Ask a Reincarny Catcher

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 , Part 6

“That would be acceptable, if you were capable of taking care of your demonic fools,” Mot retorted. “If you were, Spite would likely never have infiltrated the Archive, and you would have known exactly what he had done without our needing to inform you.” A sneer had crept into his deep voice. “Furthermore, you should know better than anyone else just how dangerous your demons can be. You did, after all, create them to be so.”

He took a step towards Spite, only for Michelle to step forward between them. Mot’s teeth clenched as he stared at the pair of them. “I also know that you, Lucifer, don’t particularly care whether your demons live or die. You are so indifferent to their survival, in fact, that these parasites find it acceptable to eat their own fetuses. Truly, you have made them in your image.”

He turned back to Luke. “And before you scoff at our Archive, remember that it holds comprehensive records of every being who lives or has ever lived. Our eldritch power ensures that the living records constantly write themselves with every moment of a being’s life. Knowledge is power. Imagine what a person could do with such knowledge.” Mot’s eyes locked with Luke’s. “We don’t have to. Over two thousand years ago, a single rogue grim reaper used our Archive’s records to topple an entire empire.”

Michelle winced. She knew the tale, every reaper learned it as a cautionary lesson. “Her name was Anput,” she whispered to Spite. “She stole the living records of Tzetzes, ruler of the ancient empire of Brittia, along with the records of his top advisors and generals. She fed the information from those records to Brittia’s greatest rival, King Claudian of Thule. Armed with this knowledge, Claudian was able to arrange a number of assassinations and a coup, ultimately conquering Brittia from within.”

Mot turned to his great-granddaughter. “Indeed. And Anput did all of this because Tzetzes had condemned her human friend to death. For this transgression, Anput’s bones, along with her consciousness, were shattered in a thousand pieces and scattered across space.” He turned back to Luke. “We reapers can no more afford to be distracted from our true purpose than your demons can. This time, it was a prank. A ruse your demon concocted for some perverted fun. But what of next time?”

“Can do, though if they do have card game tourneys we might not be allowed in without paying. Some places do that. I’ve seen a reincarny pay five bucks just to get his ass handed to him in Yu-Gi-Oh!. Sad, really. In the funny way. But yes, there is a whole culture around these sorts of things.”

Once inside, Spite took in his surroundings. This was a sleazy store, but he was used to sleaze. The fact that no one else was browsing and that the sole store attendant was inattentive made him feel better about walking about in public. In fact, that left him free to steal. Using his telekinesis, Spite selected a structure deck of Yu-Gi-Oh! cards and levitated it over to himself and Bendy, taking care to not have the cards float in front of the cashier. He opened the package as best as he could, although he did leave some tears from the tape. He handed the cards to Bendy.

“This is a TCG, a trading card game. There are a million types out there with a million cards, all made to get your money. Lots of them have complicated rules. This one’s Yu-Gi-Oh!, it’s based on a game in a manga turned anime. People play these things for fun, but some compete for money, like those loud nerds upstairs.” He gave Bendy some time to shuffle through the deck. This gave Spite some time to look around more. The boxes on the shelves were marked with the names of publishing companies and letters of the alphabet to show what was inside. The shelves themselves also had little index cards saying the genres or the authors of various graphic novel collections, save for the one small manga shelf that was simply labeled “manga.”

Spite was amused to hear Bendy curse and let out a small chuckle. “Heh, I know, this place isn’t the best in terms of organization, but for a novice like you, I can point out what to pick up. This way.” Spite walked ahead and gestured to a shelf labeled “Alan Moore.” Spite, thankfully, was able to reach the shelf as long as he stood on his tip-toes. He found his recommendation easily. After flipping through it to see if was in good condition, he handed it to Bendy as well.

“This is called Watchmen. It’s pretty dark, but it’s regarded as one of the best graphic novels of all time. It’s standalone, too, so you don’t have to read thousands of other issues to learn what’s going on. Well, unless you count that Before Watchmen crap, but I wouldn’t. It’s kinda connected to some real world issues. Issues of the 80′s, but still issues. Ooh, and,” Spite picked up another book. “This one is V for Vendetta. Another good one. It’s dark, too, but there’s a shred of hope to it if you think about it. Alan Moore is a pretty good writer, as long as you avoid Lost Girls and Neonomicon.”

“Oh, I definitely don’t want to enter into any kind of tournament,” Bendy said, squinting at the strange deck of cards he’d been handed. They certainly weren’t like any he’d ever seen before. They had illustrations and odd titles and symbols and instructions. “Lilith, Lady of Lament,” he read aloud slowly. “If this card is normal summoned, its original A-T-K becomes one thousand. Quick effect. You can tribute one dark monster; reveal three normal traps from your- what does any of this mean? These sound like ritual instructions. What is a manga-turned-anime? Does being into comic books just mean you learn a billion different made-up words and acronyms?”

He realized he was probably asking more questions than he could take in the answers to at once. Whatever this game was, it was terribly complicated. And there were more of them? He tore his eyes away from Lilith’s sultry gaze and instead looked at Watchmen. The cover was pretty striking. “Standalone? Sounds good to me. I’m not looking forward to figuring out which of these billion books I gotta read to understand which others.” He began flipping through it. The art was flatter in its coloring than what he was accustomed to, but it employed a lot of heavy inks, which appealed to him. “Yeah, I’ll read this. Issues of the 80′s, huh? What year is it now, anyway, ninety?”

