Gifted | Sleepy Bois Inc

Chapter Nineteen

"I don't sleep," he said brightly.

I stared at him. "I mean, I can go long periods without it," he amended. "Usually, I'm on patrol, and I can do it for a really long time because my body just doesn't feel as tired as other people might so quickly."

"Tubbo is one of our best patrollers," Phil added. "Man's a literal tank."

The image of a buff Tubbo popped into my mind. I immediately pushed it out again to save Phil from having to get me a therapist.

Tubbo and Tommy moved to the side. I stared down the hallway. It as brightly lit, very different from what movies would portray a prision/holding center to be like. There weren't any obvious guards in sight, but a couple bounty hunters were milling around, shuffling their feet and spinning daggers between their fingers. Probably people appointed by one of the Heads to keep a watch in case things went down.

As I counted their numbers, my heart sank. They needed more. There was no way they'd be able to contain Smiley.

The fact that I had so little faith in Tryxel was disheartening.

"Smiley is the sixth container over," Phil said, leading us forward. I kept my gaze straight ahead as we walked past the other bounties being held in containing cells, waiting to be collected. Snarls and quiet murmured curses wafted around, spat at our little group, most at Phil.

I hated visiting the underground levels of Tryxel. I had only done it once before, when I went to check in on the very first bounty I had ever collected, to make sure that they were okay, and immediately got verbally attacked. Back then, I had been a low-level bounty hunter. Now, as a higher-level bounty hunter, I still hated it.

We passed by a familiar-looking guy sitting in the cell, his head tilted against the wall, tapping his fingers on the ground next to him. I stopped in my tracks.

At a single look from me, the others passed by without a word. I reached out and pressed my hand against the glass of the holding container. "Bandanna Guy?"

"Is that really your name for me?" the man asked with a laugh, standing up and facing me.

"Well... I never got your real one, so...."

Bandanna Guy laughed. His dark hair was standing up all over the place, and by the looks of it, he had slept about as much as Wilbur had. But his eyes still shone as brightly as ever.

"'Bandanna Guy' works," he said. "I do love my bandannas. The word is also nice. Bandanna. Wow."

I couldn't help but chuckle at how easily he had gotten off-topic. We were supposed to be adversaries --- hunter against hunted --- but at that moment, even with the wall of glass between us, I couldn't help but feel like I was speaking with a friend.

"Does that mean I'm not getting a name?" I asked.

He shook his head. "I could give you it, but I'm here in secret. My friend would freak out if he found out that I got caught again for being stupid."

"'Again?' I take it that this is a normal occurrence, then."

Bandanna Guy smacked the glass. "Shut up," he complained with a laugh. "You're just as bad as he is."

I smirked. He really was a prankster, a criminal with a golden heart. Criminal. He barely was that. But he had a bounty on his head, and he had giving out poison --- along with his other very deadly pranks --- to innocent people out in the streets. He belonged in that cell.

I could tell that he was thinking the same thing by the way his cheerful expression had faded away.

"Usually I have a blue bandanna," he said, looking back at his wall. "A very nice one, with the imprint of a cartoon tongue. It was a gift from my friend, to match my cheeky vibes. I had to swap it out for a typical flowery one so that it didn't get traced back to him. I don't want to pull him into my troubles."