Chapter Text
"Aight, aight, I admit it. You actually kinda fun, Zanka my friend."
Jabber wiped the tears streaming from his eyes, caused as much by his fit of laughter as by the pain in his broken rib. His cheeks still ached from his continuous, exaggerated laughter. He looked at Zanka, his maniacal smile so wide that it seemed to be tearing his face apart while the cleaner hallucinated about who knows what.
Hm.
"But still," Jabber rested his chin on his right hand, his eyebrows furrowing in a thoughtful expression. "I thought the play would last longer..."
The raider let his eyes wander around the arena until they landed on the simple stick that Zanka wielded with such dedication. The same stick responsible for the current excruciating pain on the right side of his torso.
A broad smile spread across Jabber's face. He hopped over to his opponent's precious jinki and held it firmly, feeling the texture of the wood against his skin and Mankira’s cold surface. Jabber swung the stick as he had seen Zanka do, and something he had heard days ago came back to him.
”What did ya say earlier? Little somethin’ about me jus’ fightin’ trash? Yeah, so what? ‘Cause I know how to put this thing to work, dat’s all that matters. Weight, smell, texture. I know it better than anyone, and while yer playin’ around with the mud, I wake up day after day to ask how it’s doin’, and day after day after every damn day I bash everythin’ with a big ol’ swin’ to see where, how fast and how far goes.”
Jabber knew from looking at Zanka that day that he wasn't a weakling, so he waited for the cleaner to finish off the two idiots before making sure he didn't interfere with his mission to kidnap the sphereite.
Givers used to have this reputation for being codependent and obsessed with their objects, but Zanka's statement honestly surprised Jabber. Sure, Mankira was his greatest treasure, a piece of his own soul, and he always treated her with the reverence and care she deserved every day in the silence of the night, when finally nothing and no one would interrupt them, but any detail beyond her physical integrity and the polished metallic sheen gleaming on his fingers wasn't exactly a priority for Jabber.
Running his thumb gently over the staff, Jabber could feel a little of the varnish slipping off the wood and the thick blue gauze wrapped around certain points of the object.
Jabber was good at judging people. He was also good at judging their jinkis. The quality of the stick was undeniable, but there was something strange about it.
As if something was missing.
As if it were incomplete.
His dense mauve pupils then fixed on the body lying almost completely motionless on the floor, were it not for the slight tremors caused by Mankira's left claw.
Without wasting any time, Jabber put the staff aside, dropping it gently on the floor. He approached Zanka and positioned himself on top of him. His knees and heels firmly planted on either side of the cleaner's torso, his forearms and long dreadlocks encircling Zanka’s head.
Their foreheads and noses were only a few millimeters apart.
"Ah, Mr. Bad Attitude," Jabber stared intently into the blurry blue eyes and expression distorted by the hallucinogen, like a predator staring at its prey. "Why do ya keep holdin’ back, huh? Whatcha get outta it?" Activating the right side of his jinki, Jabber let the sharp tips glide smoothly across Zanka's features, so as not to rip the skin. The claw of his thumb slid across the cleaner's mouth. "It's like I told ya, Zanka. You just like me, and every time ya lie to yourself, the truth becomes glaringly obvious with each of yo failures."
Pulling his face away from Zanka's, the raider leaned on his knees, deactivating Mankira and staring down at the man beneath him with contempt.
Without fully realizing it, Jabber's gaze was drawn to Zanka's right hand.
He climbed off the cleaner and sat cross-legged beside the hand. He grabbed the wrist roughly, tilting it back so that the palm was extended and exposed to Jabber's eyes. With his free hand, he stretched Zanka's fingers, feeling the thick joints and prominent calluses with the tip of his index finger. He patiently ran his fingers over every inch of skin, intertwining Zanka’s fingers with his own when he was satisfied.
"No average person breaks somebody's rib an’ then punches ‘em, Mr. Bad Attitude." Jabber sighed, shaking their clasped hands from side to side. "No cap, what a fuckin’ wast—" But then, a slight tingle ran through his fingers, where skin came into contact with the rings’ metal.
Jabber looked at Mankira, his eyes wide in shock.
The tingling lasted for thirty seconds—Jabber counted each one—before it stopped.
It took another minute for the raider’s brain to start functioning normally again.
Dropping the cleaner, Jabber rested his right fingers on his left hand, caressing Mankira with reverence as he pondered what had just happened.