“That’s what I meant by card games are complicated. Honestly, I wouldn’t even know how Yu-Gi-Oh! worked if I didn’t watch a bunch of humans play it. ATK is short for attack, a normal summon is putting a card on the table without any extra requirements, quick effect is something you can usually play instantly, if I recall correctly, a dark monster is a-- Ah, forget it,” Spite waved a hand dismissively, “I need to sit you down for a talk about card games. That card has a lot to it.”

“A manga is a comic book, though it’s usually used by English speakers to mean a Japanese comic specifically. Anime is sort for animation, but English speakers say that to refer to Japanese cartoons. Standalone means it’s a work by itself that you don’t need prior knowledge for. The year is--” Spite had to stifle a laugh when Bendy made his guess. He wasn’t very successful. “Oh, Bendy, you’re nearly 30 years behind. It’s 2018 right now. You’ve missed a whole lot of current popular culture. Well, I assume you’re abbreviating 80s and 90s to mean 1980 and 1990. If you’re thinking 1880s or something, you are way off.” 

Spite had to take a pause before answering Bendy’s next question. The Necronomicon was an actual book? Not only that, the Necronomicon was a book that Bendy has read? What all magic did Bendy’s Hell have access to? All these realities and fictions merging together, though he should have been used to it by now, sometimes still have him trouble. He was used to a strict heaven/hell system with no outside forces. The idea that elder gods existed was concerning, to say the least.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Michelle answered the why in a few words. “Because it was Mot.” Mot was so old, so influential in reaper society that Luke almost certainly had to know who he was. By just invoking his name, Michelle knew the devil would understand that reapers apprehending Mot would be like police apprehending their country’s president.

She described Mot’s attempt to murder Spite in one of the busiest parts of Hell, and her intervention, as clinically as she would deliver a report to the reaper council. Then, after a deep, steadying breath, she got to the difficult part. “Mot’s motivations were personal. As a patriarch of my family, he disapproved of Spite’s and my friendship to such a degree that he decided to remove what he perceived was the source of the problem. That he believed he could kill one of your demons publicly with impunity has disturbing implications for both of our societies.” 

Michelle secretly hoped, but didn’t really count on, her friendship with Spite to be enough of a reason to satisfy Luke without having to explain Mot’s apparent final straw. “More disturbing is the fact that while Mot’s intentions were known to other members of my family, no one else thought to intervene.” That was the part she didn’t tell Spite, that she learned of the plot by overhearing a conversation between Cain and her grandmother Smierc. However, by revealing this detail, the reaper hoped Luke would acknowledge there were benefits to Michelle and Spite’s friendship.

Luke listened to Michelle’s report, his anger growing more and more apparent. By the time Michelle revealed that no one tried to stop the plan, Luke rose from his seat. He wasn’t sure where to begin in responding to this whole mess. In the end, he decided it’d be best to go to the reapers in charge himself.

“Take me to these reapers, now,” Luke demanded as he walked around his desk. “I need to hear straight from these idiots themselves why they thought they could get away with this. Plus,” he gave a quick accusatory glance at Spite, which prompted a twitch from the demon, “I can’t entirely trust that this little demon didn’t do something far graver than making a friend of another species. He’s given me plenty of trouble in the past.” Spite looked down at the ground, memories of when he first met Luke and all the tortures he received from him running through his mind. This is the point where he should have defended himself, but quite frankly he was too scared to. As much as he made fun of Luke, there were times he felt compelled to be a obedient little demon in order to spare himself further pain. 

Luke rolled down his sleeves so they weren’t scrunched up at the ends and used his powers to poof up a tie, making his business-casual look slightly more business. As he grabbed his pitchfork, he could be heard mumbling various swear words. Once he was properly presentable and got his stress out via unnecessary swears, he was good to go.

Luke walked through the portal on his own, causing the reaper to step back in surprise. “I … guess certain rules don’t apply to the devil,” she remarked.

She looked down at Spite. “I … I learned about Mot’s plan only a few hours before I found you, and I didn’t know where in Hell to look for you. I wish I could’ve arrived sooner, maybe we could’ve avoided this altogether.” She offered the demon her hand. “Come on, we should get this over with.”

They walked through the portal directly into the reaper council chambers, where they faced ten reapers sitting around a horseshoe-shaped table.

Michelle recognized Justinian, whose skull was gold and encrusted with jade and other gems. Beside him was Samedi, wearing a fine black suit and top hat. Thanatos, head of the Archive, was also in attendance. He was a human-like figure with chiseled features, pallid skin, dark hair, and a pair of wings as black as raven’s. Cu Sith, a dog whose size could rival any Great Dane and sporting a shaggy coat of dark green, sat on the floor near Justinian, his glowing eyes displaying an unusual intelligence.

The banshee The Mournful Dame (or simply Dame in less formal circumstances), sat with an ethereal grace, her long white hair and diaphanous robes gently billowed, as if in a light breeze. Smierc, with her polished skeleton and white velvet robes, sat beside Dame, their pale colors contrasting with the black silks and velvet robes that were dominant in the room.

And sitting at one end of the table, leaning back in his chair as if bored, was a reaper who was known simply as Grim. His body was all straight lines and angles, and his black robe was lined with red silk. This was a rare appearance for him because of events that were kept a very close secret in reaper society.

The other four reapers Michelle didn’t recognize, mainly because she rarely saw them in council meetings. Cain was conspicuous in his absence. However, Echu was there, standing against the wall behind her and Spite. He held his hat in his hands and seemed to huddle in on himself. Michelle silently cursed, guessing he had been called here as a witness.

