#raibabo

The waitress leans over the table, all lurid grace, her hair a dark brown oil spill down Rye's chest, shiny and slick.

And just as suffocating.

It's not even his personal space that's being violated, and yet Bourbon can't help but grind his teeth. To no avail; black tar slides down his throat, heavy and bitter, seals off the air he breathes with sticky grime.

She laughs into Rye's ear, artificially bright, despite her oozing corruption.

How dare she-

What's the point of Rye not fooling around with his cousin, if he's just going to grab a plastic doll copy off the shelf?

Rye tugs her closer, a hand sliding up her fish-netted thigh, and Bourbon finds himself mirroring the action - to find the holster strapped to his own. For animals who are drowning in oil, sometimes the only solution is mercy; but Rye, tar-black though his soul may be, is not a helpless bird.

Once Bourbon removes the contamination, Rye will be just fine.

A single shot, a precise incision, and she screams, the fake plastic finally ripped off to reveal she bleeds red just like everyone else. With belated disdain Bourbon realises that she's bleeding all over Rye; oh well. Those clothes will have to go. Bourbon will give him a proper cleaning, later. And then he'll make sure to soil Rye so thoroughly that no one else will dare touch what's his.

Green eyes, finally no longer hypnotised by iridescent sheens, meet his. Clear and bright and alert, focused only on him - the extraction was successful.