Why would she react like that? Jabber had pushed Zanka to his limits, firmly believing he would receive a beating worse than the ones Zodyl gave him, and in the end, the cleaner had been nothing but a disappointment.
Was it because Zanka had managed to fully activate her? Was it because he had managed to hold her between his own teeth when he was at a complete disadvantage? Was it because she enjoyed drawing blood from him once again?
Jabber twirled the hoops between his fingers in a nervous tic. He couldn’t simply ignore a request from Mankira, not when it was the first time in years that she had expressed a wish so explicitly, not when she seemed so certain of what she wanted.
An idea began to take shape in Jabber’s mind.
It wasn't a brilliant idea, not by a long shot, and it was definitely dangerous, and Jabber could end up dead if it all went wrong.
His lips parted, stretching his cheeks as he licked his teeth and felt drool run down his chin as he considered the possibilities.
He stared at the cleaner.
"Zanka, my friend," Jabber wiped the saliva from his chin with the sleeve of his shirt, holding Zanka's right hand between his two palms and touching them to his forehead, almost as if he were worshipping them. "Ya may not be aware of what real and what ain’t right now, but I know you will try hard to remember what I’m ‘bout to tell ya, right?" As he spoke, Jabber placed the limp hand on his knee and removed the rings from Mankira's right side one by one, placing them delicately on Zanka's fingers. "Ya got alotta potential, it's true, but for some stupid reason, ya stay there repressin’ yourself, hidin’ and imprisonin’ ya own freedom. This reflectin’ on your jinki, y’know? It should be obvious, but if we givers ain’t honest with our own souls, we’ll never discover what we truly capable of."
Having finished, Jabber paused and admired his work.
Zanka's hand could be described as anything but delicate, with calluses and firm tendons sensitive to touch. Mankira rested comfortably above the second knuckle of each finger, just as she had in the hands of her rightful owner.
Jabber smiled.
"Mankira really liked you, y’know? Lucky guy. She might teach ya a thin’ or two about what truly means to liberate our entire essence, an’ in the meantime," the raider stood up, walking over to the previously forgotten wooden staff. Jabber picked it up and secured it to the back of his purple sash. "Imma keep this young miss company."
Returning to Zanka, the raider sat down on his legs, each thigh encircling the cleaner's head, and brought their faces close together again. With the gleaming hoops on Mankira's left side sparkling and contrasting sharply with his right hand, bare for the first time in years, Jabber held the sides of Zanka's face with a gentleness that had never existed between the two givers' interactions. "If ya do ya part right, I’ll do mine too, hm?"
It was a risky bet, but it was what Mankira wanted, and Jabber would never deny her anything while he lived.
Also, the sheer manic excitement of just thinking about the brutality and hatred Zanka would feel when he woke up and saw that his jinki had been taken. How all that anger would be directed solely and exclusively at Jabber.
The unprecedented pain he would feel in the end.
Jabber felt the strong pulse of his heartbeat against his eardrums just imagining everything that could happen. He shook his head quickly from side to side to lessen his anxiety.
The raider was about to leave the arena when he stopped and slapped his forehead.
"Damn! I a’mos forgo’."
Returning quickly to Zanka's inert body, Jabber pulled his left hand, the one with the choker, and brought it close to his mouth. Biting hard his own lips until he tasted the iron and felt the burning sensation that were part of his daily life, Jabber left a chaste kiss on the bracelet, watching the blood merge and their DNA form the bond.
With one last look at Zanka's delirious face, Jabber ran his thumb over the corner of the cleaner's lips, bringing the digit marked by thick red liquid to the choker that rested on his throat.
He smiled softly at Zanka.
"I can't wait for ya call, Zanka."
The boss might be angry that he hadn't turned the cleaner into an offering, but frankly, there were still so many others to be sacrificed, and it was the first time Jabber allowed himself this indulgence.
Jabber walked out of the arena, Zanka agonizing behind him.
“Awwwwwwww, that no fair. I wanna play too!” Jabber screamed petulantly like a spoiled child as he watched the battle between Bundus and the cleaners still capable of fighting.
Zodyl, Cthoni and him were watching the fight from a safe distance, which was honestly boring and a waste of time in Jabber's opinion. The umbrella guy was right there! And the red-haired girl with the scissors! And Rudo too, who made up for his lack of creativity in cursing with a jinki whose operation was impressive and dope!
It was a shame that Zanka couldn't take a single blow from Mankira's left claw. Jabber would love to see him fight someone else for a change.