Mot appeared to have been working on damage control before any of them had ever arrived. The imposing reaper stood in the center, facing the other reapers, his deep voice filling the room. “While my methods may have been unorthodox, I assure the council that I only had the best interests of all reapers in mind. Luke’s demons are little more than vile insects, mosquitos that prey upon the suffering of others. It is of no matter when they prey upon damned souls, that is their purpose. But when one attaches itself to a reaper, to one of us, it endangers our entire society. Killing the demon was the most efficient way to ensure our safety.”

With Mot and Luke now standing beside each other, everyone could see the reaper stood slightly taller than the devil, but both carried themselves with an almost regal authority and power.

“It’ll be okay,” he mouthed, trying to reassure her as he reassured himself. Hearing Mot wasn’t comforting at all. He knew that demons weren’t seen in a good light by any means, but to hear someone make a small speech about how he’s basically a parasite, it made him feel like scum, like a leech. Getting attached to others... maybe that’s what led his human to her death. No, that was illogical, and he knew it, but there was a point to be made that anyone he knew and contacted frequently got into trouble. 

Luke adjusted his position slightly, stretching out his back as straight as he could without looking too unnatural in order to try and look taller than the reaper. Needless to say it didn’t work. Putting aside his superiority complex in the non-existent height context, Luke stepped forward to address the council himself.

“Reapers, I had to hear it from one of your lackeys that there was a plot to kill one of my best reincarny catchers merely because he was befriending one of you. Now, I know that my demons aren’t well liked by anybody, myself included,” Luke took this time to gesture at Spite, “but if we went around killing based on those premises alone, I’d imagine the lot of you would be terminated as well. Some of you on this very council would be executed based on interactions with other beings.” The reaper in the black and red robe seemed to shift in his seat a little after this statement. 

“It’s not that they’re just amigos, señor,” said one of the reapers. Her sole article of clothing, a large flower-covered hat, bounced a little as she leaned forward, a stray petal falling to the ground. “It’s that the little demonio sneaked into our archives and could have caused a lot of damage. You wouldn’t want outsiders trespassing in your confidential files, would you?” Luke’s face fell. He didn’t want to make a show of his ignorance to this information by turning around to address Spite and Michelle, but the two could feel the daggers he wanted to stare at them and stab them with. Luke cleared his throat to regain his composure. 

Kurou absolutely could have killed every mugger trying to get him.  He just really thought it was a bad idea.  So when the other guy was hit by a car he winced.  “Oh…  Oh dear.”  He paused and put away his guns into his jacket.  “You…  You two should probably r-”  He blinked at the two were gone.  

Kurou walked over to the purple guy.  “So…  You wanted to kill that guy.”  He said as he leaned into the others hiding spot putting more than a touch of pressure on him.  “Why did you want to murder him?  I highly doubt that he had a particular need to die.”  Kurou clearly wasn’t very happy.  “I had no intent to kill any of them.  I just assumed you’d trip him up.”  He paused.  “And the hell are you anyways, some purple gremlin or something?  What stupid god do you worship?”

The more Spite observed this human, the more aggressive he seemed. It’d be fun to watch, if he weren’t the target of said aggression.

“A man with a gun doesn’t intend to kill people. Heh. Funny and relevant commentary,” Spite joked. “I did trip him up, I just also happened to trip him into traffic. Now he won’t be a menace to anyone else in society and he’ll get the punishment he deserves in Hell.” Spite pushed back against the lid, partly so he wouldn’t squished, but mostly as a show of defiance to the man who thought he could give lectures to demons.

After about a minute of no action, one of them finally started to speak, “Ya know I think-”  He was cut off as Kurou hit the Reincathy with a solid kick while drawing his gun.

“Look, I gave you a solid three minutes to at least mention you weren’t sure on this one!  I can argue self defense easily enough.”  Into his jacket a hand went and out came a revolver with white accents.  “So how about you all go home.”  Meanwhile the poor soul that Spite had been targeting began his long, long, loooong stumble backwards.

The mugging victim wasn’t as much of a victim as Spite originally thought. The whole defenseless act was less about the human not knowing how to fight and more so he wouldn’t get in trouble with the law. Good thinking. 

Spite’s eyes trailed the reincarny as he stumbled over the bottles, his body flying into the street. The criminal had barely hit the asphalt before a car zoomed though, the resulting impact of the two objects leaving a trail of blood and guts in the car’s wake. The remaining living muggers, realizing that their robbing attempts weren’t worth death via gun or automobile, turned tail like the cowards they were. One of them yelled something about revenge, but Spite didn’t care to listen carefully. For his own amusement, however, he rolled one of the bottles under a retreating man’s feet, causing him to tumble before he could get up to scurry off again. 

Spite lifted the lid of his hiding spot a little higher, wanting to fully take in the carnage on the street. Some cars had stopped to see what had happened, and concerned citizens brought out cellphones to call various emergency services. All the commotion blocked Spite’s view.

While hole-in-the-wall comic shops usually had poor organization, they were usually cluttered, which would allow Spite to hide from curious eyes more easily. Ideally he would have loved to go to a warehouse-sized shop like the examples he mentioned, but he knew those stores were not only few and far between but also would leave him in the open more often. The main surprise was that Bendy did know what all was in there. 

“Comic shops attract a bunch of nerds,” Spite explained with no hint of irony in his voice. “A lot of people who like comics like RPGs, TCGs, video games, those sorts of things. Some people even LARP. Losers.”  Again, no irony from Spite as he said these acronyms like they were common knowledge.

Spite hesitated some as he tried to formulate his answer. He didn’t see the need to lie about it, but he didn’t want to give his backstory, mainly because he didn’t care to think of his backstory himself. Once he figured out what details to omit, he gave his reply.

