#billionaire joey graceffa is here to make dirty jokes and shower xornoth in cash

[thetomorrowshow]

poisoned rats in a pot of grain - ch. 3

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i know i've been complaining about my finals for like weeks but they r almost done!! i go home on friday :)

cw: oh boy, blood, dehumanization, sexual harassment (in the form of jokes), abuse, injuries

~

Xornoth scratches at his scalp and Jimmy pushes into the touch a little bit, letting his eyes fall closed. Something’s happening today. There’s been a strange tension coming off Xornoth, one that makes him uneasy. There’s nothing he can do about it, though.

Xornoth’s been preparing for something. He only knows because of two reasons: one, he’s been measured for clothes. He hasn’t had clothes in . . . so long. He would love to have clothes again.

The other reason is that they’ve been training him how to fight with a knife, rewarding him with head pats when he does well and punishing him with a whip when he fails. He’s getting decent at throwing it, hitting the target more often than not. He’s just not sure why he’s being given weapons and properly taught how to use them. It’s got to mean something, right?

It hurts his head to think about, so he lets it go, focusing more intently on Xornoth’s touch. He daydreams for a little bit about clothes and warmth in his cell. He hopes it’s something nice.

A door to his left swings open and jolts Jimmy from his thoughts. He buries his face in Xornoth’s knee. He doesn’t want to be taken away yet. It’s so much warmer here, he doesn’t have to think here, he can just exist and—

“Sir, they’re here.��

“Both of them?”

“Yes sir. Both at once or one at a time?”

Xornoth’s hand grips Jimmy’s hair a bit tighter. He breathes through it. “Both. Send them in here in five minutes.”

The door closes again, and Xornoth eases Jimmy off their knee, bending down to shift his collar a bit. “Now, pet, I will be stepping out. You can behave, can’t you?”

Jimmy nods. He’s very good at behaving, has spent a lot of time in this room all alone. Xornoth frowns, slaps him hard enough Jimmy’s head jerks to the side. “Answer me.”

“Y-yes, master. I can be—I can be good,” he stutters hoarsely, resolutely ignoring his stinging cheek. Xornoth grants him a smile, one that tells Jimmy he hasn’t messed up too much.

“There are guests coming, darling. I need you to not disobey me tonight, all right?”

Tonight. It’s nighttime. His internal clock had been so certain it was midmorning.

Wait. Guests?

“All right?” Xornoth prompts, and Jimmy nods again before remembering—

“Yes, master.”

Xornoth pats his cheek, right where they just slapped him. “Good boy. I’ll be back.” Then they’re gone with a sweep of their cloak, the right-side door shutting behind them.

Then Jimmy’s alone in the room. He takes a moment to stretch, readjust his position so that he won’t cramp up too badly. Guests. They’ve never had guests before.

Dread pools in the pit of his stomach. Is he going to be expected to perform? Will he have to roll over, or bark, or chase his own tail?

I won’t do it, he tells himself firmly. I’m not a dog, I don’t do tricks.

He will do it, if Xornoth tells him to. He pretends like he won’t, but he knows that one word from Xornoth and he’ll be tripping over himself to obey.

You’re a pet. You’re a pet. You’re a pet.

He says it to himself over and over again. He has to believe it to survive.

The door opens, and Jimmy glances and then looks again, because he knows that face. That there is one of the top billionaires of the country, not powered in a superpowers-way but in a way more powerful than anyone in the city, currently funding a trip to space and has every politician in the area in his pocket: Joey Graceffa in a clean-cut suit, hair as perfect as the world before Jimmy was born. Joey doesn’t seem to notice Jimmy at first, but the eyes of the person behind him immediately land on him, and that’s somehow another person Jimmy recognizes.

Mythics gazes down at him, red-and-black medieval-themed costume shining, something curious in his eyes. He recognizes Jimmy, that’s for sure. Jimmy shifts under his gaze, back of his neck prickling uncomfortably. He doesn’t like the grin curling across the villain’s face.