Jabber hopped in the same place as he spun the staff from side to side, from one hand to the other. He was never good at hiding his excitement.
"Jabber." said Zodyl, attracting his scattered attention in an instant.
"’Sup, boss?"
"What’re you holding?"
Jabber's smile grew as he displayed the staff in front of Zodyl. "It's the jinki of that cleaner right there. The one I be playin’ lately." He pointed to Zanka's limp body a good few feet away, safely hidden behind one of the stone pillars so as not to be caught in the crossfire.
Zodyl stared at him.
“Why did you take it?” he glanced quickly at Jabber's right hand before looking him in the eye again. "And where Mankira’s other half?"
“With Zan-zan, ‘course!” he replied as if it were obvious, fixing the stick on his sash and resting his hands on his waist.
Jabber felt Cthoni's confused gaze on him as Zodyl's silence stretched on.
Right, the boss wanted explanations.
"I know, I know. We shoulda thrown ‘em to the trash beasts.” Jabber moved his hands in a soothing gesture. “But y’know, I did my job right an’ I was the only one who actually finished it! Fu didn't do nothin’, Noerde lost and Bundus ain’t done yet, so was good ol’ Jabber here who did the best outta everyone, and I fought deadass this time!” He rubbed one of the golden rings of his locks, pacing back and forth. “But y’know boss, I ain’t met somebody like me ever. Everyone always 'don't kill me', 'I hate you', blah-blah-blah an’ all that crap.”
Jabber took a deep breath before continuing. “Aaaaand, most important of all, Mankira asked me to do it. I can’t tell her no, boss.”
Cthoni still stared at him in bewilderment. Zodyl, however, held that same fixed, empty stare, his irises like two black holes trying to swallow everything within reach.
The same look Zodyl gave him every time Jabber was a bloody, wounded mass at his feet. It never failed to make Jabber's pulse accelerate more than the sum of all the stimulant drugs Mankira had ever tried together.
Finally, Zodyl turned his eyes to the distant figure of Zanka.
“Your shock on him seems to have been destructive.” The words came out with a tone of indifference. "I don't see no appeal, but do as you wish, Jabber."
"Uh," His smile dropped a little. Zodyl accepted everything so calmly that Jabber couldn't help but be disappointed. “Yo serious, boss?”
"Yes. Anyway, time’s done."
It was then that Jabber realized. The cleaners' battle against Bundus was over, the older man sprawled on the ground with his shattered prostheses and Rudo kneeling beside what looked like a machine gun crumbling to dust. Normally, the thrill of battle always won Jabber's full concentration, but he had become accustomed to Zodyl's ability to oppressively suck people's attention to himself and make them forget the world around them.
Zodyl accepted Bundus as an official member of the raiders. Rudo had that same angry and confused look as always. Noerde appeared with her hair down and her clothes on fire. Cthoni opened one last portal in that trash beast and the four raiders were gone, with Jabber being the last to pass through the manhole.
"Hey, yo purple freak!" The redhead girl screamed and ran to try to reach him. "Give back Zanka's jinki!"
Jabber smiled at her, half of his body already through the portal.
“Tell Mr. Bad Attitude to take very good care of Mankira, okay, Ms. Bang-Bang?”
She hesitated for a few seconds at the nickname, and both her image with the other cleaners faded into blue and yellow swirls as Jabber planted his feet on solid ground, the trash storm reduced to an event so distant it wasn't even audible on the horizon. The other raiders were a few meters away.
Cthoni remained in her characteristic silence. Zodyl stared at the hurricane and Bundus started talking about things Jabber didn't bother to pay attention to. He sat cross-legged, propped the staff on his knees, and began to caress every inch of it.
He promised Zanka that he would take good care of her, after all.
“Ya really left half of your jinki in there?” Cthoni, as serious and neutral as she was, couldn't hide the tone of disbelief.
"No problem. They ain’t gonna die." Jabber didn't look away from the stick, moving his fingers meticulously along the entire length of the wood. Memorizing the relief, the grooves, the curves.
Zodyl's gaze on him was palpable, but the man remained quiet.
“... say again?” asked Cthoni.
“I said what I said. Zero deaths.” Now running his palm over the staff, his mauve eyes met Cthoni's yellow ones. "’Cause Rudo smells jus’ like the boss."
No one answered.
"Ain’t nobody dyin’."
Jabber continued his inspection.