CW: Explicit language, alcohol abuse, mentions of physical abuse.
The street is quiet when the Rat ambles towards his mother’s house, chewing on a long stalk of grass and humming tunelessly to himself. There’s a strange sense of anticipation rising in his chest with every step he takes, as if he were actually excited to see Dasom.
Though his excitement is anomalous, he simply chalks it up to being back home in the Slums. He’s looking forward to slipping back into old routines, albeit ten times richer than before. Even a nasty little fight with his mother would serve as a welcome reminder of his place in life. Of where his feet firmly stand.
Rin the Rat belongs in this world, with the stench and the grime and the ugly, scarred faces. The past two weeks had been nothing but a pretty fever dream, a simple bauble of an experience that he can add to his collection.
As usual, the old woman is sitting out in her yard, feeding her chickens, though there are noticeably fewer of the creatures than before. The hole in her fence is patched up rather well, making it sturdy to the hardest of kicks. The old woman clicks her tongue when she sees the boy saunter past the fence, her milky eyes narrowed in disapproval.
“That mother of yours has been searching for you,” she calls out, her voice weathered with age yet strong enough to carry to the road. “Foolish girl caught the chill wandering about in the rain and even Iris had to look in on her. If you were my son, I’d beat you black and blue!”
Rins pauses at the patched up hole, his expression dour. “You know, just because you got front row seats, doesn’t mean you can muscle your way into the show. Just feed your chickens and keep your godsdamned mouth shut, you fucking prune.”
He gives the fence another hard kick but only manages to make a small dent in the new fortification. Sucking air through his teeth, the raven continues on to Dasom’s house, limping slightly on his aching foot.
From the old woman’s ramshackle house, an incredibly tall figure steps out, having to stoop over to avoid banging her head on the door frame. When she straightens up, one can see a handsome heart-shaped face with bright amber eyes and ruddy cheeks. She appears to be middle-aged, yet she remains as sturdy as a youth in their prime. Her robes are simple in design, the dark grey cloth wrapped around her towering form giving her an imposing bearing, if not for her expressive face.
This giantess squats beside the elder’s rocking chair and picks up a chicken with her large hands to coddle and pet. She rolls a shoulder to flick back her long ponytail, thick black locks swinging out behind. “You shouldn’t let him speak to you like that, Nuwa.” Her voice has an alluring husk and rumbles through her strong chest. The sleepy chicken in her hand pecks at her fingers, as if in agreement.
The old woman tuts again, gently rocking back and forth as she watches the boy limp to his mother’s house. “Do you think the lulua whale cares what the tiny rusida fish does?” she drawls, tossing a handful of grains across the yard. “His temper is of a child's. It is my obligation to simply bear witness to it.”
“I’m sure even the lulua whale would appreciate the respect it so deserves.”
“Bah. This whale only needs the respect of a few. The rest are of no consequence to me.” Nuwa waves a hand at her companion, silently urging her on. “Come. Tell me what you have found.”
The younger woman sets down the dozy chicken and rises to her feet, casting an exceedingly long shadow across the yard. “I spent the last few weeks visiting my hometown in the South. The situation is tense. Mother and father are about to separate, I’m certain of it. Within the next few weeks, I think.”
Nuwa nods slowly, closing her eyes as she leans back in her chair. “And how is the rest of the family? Our mutual friends?”
“Everyone is healthy for now. There have been a few fights between the cousins on either side of my family, but nothing major. Our mutual friends have already arrived and made their presence known. They have set up a shop in the middle of town and it seems like they’re settling in well. The locals seem to enjoy their service.”
“And the Governor of your hometown?”
“He’s always been quite smitten by mother, so he and father are on bad terms.”
Nuwa opens her eyes and smiles, the deep lines in her face shifting around her sharp features. “I think it’s about time for him to step down, don’t you Bo?”
Bo gives her old friend a toothy grin and rests a large hand on Nuwa’s shoulder. “I think father would make a much better Governor.”
“Then you know what to do.” Nuwa gives that large hand a fond pat. “Now go and get dinner started. I’m starved.”
“Did you miss my cooking, Nuwa?”
“Hm. Only your black bean stew. Otherwise it’s all horrendous.”
“...black bean stew it is.”
***
Dasom is sitting on the worn couch before the roaring fireplace, wrapped in a thin shawl as she drinks river wine from the bottle. Several empty bottles are scattered across the one room house, some gathering dust, others still gleaming from a recent binge. The air is thick with a sickly sweet scent, and the heat turns this tiny place into a live oven.
Sweat drenches the Rat’s body as soon as the door closes behind him, white robes turning sheer in parts and sticking to his skin. He squints against the heat and pads towards the hearth, intending to douse the uncontrollable flames.
“You…” Dasom sways in shock when she sees her son crouch before the fire, her bloodshot eyes bulging from her thin, gaunt face. “You’re alive.”
Rin sighs, dumping ash into the flames with an iron shovel. He pauses to glance over his shoulder, drinking in the sight of his drunken mother. Lips purse together in silent anger as he turns back around, stabbing the shovel deep into the big pile of ash. “Alive and kicking. Sorry to disappoint.”
“Disappoint…? Why would I be disappointed?” The woman’s voice thickens, as if she were on the verge of tears. “When you didn’t come home...I knew something was wrong. I looked for you everywhere, Subin-ah--”
“Don’t call me that,” Rin snaps, tossing down the shovel and rising to his feet. He stalks up to Dasom and snatches the bottle from her hand. “My name is Rin. Not Subin. Also, I didn’t ask you to look for me. I dunno why you’d even bother.” He pauses, glancing at the half drunk bottle in his hand. A wry smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Oh wait. I do know. You used up all your money on this piss water again, didn’t you?”