“You know how most kids learn to read from picture books before moving on to more complex readings? Comic books were one of my stepping stones in that process.” He didn’t say how his human caretaker gave him his first picture books, or how she had some old Archie comics she read with him, or how he would have to hunt for new reading material online to kill time while waiting for her to come home. The shorter the explanation, the fewer chances to Bendy to poke holes in it. “How did you even find comic books, anyway? Wulf doesn’t seem the type to have any. Or at least, not any you’d like. He seems like a tijuana bible guy, but those are hard to find.” If Bendy asked what that one meant, Spite probably wouldn’t tell him. He could only crap on Wulf’s image so much in one day if this were to be a pleasant hangout.  

Once they got within a block of the store, Spite ran ahead, eager to get in. In an attempt to be polite, he opened the door once Bendy got closer.

“Entrez vous,” Spite said with an exaggerated accent. 

Spite didn’t seem too bothered by the fact it would be a small store, which was nice. He rattled off a bunch of acronyms Bendy had never heard in his life before, though. “Uh, how about you explain what those are to me if we see them inside? Jeez, there’s a lot of stuff related to these I didn’t know about. I thought it was just books, I didn’t realize there was a culture around ‘em.”

Bendy got the sense Spite was withholding something, but he certainly wasn’t going to pry when his goal for the night was to keep Spite happy. He also didn’t appreciate Spite’s….rather sleazy characterization of his favorite human, but reminded himself that Spite didn’t even know Wulf, he was just talking. Don’t get annoyed, he thought. That’s just how Spite is. Keep him happy.

“So, you taught yourself to read with comic books?” he asked. “Neat! I, uh, picked some up on Free Comic Book Day last month. And I liked them. That’s the whole story, pretty much.” He went inside first, at Spite’s request. “Merci beaucoup!”

The store was pretty shabby - peeling paint, worn out carpeting - but the books themselves all appeared to be in good condition. The walkways were awfully narrow, since so many shelves were crammed into the small space, but there mercifully was no one else browsing. There was a wall of collectibles and toys, all behind the counter. In front of them, a single cashier was slumped over on the counter, asleep or very nearly there. Some lively voices, however, could be heard coming from upstairs.

Once inside, Spite took in his surroundings. This was a sleazy store, but he was used to sleaze. The fact that no one else was browsing and that the sole store attendant was inattentive made him feel better about walking about in public. In fact, that left him free to steal. Using his telekinesis, Spite selected a structure deck of Yu-Gi-Oh! cards and levitated it over to himself and Bendy, taking care to not have the cards float in front of the cashier. He opened the package as best as he could, although he did leave some tears from the tape. He handed the cards to Bendy.

“This is a TCG, a trading card game. There are a million types out there with a million cards, all made to get your money. Lots of them have complicated rules. This one’s Yu-Gi-Oh!, it’s based on a game in a manga turned anime. People play these things for fun, but some compete for money, like those loud nerds upstairs.” He gave Bendy some time to shuffle through the deck. This gave Spite some time to look around more. The boxes on the shelves were marked with the names of publishing companies and letters of the alphabet to show what was inside. The shelves themselves also had little index cards saying the genres or the authors of various graphic novel collections, save for the one small manga shelf that was simply labeled “manga.”

Spite was amused to hear Bendy curse and let out a small chuckle. “Heh, I know, this place isn’t the best in terms of organization, but for a novice like you, I can point out what to pick up. This way.” Spite walked ahead and gestured to a shelf labeled “Alan Moore.” Spite, thankfully, was able to reach the shelf as long as he stood on his tip-toes. He found his recommendation easily. After flipping through it to see if was in good condition, he handed it to Bendy as well.

“Oh, well, yeah,” Spite was so used to sneaking around places that he forgot a night out would entail being, y’know, out. He tried to cover up for his flub. “Well, we are going into buildings, yes, but we have to walk outside to get to them. It’s best if we minimize the chances of being stopped on the street by strangers who think we look funny.” Bendy looked fine, Spite was honestly more worried about his appearance. He’d more than likely be fine, however. Someone might mistake him for Bendy’s badly dressed child, which would be embarrassing, but he could handle that. “As for Wulf changing himself for you, I still say it’s possible. He must’ve seen something in you to let you randomly crash at his place, after all.”

Spite perked up as soon as Bendy mentioned a comic book store. Spite didn’t get to read comics often, but he liked what he could get his hands on, though it was mostly outdated stuff he stole from middle-aged collectors or the one or two things he could swipe at a store before he had to leave to follow a reincarny.

“You have a comic book store?” Spite asked. “How good is it? Does it carry lots of back issues, or is it mostly newer stuff? Do they have graphic novel collections? Manga? Collectibles?” Logically Spite knew Bendy didn’t know what all was in that store, but in his excitement he couldn’t handle himself. “Is this place Mile High Comics big? No, wait, that place is too big for a city like this. Hastings big? Austin Books and Comics big? Some hole-in-the-wall?” At some point in his line of questioning, Spite realized his cool and evil image was completely gone, as much as he could still have it wearing his get-up. As if he could recover from such a show, he stopped and straightened himself up.

“Ahem, I mean… Yes, let’s do that place first.” His attempt at recovery was immediately ruined once he darted towards the door. “Hurry up, let’s go! Those places don’t have good late hours!”

Satisfied with Spite’s explanation, Bendy opted not to pursue that line of questioning any further. He was still suspicious of the likelihood that Wulf saw something in him, or anything similar, but he’d put it down as a possibility and leave it at that.

