Nomura wasn’t a bad roommate.
Entry for @vvvici @janusdisastertrio‘s zine contest. The deadline for fanfics/fanart is tomorrow! Please enter if you can! They are one of my favorite artists! :D
Nomura wasn’t a bad roommate.
She really wasn’t. She just had the worst of luck.
It wasn’t her fault her nestmates had been annoying little shits.
All they did was cry for their sires or their real siblings or whatever else orphaned brats liked to do when all hope seemed gone. Not Nomura though. All she knew was alone.
Still, she put up with it begrudgingly. Even let one or two use her for body warmth during the coldest months.
Back when they all thought life as a Changeling was better than death.
No one talked about it out loud. It wasn’t forbidden, but it wasn’t accepted either. Whelps had disappeared into Gumm-Gumm mouths for less.
Instead, they spoke of their dreams, their ambitions—hell—even their hopes. It was all they back then. Huddled close together, they would speak of them to one other, as though by repetition it would somehow come true one day.
“I’ll be the Lord Gunmar’s general,” her gangly nestmate said proudly.
“I’ll be the Pale Lady’s best servant,” another remarked, fiddling with his claws. “That way, she’ll never want to abandon me.”
“I’ll be anything,” she recalled saying to the group. “Whatever gets me out of this shithole.”
It wasn’t long before her nest emptied. First the crybaby, then the ambitious twat—until it was her alone. She didn’t know how much time had passed until it was her turn, only that she was all too eager for it. Anything to get out of this cold suffocating hell.
Even now she could hear the magic sizzling against her flesh, breaking her apart, molecule by molecule, until she was whole and new and broken, just as Gunmar and the Pale Lady intended.
It wasn’t her fault her human family hated her.
Humanity was weak and foolish and she hated all of them for how easy they made it appear. She never partook in the activities that were expected of her. She refused to wear the kimonos her mother bought her, preferring the hakama of her fleshbag brothers and cousins.
The scent of sakura in the breeze, the blisters on her hands as she swung the practice sword her brothers used, the taste of defeat because of her stupid human form—they hounded her eternally, memories that wouldn’t go away no matter how hard she tried to push them into the darkest corners of her mind.
“Why can’t you act like a proper lady, Nomura-chan?” Her not mother would always ask, lips pursed in disdain, never smiling at her as she did with her other children.
“Because I’m not one,” she would answer (because what else did she have to say?).
And always, without pause, one of her family members would say, “Can’t you try to be?”
It was one of the long lists of reasons why she hated humans. So demanding, so unable to see the truth. Changelings could adapt to any situation, she knew, but something about the way they spoke to her rubbed Nomura the wrong way. More than once she’d contemplated transforming in front of them, to show them what their loving daughter truly was.
Instead, she would simply remark, “Why be something you’re not?”
Centuries later, those words persisted, driving her to the top of the Janus Order. Unfortunately, dreams always came with a price.
It wasn’t her fault she was assigned to the same apartment as these two fools. The Order only had so many rooms available in this little town. Something about a housing shortage. She wouldn’t have had any issue had it been with any other changelings but them.
Killahead Bridge was slowly becoming a reality. Every new piece brought a sense of excitement to them.
And, of course, her roommates had to fuck things up for her.
Living with the idiots was migraine-inducing. Missing food, ruined toiletry, broken remotes—Alright, that last one may have been her fault, but it wasn’t like those dicks didn’t contribute their own fair share of assholery.
Strickler was a neat freak to the extreme. If things weren’t to his standards then they had to be redone, over and over again, until they were deemed “adequate”. He held grudges over the stupidest things and was meticulous in his organization of their little household in a way Nomura could only describe as ‘motherly’.
And Otto—she didn’t know where to start. The Changeling was a devious ass-kissing sonofabitch who couldn’t fight to save his life, always relying on others to do the work for him. He was lazy too, pushing off chores and other duties onto Nomura whenever he had the chance.
But there were good times.
Cold nights on the couch in front of the television.
Card games by the kitchen counter.
Those quiet weekends when there was nothing to do at the Order.
She hated to admit it, but she didn’t hate them like the rest. For some reason (insanity, she believed, it had to be), she tolerated their faults.
Maybe it was because they put up with her own shitty issues. Admittedly, she did complain about her ex a lot. Not to mention all the times she blared her Opera or interrupted their showers to ask where things were.
Or perhaps she was merely becoming sentimental. Bleh.
Well, she knew it wouldn’t last long. Nothing did. But she would relish it while it lasted.
At least until Otto clogged the toilet again.
