Malevoween Day 21: Paintings, Statues & Art

This one is set in Croik’s Entangledverse! The thief first appeared in our Discord jam sessions. Here they make their semi-published debut, I guess.

***

In retrospect, Arthur thought as his shoulders slammed against the wall, surprising the thief when Arthur was between them and the way out was perhaps not the best tactical move.

He kept his chin tilted carefully up, out of the way of the knife at his throat. It was just as well; the thief loomed over him anyway, with shoulders broad enough to support two sets of arms and a mane of tentacles that fell down to their chest. The ends of them curled close about Arthur’s face, and Arthur couldn’t tell if they were curious or threatening.

Two arms held knives against Arthur’s body, at his throat and just beneath his ribs. The other two hadn’t dropped the golden, gem-encrusted statuette of Hastur they’d come for to begin with.

“If I spill your blood for your master,” the thief burbled, in a voice that sounded like they were speaking through water, “maybe he’ll be pleased enough to let me go.” It should have been comical, that voice; under the circumstances, Arthur found the effect rather sinister.

But that was nothing, compared to how cold he felt himself go at hearing the King called his master. A Massachusetts winter had nothing on the frozen rage that took him over. He met the creature’s eyes and held them. “He’s not here,” he said, each word low and crystalline. “You’re dealing with me.”

The thief went perfectly still for a moment. Their skin flushed, going from purple to magenta pink. Arthur wondered, around his indignation, what that was meant to mean.

The thief looked him over carefully. “Aren’t you Carcosan?” 

Maybe he looked like one. Dressed in their clothing, wearing a few trinkets Hastur had gifted him. But in the ways that mattered?  “He’s not my god,” Arthur said, chill and calm. “He’s not worthy of my worship.” 

The ridges that sufficed for the thief’s eyebrows rose. “Aren’t you his new fucktoy? What the hell do you call that, if he’s not your god?” 

Angry heat broke through the self-righteousness as it rose to Arthur’s face. “He…” He set his jaw and admitted it to himself. “He’s my lover.”

The thief hesitated…then stepped back. Confused, Arthur watched while they put the knives away, then looked back to Arthur. “For serious.” Apparently they found the truth they were looking for in his glare, because they let out an astonished whistle. “You’re bedding the King in Yellow but you don’t worship him? You really are the craziest bastard I’ve ever heard of.” 

Every muscle in Arthur’s body locked down, ready for a fight. “I’m not the one who’s stealing from him.”

“Hm.” The thief cocked their head, sending their tentacles swaying around their shoulders. “Aren’t you?”