Bendy was grinning broadly by the time Spite finished his tangent. His hobbies only consisted of drinking and torturing, huh? Likely story. He had never seen Spite light up like that before. Granted, this was only the second time they’d seen each other, but he knew by now that Spite being genuinely excited about something was a rare and valuable opportunity. Now his goal for the night was to keep Spite happy for as long as he could manage. Spite seemed so miserable all the time, and maybe Bendy could actually help him not be miserable, if only for a little while.

“It’s kind of a hole in the wall,” Bendy said, “But there’s a lot of stuff crammed in there. New releases are on display and old stuff’s in boxes you can sift through. There’s a second floor where they….play with cards, I think? Dunno what that has to do with comic books.” Certainly not wanting to bandy about in the apartment any longer out of fear it would kill Spite’s good mood, he followed him outside and continued speaking as they walked. “I don’t know what any of those other places you mentioned are, but this city’s pretty big. I haven’t left this area much, though, since there’s more people further in.”

“Comic shops attract a bunch of nerds,” Spite explained with no hint of irony in his voice. “A lot of people who like comics like RPGs, TCGs, video games, those sorts of things. Some people even LARP. Losers.”  Again, no irony from Spite as he said these acronyms like they were common knowledge.

Spite hesitated some as he tried to formulate his answer. He didn’t see the need to lie about it, but he didn’t want to give his backstory, mainly because he didn’t care to think of his backstory himself. Once he figured out what details to omit, he gave his reply.

“You know how most kids learn to read from picture books before moving on to more complex readings? Comic books were one of my stepping stones in that process.” He didn’t say how his human caretaker gave him his first picture books, or how she had some old Archie comics she read with him, or how he would have to hunt for new reading material online to kill time while waiting for her to come home. The shorter the explanation, the fewer chances to Bendy to poke holes in it. “How did you even find comic books, anyway? Wulf doesn’t seem the type to have any. Or at least, not any you’d like. He seems like a tijuana bible guy, but those are hard to find.” If Bendy asked what that one meant, Spite probably wouldn’t tell him. He could only crap on Wulf’s image so much in one day if this were to be a pleasant hangout.  

Once they got within a block of the store, Spite ran ahead, eager to get in. In an attempt to be polite, he opened the door once Bendy got closer.

“Aw, you’re no fun,” Spite replied as he made his way to the cabinet. He rifled through the drawers until he found some safety pins. He could have sworn he saw a face-down picture frame as he searched, but he kept that to himself. As he waited for Bendy to get ready, he climbed onto the bed and started rolling up his sleeves to figure out where the safety pins should go. By the time he was done, Bendy had stepped out of the closet.  

“I don’t think it makes you look stuffy,” Spite answered. “It might be a little bit too business formal for walking around late at night, but it’d help you blend into the darkness. Draw less attention to yourself.” Spite didn’t want to admit it, but he was jealous that Bendy was able to fit into the clothes no problem. Spite, meanwhile, knew he looked like a little kid playing dress-up in their dad’s clothes. Even with the alterations he made, which were a bit sloppy, he still looked like a child trying to be a grown-up. It’s not like Spite cared about clothes given his constant nudity, but it’d still be nice if he could fit into things other than baby onesies.

“A job is good. And I’d say you are helping. Sometimes people don’t work on self-improvement unless it’s for someone else, as weird as that is.” Spite scooted himself off the bed, landing on the discarded suit jacket he pulled down. Spite looked up at Bendy, then looked down at himself. These were by no means great disguises. Bendy still had an unnaturally pure white face while Spite had some purple showing from his feet and legs poking under the shirt, but at least they weren’t parading around naked and with their more obvious demon features showing. Plus, it was nighttime, so people were less likely to notice their inhuman features in the dark. Just in case, however, Spite used his powers to open a drawer and get some socks to cover his feet. What would’ve been average above-ankle socks on a human were more like half-shin height for Spite, but it covered more of him, so he wasn’t going to complain. He used some safety pins to make the socks tighter. Now he was ready.

“I think this is as good as we’re gonna get. So, what kind of places do you want to go to first?”

Bendy looked in the mirror for a moment, and opted to keep the jacket for now. He could always take it off later. He was aware that he kind of looked like a dork, but there wasn’t much he could do about that short of buying clothes that fit. Maybe people would think he was cute.

“Blending into the darkness,” he repeated. “You know, I was thinking we would actually be….going into buildings, and stuff. We aren’t gonna be sneaking around the whole time, are we? I feel like that’ll put a damper on the whole….night on the town thing.”

It had not occurred to Bendy that Wulf might have been trying harder because of him. The idea made him feel important, but it also didn’t seem terribly likely. Wulf liked him, but Bendy was still a random demon he’d picked up off the streets a few weeks ago. It wasn’t like he was a relative or a significant other. “You really think he’s improving himself ‘cause of me?” Bendy asked, disbelief evident in his voice.

He watched Spite put on the socks. Was he….going to walk around wearing socks without shoes? What if he stepped in a puddle? Bendy shuddered. Those socks would undoubtedly be ruined by the end of the night, but he wasn’t willing to argue with Spite over a pair of socks. He’d buy Wulf some new ones later to make up for it.

Spite perked up as soon as Bendy mentioned a comic book store. Spite didn’t get to read comics often, but he liked what he could get his hands on, though it was mostly outdated stuff he stole from middle-aged collectors or the one or two things he could swipe at a store before he had to leave to follow a reincarny.

“You have a comic book store?” Spite asked. “How good is it? Does it carry lots of back issues, or is it mostly newer stuff? Do they have graphic novel collections? Manga? Collectibles?” Logically Spite knew Bendy didn’t know what all was in that store, but in his excitement he couldn’t handle himself. “Is this place Mile High Comics big? No, wait, that place is too big for a city like this. Hastings big? Austin Books and Comics big? Some hole-in-the-wall?” At some point in his line of questioning, Spite realized his cool and evil image was completely gone, as much as he could still have it wearing his get-up. As if he could recover from such a show, he stopped and straightened himself up.