Mythics nudges Joey, points at Jimmy. Now both of them are openly staring at him, not even looking up to follow the lackey leading them to their seats, both two seats down from Xornoth’s place on opposite sides of the table. They settle in their seats, whisper to each other for a moment, before Mythics calls to him.

“Hey, Solidarity! This where you been, then?”

“Xornoth’s little sub,” Joey croons, and Jimmy can feel his face flushing red. Do they not know he was kidnapped? But they only laugh at his reaction, Joey leaning back in his chair. “Are you allowed to talk to us, or is that against Xornoth’s rules?”

Jimmy . . . he’s not sure. He glances uncertainly at the door Xornoth had exited through. Xornoth hadn’t told him he couldn’t, but they also hadn’t said it was okay. Jimmy doesn’t want to talk, though. He has, at least, autonomy when it comes to people outside of Xornoth giving him commands. He hates talking, anyway. He hates the sound of his own voice.

They tease him a little bit when he doesn’t respond, but quickly grow bored and turn to each other. They discuss something that Jimmy doesn’t quite process, stuff about Joey’s business, recent fights that Mythics has been in. They mention Major and for a second Jimmy tunes in, but they move on quickly to a new threat in the city who has something to do with water powers and Jimmy struggles to follow so he quits trying. After about twenty minutes, they seem to have exhausted all common subjects and fall silent, scanning the room in boredom.

Jimmy shifts as quietly as he can, holding his ankle chain still to stop it from clanking. His knees are sore, feet pressing weirdly into the floor, and he doesn’t want to remain in that position but he also doesn’t want to draw their attention. For all his care, Mythics’s eyes catch on him immediately, simply observing as he readjusts. He doesn’t look away, even after Jimmy breaks their brief eye contact. He just watches, watches silently while Joey Graceffa sighs and taps his fingers on the dark oak table and stares up at the chandelier.

Jimmy glances at the door again. When is Xornoth coming back?

It’s another ten minutes before the villain strides through the door, his cloak billowing behind him. Both Joey Graceffa and Mythics stand hurriedly, their chairs squeaking, and Joey’s face lights up with something—something like admiration? Infatuation? Desire?

Whatever it is, Jimmy doesn’t like it. Xornoth doesn’t need anyone, doesn’t want anyone. They’ve already got Jimmy.

Xornoth nods to the both of them, takes their seat as the other two sit as well. Jimmy scoots a bit closer to Xornoth, keeping his eyes on the floor. After a moment, Xornoth grabs his head and pulls it onto their lap, keeping him there. He lets his eyes fall closed, forces his body to relax. He knows how to do this. He’s good at this.

There’s silence for a long while, and Jimmy hazards a look up. In his new position, he can’t see above the table, but he can see that from underneath, Mythics is kicking his legs and Joey’s knee is bouncing. Xornoth is orchestrating this silence, not either of them.

“So, Xorny, what do you want us here for?” Joey asks eventually. Another long moment.

“Straight to business, Graceffa?” Their tone is light, but by the way their fingers curl around Jimmy’s hair, he knows they’re more anxious than they’re letting out. Joey lets out a trilling giggle.

“Oh, I don’t mind a little foreplay, if that’s what you’d prefer," he says, his chair creaking. "Should we start with your little sex slave?"

Jimmy gasps as Xornoth suddenly drags him back, almost up to their waist, both arms around him possessively. A few strands of his hair come loose and all he can do is hope he's not bleeding. Xornoth hates it when he gets blood on them.

"You can look at my pet," Xornoth says, voice deceptively calm for how tightly they're holding Jimmy's hair, "but you may not touch. Am I clear?"

"Oh yeah. Yup. Crystal clear!" Mythics stammers.

"Oh, of course!" adds Joey. "He is very pretty, though—you must have trained him yourself, what with his obedience."

Xornoth chuckles, but his grasp on Jimmy doesn't loosen. "Quite. The most useful aid was the cage, for certain."

Jimmy shudders, face pressed into Xornoth's thigh. He hears the table creak under someone leaning forward.

"Ooh, I just love cages," Joey says. "Could we, maybe. . . ?"

