"What did you learn from Copia?" you asked. You sat on his bath ledge again. Finding Terzo on his knees around you was becoming increasingly likely—he was attending to the bullet graze on your calf. It was a shallow; with the speed of impact, there was more of a burn than anything.
"It uh.." He dabbed at it with antiseptic, and you hissed. "It doesn't look fucking good, _____," he rolled at the hem of your pants again.
"The leg or the situation?"
"Bit of fucking both," he grimaced. "Your leg's gonna need stitches, I'm sorry, Pittore."
"Can't we just.. Run it through with the Enochian blade? Usually heals over...." you pulled it out, and he gave it a wary look.
"If uh, that's what you want to do..." he was not at ease with the idea.
"Maybe I should do it?"
He did not like any second of you waving that thing around.
"You could look away?" You guessed.
He shook his head.
You gripped the knife and looked at the wound in your leg. The last time you had done this, there had been an urgency. Like a 'cut yourself or let Terzo die' moment; currently, it was... still, silent, and the blade was pretty scary.
He saw you hesitate, "You want me to...?"
"You don't have to...."
"I didn't have to bandage you either, Pittore; I want to."
You grimaced, feeling like a coward, "Should you touch it? Last time.."
"I mean, I could touch it, just not, kekk," he motioned stabbing himself in the hand.
You looked over at him; when had you decided you trusted this odd man with a knife around you? With him literally cutting you open with it? You finally offered the handle.
He took it and looked it over. "Maybe focus on something else, huh?" he placed a hand on your knee, massaging it lightly, then brought your bare foot to rest on his thigh. "Shouldn't have to be deep." He touched the cold of the blade to the side of the wound.
"Do it quick," you ran a hand through your hair.
He gently scraped against you.
You hissed slightly, "Doesn't actually hurt that bad," you said with gritted teeth.
He watched as gold ran over his fingers. "You really are something, Pittore."
"I wish I was more nothing. So far, that blood has come with no superpowers and only a target. Like, what kind of bullshit is that?"
"Who said there were no fucking superpowers, huh?" He covered the new wound in gauze though it was already beginning to close up.
"You mean I get superpowers?"
"Eh..." he shrugged, "Makes your soul tastier and more abundant for demons and angels if you want yourself a ghoul or protector?"
"Anything else?" you grimaced. Something about sharing your soul with a complete stranger felt so odd.
"Like Sodo said, some rituals can only be done with nephilim blood," he eased.
"Rituals like....?"
"Hmm, your blood is like, uh, flour... spaghetti, ravioli, bread, calzone...."
"So, how long's a piece of string?"
"Exactly," he tied off the bandage, his fingers brushing your skin. Knuckles skimmed you soft and warm. Your mind went blank. Certainly weren't registering pain anymore, only heat. "Let's see those arms then," he came to perch beside you to look at the nicks in your right arm.
He was too close; you had to look away. The day had teased you in many ways, and you were crumbling. "And Copia?"
"He uh... Sister shouldn't have that book; he suspects, actually, that her ghouls are sent to listen in on us. We spent some time warding while you were out, uh...." Helping Sodo get off. He shrugged and picked up the blade again.
You felt a bead of sweat drop down your throat. "You think she is with the police? In the past, it sounds like she has warded Sodo away from looking into them. Does that sound right?"
He touched the blade with a feather's weight over your forearm. "I can remember a conversation like that, yes."
You gave a short cry, and he was there massaging your shoulder. Your whole arm tingled.
He spoke up from your shoulder, his ashy voice giving your skin goosebumps, "We are running out of time, and I do not think I can stop what is happening," he told you honestly; he sliced into you again, barely skimming the wound. He compressed the new flow of blood quickly with a bandage. He looked into each of your eyes. "But, I uhm, have a plan."
"I like plans," you studied his white iris; he was close enough—you only needed to close the distance. The blade's sting was miles away.
"We run away."
"I like good plans," you grimaced and shook off his closeness.
"We finish the artwork tomorrow, si?"
You nodded along, unconvinced.
"The Hunter's moon is the next night; we leave after your piece is finished tomorrow. No you to be found on the Hunter's moon, no... soul sacrificing," he shrugged. "It doesn't matter who is after you if they can't find you."
"And after?"
"We get to the bottom of this so you can go home without watching over your shoulder, huh? If they have a timeline they have to work to, we just fuck it up for them."
"It makes sense, I suppose... and how do we get out?"