Spite looked at the clothes up and down. They really did all look the same. Spite made a show of the lack of selection.

“Oh, man, so many choices, however could I pick? I mean, this one is black, but this one is black. Man…” After realizing neither of the two of them were amused by this bit, Spite pulled down a suit at random, not caring how his rough grip and tug to the floor would wrinkle the clothes. He also used his powers to levitate a hat down. He eyed the trench coats, but he knew that those couldn’t be as easily rolled up and pinned to fit without looking awkward. Plus, the hat was most likely large enough to obscure his face in shadow, so the trench coat might have been overkill. He undid the buttons of the dress shirt and put it on, feeling ridiculous and swallowed up by the large garment. He didn’t even have to look in a mirror to tell.

“…Yeah, I think I need to cut this up. Maybe make a dress out of it. There’s no way this will work as a shirt for me.” Instead of looking for scissors, Spite grabbed one of the ties that fell to the floor from his haphazard grab at the clothes earlier and fashioned it into a belt, making the shirt fit closer to his body as best as he could. He put the hat on his head and spun around like a model.

“Tell me I’m pretty~” he joked. After he stopped spinning, he got out of the way so Bendy could chose his own ensemble, his ridiculously long sleeves dragging behind him, along with the back of the shirt. As he waited for Bendy to get dressed, he brought up Wulf’s sad life again.

“Heh, he’s the true starving artist romantic, isn’t he? Songs upon songs of lovers lost and lonely nights. How pathetic.” Remembering that people are usually supposed to be nice to their friends, he amended his statement. “Moving on is hard, but he’ll feel a lot better if he learns to get out there rather than drown in his own apartment. Self-pity only works for so long, you know? You must be helping out a lot; I can’t imagine the mess this apartment was in before you came along.” 

Bendy watched Spite struggle with the clothes with amusement. He covered his mouth to suppress a laugh. Spite was tiny, of course, but it never quite occurred to you exactly how tiny he was until you saw him to scale with a human-sized object - in this case, a shirt. It was so long in comparison to him that he could trip over. Spite would kill him if Bendy told him that he was cute like a tiny baby, though.

“You look gorgeous,” he said instead, pushing past Spite into the closet. He peeked out of the door and added, “Also, please don’t do anything to that shirt while I’m in here, we have safety pins in the cabinet.”

Bendy, unlike Spite, was actually the size of a human person, albeit a short one. Fortunately for him, Wulf wasn’t very tall, so his clothes were wearable, if a bit big. The shoes are a little too loose, but he manages to make them work by stuffing them full of insertable insoles and calling it a day. 

Bendy emerges from the closet in a full suit. He looks like a middle schooler going to his first prom in the smallest thing he could find at the thrift shop. “Think I should lose the jacket?” he asks. “Feel like it makes me look stuffy. I figure as long as my horns and tail are hidden, I should be fine. Not much I can do about my face.”

“I don’t think it makes you look stuffy,” Spite answered. “It might be a little bit too business formal for walking around late at night, but it’d help you blend into the darkness. Draw less attention to yourself.” Spite didn’t want to admit it, but he was jealous that Bendy was able to fit into the clothes no problem. Spite, meanwhile, knew he looked like a little kid playing dress-up in their dad’s clothes. Even with the alterations he made, which were a bit sloppy, he still looked like a child trying to be a grown-up. It’s not like Spite cared about clothes given his constant nudity, but it’d still be nice if he could fit into things other than baby onesies.

“A job is good. And I’d say you are helping. Sometimes people don’t work on self-improvement unless it’s for someone else, as weird as that is.” Spite scooted himself off the bed, landing on the discarded suit jacket he pulled down. Spite looked up at Bendy, then looked down at himself. These were by no means great disguises. Bendy still had an unnaturally pure white face while Spite had some purple showing from his feet and legs poking under the shirt, but at least they weren’t parading around naked and with their more obvious demon features showing. Plus, it was nighttime, so people were less likely to notice their inhuman features in the dark. Just in case, however, Spite used his powers to open a drawer and get some socks to cover his feet. What would’ve been average above-ankle socks on a human were more like half-shin height for Spite, but it covered more of him, so he wasn’t going to complain. He used some safety pins to make the socks tighter. Now he was ready.

In the end, Spite figured that killing the sinner now would be easier. He scanned the area from his hiding spot in the dumpster, looking for any way he could off the reincarny and make it look like an accident. The thugs, thank Luke, were stupid enough to attempt this at day time in an alleyway near a high-traffic street. If Spite could get the reincarny to slip and fall or run into the street, it’d be a quick job. The question was how to set the slip. The thug had his back to the street, as did the rest of them, so he wouldn’t back up in order to attack this hippie-sounding human. Spite hated to do this, but if he could get the victim’s attention, they could work together on this. Spite quietly levitated a series of tossed-out beer bottles behind his target, setting up a rolling trap into the street. The purple-haired man only needed to give him the slightest push to set the cheap conveyor belt of alcohol containers in motion. 

“Yeah, could definitely tell from the piano, sheet music, and booze,” Spite said with some amusement in his voice. “Honestly, this apartment is the stereotypical starving artist’s apartment. All it’s missing is more papers crumpled up and maybe a picture of some dame long gone from his life, which I’d imagine he’s keeping in a drawer in his bedroom.” Spite was joking, but for all he knew it could be true. “At least you’re able to keep him from drinking too much. Probably hard to tickle the ivories if you’re seeing double of the keys. I’d like to hear his skills sometime, if he’s as good as you claim.”

