The Trans Frog

It never rained in Cyber City, but that didn't mean that things didn't get cold. The nights were especially cruel, all body and car heat dying down by the time that the stars on the artificial sky began to dwindle. The dumpster did little to insulate Spamton from the long nights, leaving him shivering most days. The warm food he found helped a little and sometimes he would be able to find a half broken heating pad in one of the trash bags but those days were rare and Spamton was no mechanic so the machinery he found often died after a day or two.

On days like those, Spamton switched residences, going for whatever dumpster was nearest to a house's ventilation vent, hoping to warm up while he napped. It was risky, sure, but it was far better than freezing to death.

Since he started getting food from that Darkner down the streets, his primary resting place had become the dumpster next to their home. It didn't have a ventilation vent nearby, but what it did have was at least a few sleeping Tasques who sometimes let Spamton cozy up next to them to borrow just a bit of warmth. It was stupid, cozying up with animals who he had once kicked out of his way but what choice did he have?

Well. He had one.

But that choice meant looking a certain someone in the eye and begging him to be let inside. And Spamton didn't do begging.

Spamton looked up from his meal as the door to the Darkner's house opened, revealing them with something in their hand.

"Mr. Spamton? A moment if you would." The Darkner's voice was strained and the bags under his eyes lay heavier than usual. Spamton hesistated for a moment before standing up and patting down his pants.

"[Affirmative], WHAT DO YOU [You do not meet the requirements to complete this transaction]?" The Darkner moved out fully from behind the door, closing it just a tad so that a stray Tasque wouldn't come barelling inside like they often did. Spamton had watched the Darkner try to wrestle the beasts out multiple times to no success, often leading them to call Tasque Manager in to help corral the rowdy Tasque. The two seemed to be quite close, close enough to be able to call one another on the phone and arrive or depart within minutes of the call.

"I recently finished fixing an old sweater of mine but it no longer fits me. I wanted to offer it to you since you seem to not have any warm clothes." The Darkner extended the repaired sweater towards Spamton, their gaze piercing as Spamton stared at the cloth before him. He could feel his face turning red as steam erupted from his mouth.

"WHAT DO YOU [See no evil, think no evil] I AM?! SOME SORT OF [Would you like to donate to a charity of your choice?] CASE?!" The Darkner didn't flinch away from the salesman even as he marched forward, leaning over the edge of the window sill he stood upon.

"YOU THINK YOU ARE [Product of the upmost quality!] THAN [BIG SHOT]?! YOU [See no evil, think no evil] I CAN'T [Warm up by the fire with family] UP WITHOUT YOUR [Help! Somebody Help!]?!" The Darkner just stayed still, holding the sweater in one hand as their other rested against their side. How dare they ask Spamton if he wanted what they didn't need? Did he look like a fucking trash can?!

"No. I don't think I am better than you and no I do not see you as a charity case, Mr. Spamton. This is really high quality and I do not want to throw it away. It used to be my favourite sweater back when I still worked as a personal assistant. I want to give it to you specifically because I don't want it to go to waste." The Darkner said, sighing before speaking. Spamton stared at the person before him with narrowed eyes before huffing, his face slowly returning to normal as steam coiled around his porcelain cheeks.

"...What's the [I caught a fish bigger than my ####]." It took the man before him a second to understand what he was saying, a little thrown off by the censoring.

"There is no catch. I am giving this to you as a gift." Spamton could tell that the Darkner was being as patient as he could, but the exhaustion wearing at his form was causing his fuse to burn just a little quicker than normal. Spamton really wanted to keep on interrogating the man but he knew that soon they would retreat back home, leaving a sour note between them. Whether he liked it or not, he was dependant on them. He needed them to keep feeding him, he couldn't go back to the way things were.

Spamton leaned forward again and snatched the sweater out of their hands, appraising it as closely as he possibly could, he inspected every stitch, every thread and eventually came up with nothing. It was just a sweater, a gaudy one that he would have never worn in a million years when he was a Big Shot but now...now it meant something. It was a gift. Spamton gritted his teeth. He didn't want it, he didn't want to be tied down again like some rabid fucking mutt. He was a Big Shot for Angel's Sake! What was he doing here, taking discarded items from strangers?!

Spamton watched the Darkner lean down to gently run his hand through a Tasque's fur before standing back up and walking inside, leaving the door slightly ajar. The salesman stared at the beam of light that the opened door cast, imagining his old apartment that now probably belonged to some rich fuck.