"Copia wants no part in it; he says he is too close to sister." he grimaced, "He is not wrong... After painting, we just tell Sister we're going bowling to celebrate the end of your commission, you, me, and some ghouls for protection. We haul up in a motel."
"Where there are definitely going to be two beds booked, but we will end up in one because there will be a booking accident."
He laughed and moved to your next side, straddling the edge of the bath to get in close to your last wound. "Don't fucking tempt me, Caro; my middle name is 'booking accident'. I know all the tricks in the book."
"'Booking accident', huh? Not very popey of you," you shivered as he ran his fingers over your forearm.
"My middle name must be popey, huh? go on, Pittore; what is my middle name?" Touched the blade to you a final time, lacing his fingers with yours before the thin slice.
"Fff.. fucker," you growled.
"Sorry, Tesoro, was a deep one...but 'fucker' would also be a fitting middle name."
You swallowed as he began applying pressure. "No, you'd be getting off too easy. Hmm, I bet it's something sweet, Lawrence? Lillian? Feeling L..."
"No, no..."
"Leonard? Lawlet? No, gotta be satanic, right? Uhhh, Leviathan?"
"Leonard is satanic," he was still stroking over your skin with his thumb.
"Get fucked it is."
"Big german goat. The grand master of nocturnal orgies."
"Oh, so Leonard is a fine name for a goat, but Stanely?" you asked in disbelief. "And you what, fuck the goat?"
"Eh, we kiss the goat."
"You kiss goats?!"
He was only laughing then.
"What the fuck, Terzo?!" You're voice went higher an octave.
"It's a joke," he held his stomach; you could listen to that ashy laughter for the rest of forever. You scored the thought from your mind as soon as it appeared. But it was still there, like the underwork of a painting.
"So, is Leonard your satanic middle name?"
"Papa Terzo Bast Emeritus the third," he wrapped at your healing arm.
"Bast?" You frowned.
"Goddess of pleasure.. and a cat, I uh, got to pick it myself, actually, as a confirmation name."
"Fitting. Cat person, huh?"
He looked down at his golden dripped hands then he caught your gaze. "They have a charm; I find them admirable, very ghoulish..." he looked back down at his hands with a sort of worry on his face.
"What's wrong with your hand? You didn't nick yourself, did you?"
"I..." he swallowed and tried to look away from his palms but was drawn back. "Your blood's on my hands... how disgusted would you be if I asked for your permission to lick it off?"
"Is it like a cambion thing?" you eased out as the room's energy seemed to flip back into a dangerous place.
"Not.. usually," and he looked at his hands again.
"Sodo didn't ask, actually... It's nice that you did, I suppose—I won't stop you."
His eyes snapped to yours; it was the same permission you'd given Sodo in the barn. He experimentally raised an index finger and ran the pad against his tongue before sucking it in his mouth. His eyes went distant before he closed them altogether as if relishing in something quite forbidden. "That's... I don't know what that is..." he murmured softly.
"Has your name always been Terzo? Just means third, right?"
"You... give up a great many things, becoming Papa. I don't quite remember what it was..." it was like he was in a trance. "uh, your middle name..." he tried to focus, sucking your blood off his thumb.
"You think it's going to be Pittoreily? Or angelic?" You smirked at him.
"That's, hmm... Astaroth? Lilith? Euronymous? Surely you're named after the infernal fucking gods themselves.. sorry.. may I?" He picked up your wrist, still with some blood spilled on it.
"..I.. yes, Papa... I mean, my name is ______."
He kissed gently at the last of the blood, tongue lightly flickering against your skin. "I'll add it to the names of my gods, Pittore," he sighed against your skin. He caught your gaze again; his white eye glowed dimly, his ears pointing lightly. He swallowed, and you felt his breath pick up. "Thank you," he murmured to your skin before dropping your hand to your lap.
"No.. no, you're good, I'm good, thank you, Papa," you muttered, looking anywhere but at him.
"Any time, Caro Pittore," he kissed your forehead in passing and frowned at himself as if he had just realised what he had done before shaking it off. "Where would you like to sleep tonight?" he asked, no longer facing you and packing away his med kit.
It was a loaded question after what you had just done with Sodo... but Sodo didn't care. Sodo wasn't out here giving you forehead kisses. Sodomiser was just an easier creature to be around and, what's more, an easier creature to leave behind. He did not want to keep you. "I figured there would be no safer place than in the ghoul pile, even with Sister Imperator lurking around this place."
He nodded at that, "I think you might be right; I'll walk you."