Spite was thinking of cutting the fabric, truth be told, but Bendy seemed to read his mind. “Aww, no cutting things? You’re no fun,” Spite pouted. “But fine, I suppose we could roll and pin the sleeves or pants or whatever I’m going to wear. I can’t guarantee I won’t get stains on the outfit, though, so something permanent might happen.” While he’d rather not get into a mess where that sort of thing could happen, he did secretly hope to commit a little bit of evil by ruining Wulf’s clothes somehow. He couldn’t help himself. 

Spite opened the bedroom door and headed straight for the closet, once again taking care to step on whatever bare patches of floor were visible. Spite ignored the mess as best as he could in order to focus on his task, though it was hard for him to resist digging through the scattered trash to see if there was anything of value or potentially useful. 

“What all does Wulf wear, anyway?” he asked Bendy as he opened the closet. “Any hats or anything we could cover our horns with? Scarves or high-collared trenchcoats to hide our faces? We might have to look like Claude Rains’s Invisible Man to pass in society.”

Spite’s reading of Wulf stung Bendy a little bit for some reason. Maybe because Wulf was so genuinely miserable and really struggled with alcoholism and really did have a bunch of exes and Spite was speaking as if this all was something to be expected. But Bendy knew, logically, that Spite didn’t mean anything by it. Maybe he was just a little overly defensive of the person who’d taken him in. “Putting it lightly, he has had a lot of relationships go over badly,” he said. “He writes about it a lot. Well. He mostly writes about it, actually.”

Bendy was glad he’d caught onto Spite’s intentions in time. He’d feel awful if he let Spite in here and he proceeded to destroy all of Wulf’s stuff. “Just try and be careful, would you?” he whined. “I really don’t want any of his things getting ruined. Clothes are expensive and I’m staying here for free.”

The closet was lined with a solid dozen formal suits of decent quality, like a cartoon businessman’s wardrobe. In the back behind them were a few other types of items - dress shirts, polished shoes - but not much of a particularly casual variety. Wulf did, in fact, own a few trenchcoats - and many hats, all arranged in a row on the top shelf. This was very likely the neatest location in the entire apartment.

“Oh, man, so many choices, however could I pick? I mean, this one is black, but this one is black. Man...” After realizing neither of the two of them were amused by this bit, Spite pulled down a suit at random, not caring how his rough grip and tug to the floor would wrinkle the clothes. He also used his powers to levitate a hat down. He eyed the trench coats, but he knew that those couldn’t be as easily rolled up and pinned to fit without looking awkward. Plus, the hat was most likely large enough to obscure his face in shadow, so the trench coat might have been overkill. He undid the buttons of the dress shirt and put it on, feeling ridiculous and swallowed up by the large garment. He didn’t even have to look in a mirror to tell.

“...Yeah, I think I need to cut this up. Maybe make a dress out of it. There’s no way this will work as a shirt for me.” Instead of looking for scissors, Spite grabbed one of the ties that fell to the floor from his haphazard grab at the clothes earlier and fashioned it into a belt, making the shirt fit closer to his body as best as he could. He put the hat on his head and spun around like a model.

“Tell me I’m pretty~” he joked. After he stopped spinning, he got out of the way so Bendy could chose his own ensemble, his ridiculously long sleeves dragging behind him, along with the back of the shirt. As he waited for Bendy to get dressed, he brought up Wulf’s sad life again.

Spite stepped in and scoped out his surroundings. While Spite himself wasn’t the neatest person in the world, this place was a downright pig sty. He made no hesitation in saying so to Bendy.

“You two live like this? I’ve seen trailer homes hit by tornadoes look cleaner.” Spite used his powers to levitate one of the empty bottles to him. Rum. Wulf had some decent taste. “Since you just admitted to not drinking, does this mean your human has been downing all these? From one alcoholic about another, he’s got a problem.” Spite put the bottle down near his feet and picked up a stack of papers close by. Spite couldn’t see too well in the dim moonlight, but he could make out what looked like several lines and dots. Must have been sheet music for the piano awkwardly shoehorned into the corner. Among the sheet music were some drawings. Some pretty good drawings, from what he could see. Spite shuffled through them, getting more impressed the more he looked.

“You did all these?” he asked. “Don’t throw these on the floor, you need to put them somewhere nice and flat. Heck, put them on the fridge if you have to. Why trash your newly found hobby like that?” Despite saying this, Spite put the papers down where he found them. He took some hesitant steps forward, occasionally side-stepping in order to avoid bigger obstacles. “This is like a reverse ‘the floor is made of lava’ game,” he muttered to himself until he got close to what he suspected was the bedroom door. 

“The clothes are in here, right? Mind you, I’m not exactly a tall demon like you are,” he said, even though Bendy wasn’t really considered tall. “That being said, I might need to make some adjustments. Once we get ready, we can start the fun.”

Bendy’s face felt hot. He had thought the apartment they shared was pretty nice. He greatly preferred its fullness to how bare all the places he’d lived before were. It hadn’t occurred to him that people would think of all the stuff as making the place dirty, he just thought it made it lived in. 

Bendy looked at the bottle of rum on the floor. Spite was pretty blunt about that, too. “Yeah, he um….he does have a problem,” he mumbled barely above a whisper. He spoke up some more. “He’s been drinking less with me around, though, really! He’s just….sad, y’know?” Bendy picked up a page of lyrics off of the ground and dusted it off. It was labeled La Bête et la Belle. He set it down on the coffee table. “He’s a musician. But you could probably tell that from the piano. He’s really good, you should hear him sometime.”

