet. Not silent, no, with Rot prepared to leap from her skin at any moment and carry her far away, warning growls echoing between her ears, the two men launching themselves easily across rooftops while she follows, straying behind to allow them space. It's obvious that something happened between them, and that the man in black hasn't talked to the older one for years.

She hesitates as she slides through the window, carefully pulling it shut behind her. She stays to the side, glancing around the apartment curiously. It's starkly different from hers. Instead of bright splotches of color that makes her grimace at the sight of the walls, it's nice. Neutral. Wooden walls and flooring. She toes her shoes off, Already feeling better. She hates the sneakers. The men remain silent for too long, tenseness building in the air until it's nearly throttling her.

"You want a drink, kid?" The old man asks, blind eyes pinned onto her. She shakes her head, before murmuring a soft 'no thanks'. The man nods, rummaging in the fridge. The man in black scoffs, angrily.

"You've been gone for 20 years." He pauses, seemingly struggling for words. "What are you doing back in my city? Why do you have-" He gestures at her, angrily, and she finds herself flinching. Rot snarls. "Her?"

"Your city? Hell's Kitchen hates your guts. They have you pegged at a cop killer and some kind of mad bomber."

The man in black scoffs. "Yeah. I'm taking care of it."

The old man shoves a glass bottles into her hands, rough enough to send a small ache up her wrist. She stays silent, simply shaking her head. "An old man just lit you up." The old man says, mockingly. "You ain't taking care of shit."

"Why are you here?" The man in black questions, twisting the conversation. Evading the question, evading the truth swung at him.

"To save you and everyone in the Kitchen from a horrible death." The man says, simply. The man in black scoffs. "More or less." He adds, tilting his head. "What a damn shithole you have. Right, kid?" He asks, once more trying to draw her into the conversation. She keeps her mouth shut.

"You have any idea what I pay in rent?" The man in black interrupts, saving her from having to speak. She feels like her voice has been robbed from her. "Expensive shithole."

The white-haired man sniffs. "You had a woman in here. And not the kid." She opens her mouth to retort, to snap that she's turning twenty-nine in august, but keeps herself quiet. This isn't a time to interrupt them.

"That's none of your business." The man in black snaps. She huffs to herself, wandering passed them and shoving the beer back in the fridge. She isn't thirsty, though her stomach growls. Rot writhes in her torso.

'Bacon in the fridge.'

She rolls her eyes. "I don't like bacon." She mumbles, and Rot sneers. It's an odd feeling, like her own face morphs into a sneer, yet it never moves.

"When's she coming back?"

"Never."

"Good."

"You got a warped perspective on the whole good/bad thing, you know that?" The man in black grumbles. She huffs, hesitantly opening the fridge once more. She's starving, that's for sure, but figures she might as well eat something now and buy him more later. She does still have that credit card. She pauses, shutting the fridge once more and making her way to the door.

"Women are a distraction. Just like furniture." Her eyebrows raise, and she scowls. Rot heaves itself out on her palm, covering her fingers reassuringly. She nearly hates how much it comforts her. "Silk sheets. Wow."

"Cotton feels like sandpaper on my skin."

"You'd be better off sleeping on real sandpaper than surrounding yourself with all this bullshit."

"Honestly it's pretty bland in here." She mutters, glancing over the blank walls. Even if he is blind, he can at least have a few plants.

"This is my life and I made something out of it, without you." The man in black snaps. "That's the part that really pisses you off, isn't it?"

"No, Matty." The man in black seems much more human when he has a name, even if it's just a nickname. It makes her feel oddly guilty. She doesn't know why, but something in her stomach clenches anyways. "No, I'm proud of you, I really am. The things you've done, what you've made yourself, but this surrounding yourself with soft stuff isn't life, it's death. Someday those silk sheets are gonna crawl up behind you, wrap themselves around your throat and choke you to death. You're a warrior."

She takes that moment to speak up. "Well, while you guys have your, eh," she gestures at them. "Family reunion or whatever, I'm going to go get something to eat. You guys want anything?" She adds, twisting her head to look behind her. They're silent for a few moments, before the old man speaks up.

"Beer that ain't that German piss."

She raises a brow. "Okay. Well, man in black, you're getting something anyways." She shrugs. "I'll be back. Probably."

She shuts the door behind her with a heaving sigh, clambering her way down the hall with her shoes in her hand. At the front door she hesitantly shoves them on her feet, already dreading the feeling of the uncomfortable shoes that make her feet heavy. She walks aimlessly for a while, simply learning the neighborhood, before making her way to the nearest convenience store.

She enters with a soft smile aimed towards the cashier before slipping down the aisles. She grabs anything that looks good- chips, candy, energy drinks, and even a bottle of vodka that promptly disappears under her shirt. She doesn't have an ID. With a sickening lurch, it disappears into her skin. She grimaces, rubbing her side. The feeling like the bottle was sucked into her is something she'll make herself forget- of the many things she doesn't want to. She makes her way to the front, snagging another few pieces of candy.

She dumps it all on the counter, hardly keeping it all from tumbling to the floor. The cashiers face falls. She smiles, innocently shrugging.

"I'm sorry." She says, quite surprised. She does feel sorry. It feels foreign to her, to be sorry about something so trivial. The cashier nods with a tired shrug.

"It's aight. My shift's almost over anyways."

They're silent for the rest of the time. She leaves the store with seven bags. She used the credit card. That means that there's a trail to anyone who has ties to it, who can look at her accounts. Her stomach sinks with the realization, and she hurries back to the man in blacks apartment, glancing around her constantly. It doesn't make sense to be so paranoid just minutes after using it.

Still, she takes the long way to the man in black's apartment.