"I don't see why not," Xornoth replies, nudging Jimmy off and standing, unwrapping the chain-link leash from the arm of the chair. "Pet, how about we show our guests your little cage?"

The blood drains from his face. No. No. He can't—he can't go back into that room, his mind had broken there, he'd lost all concept of himself beyond a hollowed-out shell and if he went in again he wouldn't ever return to himself—

Xornoth tugs on the leash and Jimmy can't help but whine a little, turning wide, pleading eyes up on his master. He thought he'd been good, he'd done everything he was supposed to, he hadn't even thought about escape—

A peal of laughter comes from across the table, where the other two are standing. Xornoth raises a brow at Jimmy, as if to ask if he's really going to misbehave now.

"You won't be going in it, pet," Xornoth tells him, pulling him to his feet by the leash. "Not if you behave."

"Ooh, will he crawl?" Joey asks, and Xornoth briefly glances at the billionaire before turning back to Jimmy.

"Well, pet?"

It's not really a question. It's a reminder, a reminder that Jimmy's been told to behave for their guests. He swallows, feels his brain shift with a clunk into survival mode. He drops, slowly, to his knees, even as Xornoth reaches down and unlocks the cuff around his ankle.

He stares for a moment at the cuffs still binding his wrists to each other, the chain connecting them too short to allow for proper movement. But then Xornoth is yanking at his leash and he has to try, has to scoot along, using his hands as one to pull himself forward. It’s humiliating, but he doesn’t have a choice. He can’t go in the cage. He can’t disobey his master.

His awkward, hobbling crawl is slow-going and painful on his bad hip, but Xornoth is patient and barely even chokes him when pulling on the leash. He just has to get to the room. If he gets to the ballroom, he won’t have to do any more crawling.

His knees are about to give out by the time they get there, but he manages to crawl into the room before rocking back onto his tailbone, stretching his legs as much as he dares.

The two guests are already across the room, checking out the cage, the one that Jimmy won’t look directly at because his heart jumps at just the sight of it, but then Joey’s asking if they can put Jimmy in it and he just—

“I’m sure your imagination can suffice,” Xornoth says, gesturing down toward where Jimmy is shaking with fear, a low whine accompanying every breath, and he would feel ashamed if he weren’t so grateful that he’s not going in there.

They exchange some more words that Jimmy doesn’t hear over the blood rushing in his ears, and something happens—something he doesn’t process—something he doesn’t remember—but the next thing he knows he’s back beside the table, ankle cuffed to the ring in the floor, head on Xornoth’s leg.

His knees are bleeding. They’re scraped up and twingeing, and there’s something trickling down from his burning nose and he’s not sure why.

Jimmy finds he doesn’t care. He swipes at it with the back of his hand, stares at the blood there.

“Don’t get blood on my clothes, puppy,” Xornoth murmurs, and Jimmy mechanically tilts his head back. After a moment, blood runs down the back of his throat. He hates the taste, but doesn’t move. He thinks he ought to be worried by the lost time, but he just can’t bring himself to care.

He tunes into the conversation going on over his head—it’s something about advertising and henchmen and taking over the city, normal villain stuff.

“But how will we get the heroes out of the way?” Mythics asks. “Major’s been especially obnoxious lately, and he always wins.”

Xornoth is excited, Jimmy can tell. He can tell in the way they rub his strands of hair between their fingertips, the way their foot taps. “That is where my little bird comes in,” they announce, and something sinks in Jimmy’s stomach that is decidedly not blood. “Surely you’ve both noticed the excess of disasters in the city as of late?”

“Why, Xorny! You don’t mean to tell me that—”

“And soon, he will be brought into the light.” Xornoth’s hand leaves Jimmy as they lean forward, resting their arms on the table. “Soon, the world will know the devastating effects of Xornoth and his Canary. With my control of my pet, I will rule.”

-

It’s the Mad King against Xornoth, and the Mad King is losing. For the first time ever, Xornoth is not working alone. With them, in a gaudy yellow costume with feathered glider wings, is an unknown villain, newly dubbed the Canary.