He smiled at the compliments. “I’m glad you like ‘em! We mostly walk in the cleared out space, so they’re fine on the floor. I, ah, kinda picked up the habit from him. But you’re right, I should keep them in a folder or somethin’. He should take better care of his things too. Paper ages pretty quickly.”

Spite was thinking of cutting the fabric, truth be told, but Bendy seemed to read his mind. “Aww, no cutting things? You’re no fun,” Spite pouted. “But fine, I suppose we could roll and pin the sleeves or pants or whatever I’m going to wear. I can’t guarantee I won’t get stains on the outfit, though, so something permanent might happen.” While he’d rather not get into a mess where that sort of thing could happen, he did secretly hope to commit a little bit of evil by ruining Wulf’s clothes somehow. He couldn’t help himself. 

Spite opened the bedroom door and headed straight for the closet, once again taking care to step on whatever bare patches of floor were visible. Spite ignored the mess as best as he could in order to focus on his task, though it was hard for him to resist digging through the scattered trash to see if there was anything of value or potentially useful. 

Spite knew that some people considered his job as almost a good thing. After all, killing sinners means there’s less evil in the world, which benefits humanity. It’s like if Batman had the guts to actually kill Joker. However, Spite hated thinking of his job in those terms. He needed both his job and himself to be evil. That’s what he was trained to be. That’s what all demons were trained to be. The idea that there was goodness in him, in any demon, was troubling and would only lead to getting the goodness beat out of them. The question of if killing evil-doers makes one good or bad was and still is a heavily debated one, and Spite didn’t feel like having a philosophical discussion, so he let the comment slide.

As Spite was getting dragged around by Bendy, he answered the question, though he knew Bendy would like the answers even less. Unlike the whole killing bad guys job, Spite’s hobbies in Hell were definitely in the black on a black-to-white scale of morality.

“Torture, drink, drink while torturing, torture while drinking, those are the most common activities for demons. I like to mix it up sometimes with reading and video games, but everyone has their own thing. Mind you, most of those things still involve torture of some sort. For example, I have a roommate that likes gardening, but he feeds a lot of the carnivorous plants various human body parts.” Spite shrugged dismissively, showing how little he cared about the souls whose limbs were hacked off. “I’d imagine it was the same for your fellow demons in your Hell. What do you do in your spare time here, other than practice shapeshifting in seedy alleyways?”

Spite was quiet for awhile. Bendy guessed he didn’t want to talk about his job. He was fine with leaving well enough alone, in this case. Spite answered his question about what he did in his spare time with some….concerning activities. Perhaps he should have expected those kinds of answers. Perhaps he shouldn’t have asked at all.

“It, uh….wasn’t really like that for us,” he said, rounding the corner. They weren’t far now. “For one thing, we didn’t have much free time at all. They did like alcohol, but I, ah….” He tugs on his bow. “Can’t drink. Torture’s its own specific career field within the legal department, not something just anyone can do, so it wasn’t anyone’s hobby. I don’t really know much of what people got up to in their own homes, honestly. No one certainly ever invited me anywhere.”

Bendy continued on, “As for now, I haven’t been here long, so I’ve been spending most of my time wandering around trying to get to know the area. Just people-watching and stuff. I’m pretty good at not being seen.” He remembered something. “Oh! I nearly forgot! I’ve also taken up drawing. Just for when I’m at home with nothing to do, since I can’t always be wandering around. I’ve never had a hobby before, y’know. Anyway, the apartment’s right up here.” 

At last, they stood before the backside of the apartment building. Bendy waved Spite up the fire escape staircase. “I have a key, but Wulf leaves this window unlocked, so we can climb in through here. Don’t wanna risk someone seeing you in the halls.” Bendy smiled to himself, remembering that their first meeting had occurred after he ran up a fire escape and entered an apartment through a window. He popped the window open and climbed through, then waited for Spite.

The lights were off in the apartment, but you could still see the layout of the room pretty clearly thanks to the light filtering in through the windows. This was a living room - at least, underneath all the clutter, it was. Nearly the entire floor and every available surface - namely, a coffee table and an end table - was covered with papers and empty liquor bottles and clothing and boxes and odds and ends. The grungy carpet was visible only through a clumsily cleared walkway between the tattered couch and the other doorways, not unlike one you’d see in a child’s bedroom. Most conspicuously, there was a piano crammed into the corner of the room, just barely askew of the couch. The piano, too, was was covered with clutter.

“You two live like this? I’ve seen trailer homes hit by tornadoes look cleaner.” Spite used his powers to levitate one of the empty bottles to him. Rum. Wulf had some decent taste. “Since you just admitted to not drinking, does this mean your human has been downing all these? From one alcoholic about another, he’s got a problem.” Spite put the bottle down near his feet and picked up a stack of papers close by. Spite couldn’t see too well in the dim moonlight, but he could make out what looked like several lines and dots. Must have been sheet music for the piano awkwardly shoehorned into the corner. Among the sheet music were some drawings. Some pretty good drawings, from what he could see. Spite shuffled through them, getting more impressed the more he looked.

“You did all these?” he asked. “Don’t throw these on the floor, you need to put them somewhere nice and flat. Heck, put them on the fridge if you have to. Why trash your newly found hobby like that?” Despite saying this, Spite put the papers down where he found them. He took some hesitant steps forward, occasionally side-stepping in order to avoid bigger obstacles. “This is like a reverse ‘the floor is made of lava’ game,” he muttered to himself until he got close to what he suspected was the bedroom door.