An Arsonist and a Necromancer Walk into a Bar

Interlude XXII – Morality Chained

Tintinnia was generally a very cheerful person. It came with the territory of being a creator—no, an artist. She knew the world intimately, she knew what she liked and didn't like, and she knew that if she didn't like something she could change it into something she loved. And she was very good at making things she loved and getting rid of things she hated.

Because being angry meant something bad had happened. Therefore, so long as she didn't let bad things happen, she would never be angry!

Currently, Tintinnia was fucking livid.

"HOW DARE THEY!?" she screeched, flipping her worktable in a fit of mad hysteria. The large oaken table practically flew across the room, metal tools and bloody flesh flying every which way as it left the ground. "HOW FUCKING DARE THEY!?"

She picked up a hammer and began slamming it into one of the bodies hanging against the wall—an Elf she had pilfered from the aftermath of Sinbad's crusade against the Ambrosi a month ago—letting out a wordless shriek of rage as she felt bone and tendons snap under her frenzied assault. Eventually it was left as little more than a mangled lump of flesh, only the head remaining untouched by simple fact she couldn't reach it.

It was only when there was nothing left to destroy that she finally stopped.

Panting heavily, Tintinnia dropped her hammer, flinching as it clanged against the floor. Taking deep, heaving breaths she wrapped her arms around herself, air hissing between her teeth as she snapped them open and shut. Even now she struggled to control herself, blood running down her chin from where she'd torn her cheeks from how wide she'd opened her mouth to scream. It mixed with the blood of the Elf splattered across the rest of her body, painting the pink of her skin a deep, unnatural maroon.

This rage had not come from nowhere, despite how mindlessly it had overtaken her. There was in fact a very important reason why she was so utterly incensed.

Palmira, her best friend—her only friend—had been kidnapped by a Demon Lord. By one of those wretched bastards who ruined everything—

They had taken from her again. It was a different one this time, but that did not matter to her. How could it matter to her? The vile Demons stole from her again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and —

Tintinnia blinked, finding herself ankle-deep in the chest cavity of a corpse. Her hands were now even more bloody and her nails ruined from where they'd split and scratched at the broken ribcage. She let out a wet, hacking cough, unable to articulate any other noise from her ruined throat. Slowly she stumbled back, accidentally stepping on a kidney as she rose back to her feet.

She let out a low, shuddering breath, a faint mewl pouring from between her teeth as she hunched in on herself.

Why did bad things keep happening to her? It just wasn't fair!

She was knocked out of her spiraling by a sudden knock against her workshop's door. It was a faint but firm rapping, like the sound of metal tapping against wood.

The anger suddenly came flooding back. There was only one person who that could be, and how dare they come back here after what they've done!?

She turned to storm across the room and smash the door down—but then stopped, deciding she wasn't going to even acknowledge him, because why should she? Instead she turned around, leaving him to fester outside where he belonged. But he just wouldn't stop knocking, rap tap rap tap rap tap rap, the sound was pissing her off so damn bad—!

"Tintinnia," the infuriatingly calm voice of Sinbad called out from behind the door. "I know you're awake, I could hear your infernal racket from upstairs."

"Fuck off!" she snapped, her voice cracking from overuse. "Screw you! Don't you have monsters to go make orphans!?"

"Do not take that language with me young lady," he warned her, and oh good, he sounded angry! Wonderful, maybe now he'd understand how she felt! "You have until the count of three to open this door, or else I will do so for you."

She let out something more akin to a bestial snarl which spoke well enough her refusal.

"One."

"Shut up!"

"Two."

"Go away you bastard!"

"Three."

"I'll turn your skull into a soup bowl!"

"I'm coming in."

Tintinnia rushed the door as it unlocked and opened, attempting to make a break for it—only to slam into an invisible barrier which flashed across the threshold, chucking her back into her room with the hymning of a holy choir.

"You knew that wasn't going to work, brat," the Paladin grumbled, stepping into the room. He then took a long glance around the workshop, his nose wrinkling as he took it all in. "Goddess above, what a mess. This place is so much worse than usual, and I didn't even know that was possible."

She ignored him, instead scrambling for her tools. She picked up the first thing she found—a screwdriver, apparently—and with a shriek charged at Sinbad, intent on… on doing something to his smug fucking face.

She didn't get within two steps of him before she was disarmed and put into a headlock, a single arm now wrapped around her neck.

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"Cease, Tintinnia," he growled, genuine anger creeping into his tone. "This tantrum has gone on long enough."

"Fuck you!" she snarled again, clawing at his arm with her ruined nails. Unfortunately he was wearing his armor, and so all she succeeded in doing was further damaging her own fingers. "You locked me in here you bastard! I could be out there saving Palmira right now if not for you!"

"Yes, I did," he growled, tightening his grip as she squirmed against him. "Because I am not letting you run off to fight a Demon Lord on your own. Especially not in your current state, where you are less a person and more some unholy beast."

"I'm only like this because you won't let me out!"

"Are you now? Look at your hands, Tintinnia. Look at what you have wrought on yourself and tell me why I should let you hurt yourself any further?"

She snarled, but couldn't help but glance down. There she stilled, as she saw red ruins where fingers should be, the digits painted in blood both hers and not and her nails torn and shredded to nearly nothing. As she finally acknowledged them the pain suddenly flooded in, and she couldn't help but let out a sob as her fingers began to throb in agony.

Sinbad gently grabbed her hands. Murmuring a soft prayer, he set them to healing with what little of that magic he was capable of.

"I made a promise to your mother to see you safe and alive, Tintinnia," his voice softened, though only slightly. "It is a promise I have failed in many, many ways. But even I am not so foolish as to let you run off on your own like this."

