Chapter Text
December xx, xxxx
Shit.
Ever since I saw him — it's like I've been put in a trance — a trance no drug could possibly compete with. His desperation, his determination. I've never seen something quite like it. I love...
Jabber pressed his thumb into the pen, feeling the shards bloom up like flowers on his fragile digit. He bit his lip. What was he doing? Writing his feelings like a pathetic loverboy? Shit. Maybe he did lose his edge. Slight adrenaline rushed to his veins from the pen breaking his skin; shards pierced his veins, leaving them bursted and bloodied. The light from his flickery lightbulb glimmered over them. He honestly didn't know he could even damage his weak little spider veins to that degree anymore.
He didn't love Zanka — hell, he didn't even need him! He's just the next thing that satiated Jabber's need for stimulation.
Jabber bit his already bloodied thumb with his canines. Rocking back and forth in his dimly lit hideout with his absolutely amazing spinny chair.
Zanka might actually be the one gaining feelings for him. Hah! Imagine that. Little ole Bad Attitude catching feelings for his one and only! That would actually be...
His face became embarrassingly hot at the thought of it. A small smile prickled at his face. He stabbed the inside of his palm with his nails. His nails? Damn, he was supposed to clip them a while ago, huh. He threw the journal he bought into some discarded needle pile while simultaneously kicking his spinny chair away from that apparently emotional table. He found a big paper on the ground and a few rusted thumbtacks; a half dried out marker and a plan.
"M'kay, so first we gonna somehow get Zanka in a vulnerable state," he tapped his chin with the marker, "Oh! Maybe with some of the toxins I got! Yeah, and then we gotta make him confess his undying love 'cause we needa make sure to put him on an emotional leash. Then I can just toy with him however!"
Jabber knows. What's the point of this? This whole plan? Jabber knows, but he is yet to admit.
———
Every conversation, every mission, everything. It's been a blur. He's there, but he's not.
Zodyl had called him for a new mission, said it was special or something. His words were heard by a deaf ear, each monotone syllable blending in with the next as a low ambiance. Words like "capture" and "cleaners" gave Jabber a rough idea of the yap sesh.
"Blah blah blah blah Zanka."
That. Him. His name.
"Zanka? We fighting him?"
"Possibly, yes. Should he arrive that is. The cleaners might join Rudo, though, it is but a minor inconvenience. Should I trust in your abilities."
Jabber leaned back and forth on the balls of his feet, the lack of stimulation clearly affecting him. "Yeah yeah, I get it, I get it. So we already know I'm getting dibs on Zanka though, right?"
"It does not concern me with who you choose."
Zodyl always seems to have this way with words, punctuating and nailing social cues despite having next to no expressions or gestures to help him. That's why simply turning around already signaled to Jabber that it was time to dip.