This villain hasn’t done anything yet, is a complete wild card, is simply watching from the skyscraper windowsill that a tentacle had lifted him to at the beginning of the battle.

The Mad King is scaling the wall up to the Canary, shooting his grappling hook up to each ledge and swinging himself up bit by bit. He seems to have abandoned Xornoth for the moment, turning instead on a hopefully easier opponent.

The Canary watches him passively. Various news cameras zoom in, trying to tell if this is a new villain entirely or an old one rebranded. A tentacle shoots up to the Mad King—as soon as it touches him it writhes and collapses—the Canary is looking across the wave of cops to where Xornoth still stands in the middle of the street—Xornoth nods.

The ledge under the Mad King’s fingers cracks.

Then that side of the building caves in entirely.

The Mad King slips, falls, is falling and falling and falling—

The tentacle that had collapsed surges up and catches him and the watching crowd lets out a gasp of relief, then another of surprise as the Canary spreads his wings and shoves off the side of the building, glider catching the wind and carrying him down to the ground beside Xornoth. The villain grabs him by the back of his neck, and live cameras catch briefly that they’re holding him by something around the Canary’s neck—and then the cameras fizzle out and one of them explodes.

The tentacle carrying the Mad King down suddenly releases him and slithers into the ground, leaving him to fall the last twenty-or-so feet to the asphalt with a resounding thud. Attention turns to him, cries of concern making themselves heard, and by the time anyone looks back to the two villains they’re gone.

The Mad King is already sitting up by the time the ambulance gets through the crowd, waving off the paramedics that try to make him lie back down. He limps away into an alley, and from there into another alley, and from there into a waiting-for-demolition apartment building that has a dumbwaiter in the wall of the laundry room, which he sits in before lowering it.

“When I said I needed someone to fight them, I didn’t mean you!”

He stumbles out of the dumbwaiter only to be hugged fiercely by the villain with pink hair, the one who rose from the depths of the ocean. He hugs her back, grimacing slightly.

“Easy on the ribs, will ya? That thing dropped me from, like, a hundred feet up.”

She releases him, concern lining her face. She pats him all over, watching for when he hisses in pain. He pushes her away after a few moments of basking in the attention, staggers to the card table set up in the middle of the basement where they’ve laid disinfectant and bandages. He lets his cape fall to the ground, loosens the laces on the back of his costume and rolls down the top half. His bare chest is discolored along one side, red and turning purple. The villain blushes, looks away.

“Did you get what you needed?” he asks, dabbing bruise cream along the swath of bruises with a sucked-in breath.

She nods, then elaborates when she realizes he isn’t looking at her. “It’s him,” she says confidently. “I’m sure it’s him. I mean, I was pretty sure before, but now that I’ve seen him. . . .”

The Mad King shakes his head a little, clicking his tongue. “Never thought Solidarity would go in like that with Xornoth, of all people. Like, Xornoth—that guy’s evil, but Solidarity’s always been very down-to-earth.”

She doesn’t say anything, not until the cloth that the Mad King is using to rub disinfectant on the scrapes on his shoulder falls from his fumbling fingers. She sighs, hurries forward. “Joel. . . .”

“I’m fine,” he says through gritted teeth. “I’m just—I’m tired. Are you going to be using the bed?” He gestures to the corner of the dimly-lit basement, where there’s a mattress on the floor with a couple of pillows and blankets piled on it. She shakes her head, pushes him into the folding chair there, picks up the cloth. It’s quiet then, the only sound Joel’s hissed breaths and her whispered apologies. When she’s done, his chest wrapped up tightly in case of broken ribs, she helps him stand. Impulsively, he wraps her in a hug. She freezes for a moment, long enough that he starts to pull away, then she hugs him back. They stand there, silent, arms around each other, faces pressed into each other’s shoulders.

“I’mma go sleep now,” Joel murmurs, and she hums and rubs his back for a moment before stepping away.

“Rest, then,” she says, sweeping the first-aid supplies off the table and into a duffel bag. Below them is a stack of papers, a laptop, and a map of the city marked in red. “We’ve got a lot to do to find him.”