"It's not fair…" she sniffled, tears burning at the corners of her eyes. The black liquid began to run down her cheeks like polluted rivers, mixing with the blood and offal splattered across her face to create a disgusting, rusty brown.

"Nothing in life is fair," Sinbad nodded calmly, his grip loosening ever so slightly. Now it was almost like she was being held, rather than being held down, even as they both knew that was not the case. "We must simply suffer the cards we are dealt."

"…You could help me though, if you don't want me to go alone. You're stronger than some puny Demon Lord."

"You know I'm not, and you know why I can't," he let out a sigh which turned to a grimace as his bad eye throbbed. "I am far too vulnerable that monster."

"…I destroyed my materials," she said at last, grasping for an excuse she already knew he wouldn't accept. "I'll need more to continue working. If you let me out, I can—"

"Then you should have thought of that beforehand," he gave the ruined corpses a disgusted sneer. "Take this as a lesson on the folly of losing yourself to anger. You'll just have to make do for now."

Tintinnia finally gave up, slumping against the older man as the fight left her. She knew she couldn't beat him—couldn't even escape his grip—and so without any way to let lose her rage it fled her body, leaving behind only a hollow despair.

"Now that you have calmed," Sinbad shuffled a bit, before dropping a bowl in her lap. "I brought you dinner. Goddess knows the last time you ate anything healthy regardless."

It was a mandrake and lentil stew, mixed with thin cuts of beef and chunks of purple Boccan biscuits. It sat warm against her abdomen, making her realize how long it had been since she had last eaten. A cramp twisted in her guts as a low growl bubble from her stomach.

"I hate mandrakes," she sniffled, grabbing the offered spoon and began shoveling the stew into her mouth. She ignored the blood and other fluids covering her, unable to care if they joined the broth as the meal was violently devoured.

"I know," he adjusted his grip to allow her to better eat. "But they're good for you. The magical energy you get from them will help you feel better, and the meat will fill your belly. And I know you know that, so eat."

"Fugoff," she snapped, broth spilling from her lips as she cussed him out. "You should have gotten bugberries instead."

"You know those are out of season."

"Don' care," she grumbled, slumping further into his lap as she focused on shoveling the stew down her throat.

They both fell silent after that, any more arguing falling to the wayside as she focused entirely on her food. Only the sound of slurping and chewing echoed in the room of corpses as the little girl took out her anger and sorrow on the only thing left to direct her wrath.

Then the bowl was empty. She went to chuck it away, but Sinbad merely grabbed it from her hands before she could do so.

"Do you feel better now?" he asked calmly, placing the bowl out of reach.

"No," she grumbled. She did feel a bit better, but she was never going to admit that to the bastard.

"Do you want me to leave now?"

"…No."

They said nothing else after that, simply sitting there on the mucky floor of her messy workshop. She fit in well here, stained as she was in gunk and tears. All of them painted the red of death.

…She wondered if Palmira was already dead. If she was painting the workshop of some Demon far away, her body taken apart for the creature's sick amusement. Her skull joining Morte's as a weapon for the Enemy.

The thought was vile. She hated that she had even considered it. It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. She missed her friend and wanted to save her, but there was nothing she could do, nothing she was allowed to do!

Despite herself, her eyes flickered up to the corpse she had mangled, the one hanging on a rack on her wall. It was completely ruined, mostly unusable and broken into nearly unrecognizable chunks. All except the head, its unseeing eyes rolling in two different directions from where it lolled soullessly.

A thought came unbidden to her then, unwanted and unwelcome. But it lodged itself in her brain, as unwilling to leave as the brute currently holding her down.

…Did anybody miss that Elf? Was there someone out there, wondering who he was, where he had gone? If he was safe or dead? They would not know he was here, but did they mourn him regardless?

Was there someone out there who cried for that nameless Elf like she did for Palmira?

She had never considered such a thought before. She did not want to continue considering such a thought. But trapped here as she was there was nothing she could do but think, and as emotions she had never felt before chased each other through her gut like angry roaches it simply resounded louder within her skull with each heartbeat.

Did that Elf have a Tintinnia somewhere, wondering if he would ever come home? Was the Elf someone's Palmira?

What… what did that make her?

Her heart was a drum in her skull, her breath ragged as she breathed in and out, the illness of her thoughts rising and rising and rising—

She couldn't hold it back anymore, and the stew returned back the way it came.

"Goddess above—really!?" Sinbad groaned, pulling her limp body away from the newest fluid to paint the floor of her workshop. Then he sighed, more resigned than anything. "Whatever, I'll be right back with a mop. …And some more food, hopefully something you'll be able to keep down. Will you be fine down here until I return?"

Tintinnia couldn't bring herself to speak, gaze still locked to the corpse. There was nothing within it, no soul nor life, yet its unseeing eyes seemed to judge her in a way that she had never felt before.

It was a horrible, vile feeling.

"Tintinnia?"

"…no."

"What?"

"I… I can't," she whimpered, trying to move away from the body but only able to shuffle piteously. "I can't stay here anymore."

"I told you you can't—"

"Please!" she cried, weakly gripping his leg. "Please! I… I can't stay here, please…! Please…!"

The Paladin stared down at her for a long moment, frowning in confusion. Before, finally, his gaze softened, and with a quiet sigh bent down to pick her up.

"Will you be fine upstairs?" he asked her gently.

"…Yes," she sniffled at last, clutching to his chest as though she were a child all over again. "Anywhere, I'm fine with anywhere. Anywhere but here."

Sinbad simply nodded. Placing a gently hand against the back of her head he carried her out, a quiet prayer of comfort whispered from his lips.

Yet even as they left the workshop behind, she swore she could feel those empty eyes following her the whole way out.