Dasom frowns and makes a grab for the bottle, only to miss by a wide margin. She sways and slumps back into the couch, chin hitting her chest. Straggly locks fall over her eyes, making her appear rather young and vulnerable. “Subin is your name,” she protests, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her palms. “Subin is the name I gave you. Rin is the name he gave you. And he left. So your name is Subin now. Subin. Do you understand?”
“It’s a fuck ugly name and I’m not using it. I'd rather use the stupid name he gave me.” Rin drops down beside his mother and takes a long swig from the bottle, quenching his thirst. “Where’d it come from anyway? Don’t tell me it was your father’s name.”
“I don’t know what my father’s name is,” Dasom murmurs, raising her face to stare blearily at her son. She gives him a wobbly smile, her hidden beauty rising to the surface like an ephemeral light. “The only blood that runs through your veins is your father’s blood. I come from nothing, so my blood means nothing. And I can only give you an ugly name. I’m sorry.”
Rin glances away, grimacing faintly. He hates this Dasom. The violent Dasom, the screaming and enraged Dasom, hell, even the weepy and hysterical Dasom is easier to deal with. This Dasom however is difficult to stomach. He always finds himself swayed by her words and giving into his wishful thinking, that maybe, just maybe, things could be normal between them for once.
And always, he’s left disappointed.
Even though he knows this old song and dance, Rin still can’t help but fall back into those well rehearsed steps. He’s a veteran at this and it’s just too damn hard to just walk away.
“...I suppose there are uglier names out there,” he mutters, shoulders rising a tad as he takes another long swig.
“Subin-ah.” He can hear the smile in her voice and he feels his gut twisting like a wet towel being wrung. “Subin-ah. What would I be without you? I would be nothing. And I would have no-one. Don’t leave me again. Your mother is so old and lonely. Don’t you find me pitiful?”
His hand turns white around the neck of the bottle. Sweat drips into his eyes, stinging them. “Why did you look for me, Dasom?” he asks, quietly, scrubbing at his eyes with his sleeve. “Why did you care this time?”
“I always care, Subin. You are my world. How could I not look for you?”
“...that old witch told me you got sick.”
“Mn. I caught a chill when I was looking for you in the rain.”
“Why did you do that? That was...stupid.” He wrings the bottle, palms damp with sweat.
“I was worried you would be caught in the rain. I kept imagining you sleeping on the streets, getting drenched and cold. How could I stay home when my child could be in such a miserable state?”
“Don’t…” Pale lips barely form the syllable. His heart is unsteady and raw. “Please. Don’t do this. I can’t do this.”
Dasom furrows her brows and she grasps the boy’s arm, her touch warm and gentle. “What’s wrong, Subin? You can tell your mother. Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll make it better.”
A tremour takes hold of the raven’s body, his hardened expression cracking as his composure starts to crumble.
“...I almost died,” he whispers, staring blindly into the fire. Hot colours bleed and blur into each other, shivering with an elastic fragility. “When I was in that alleyway...I really thought that was the end. That all those years of fighting - and I fought so fucking desperately - I thought that it would all end there. That I was going to die in a shitty alleyway in the Slums, with the whole world passing by like nothing was even happening. It really scared me. It really, truly scared…” The rest of his words turn into a strangled noise as he buries his face in his hand, thick tears dripping freely down his cheeks.
The drunken woman sits as still as a statue, staring at her son with a strangely sober expression. Her eyes are pitch black save for a flicker of firelight dancing in their depths. Slowly, mindlessly, she wraps her arms around his trembling form, pulling him into a tight embrace.
The boy drops the bottle and clings onto his mother, face buried in the crook of her arm as he cries without inhibition. Dasom strokes her son’s head and rocks him gently back and forth. She says nothing, simply letting the raven express his anguish in a way he hadn’t done so for years.
The bottle rolls across the ground until it hits the wall. The late afternoon sun peeks through the tattered curtains, printing dappled light upon the deep green glass. Sweet blue liquid soaks into the wooden floor.
When the boy is finally calm, he pulls away from his mother’s arms without a modicum of embarrassment. He knows she probably won’t remember this and he’s the only witness to his tears. So there’s no use feeling shame. Not in a place like this. And not in front of a person like his mother.
"Subin-ah," his mother calls his name, softly. Her gaze is tender, trepidatious, and imploring. "No matter how much hardship you must endure...however scared you are...you have to be strong."
Rin scrubs his swollen eyes and sniffs, bringing his knees up to hug against his chest. "I know," he croaks. "I am strong. No thanks to you."
A darkness swallows her eyes, snuffing out the lights as if they were stars imploding one after the other. "Subin." Her tone is chilling, forcing his full attention to her next words. "You are much like your mother. Which means you have an evil within you. An incurable sickness. You must never let it destroy your humanity, do you understand?"
The raven frowns at Dasom, confusion and incredulity rising in tandem. "You're the one that thinks I'm a monster, remember? What's the use in telling me all this now?"
"I know who you are. And I know what you will become." Dasom falls quiet, eyelids drooping over her lifeless eyes. "I have failed as your mother. I should have stopped you when I had the chance. I should have...I should have never let you be born."
"We're back to the same old bullshit, are we?" Rin laughs wetly, his voice hoarse and slightly nasally from his stuffy nose. "Fucking hell, Dasom. I already feel like shit. Can't you just give it a break for once?"
A flicker of guilt crosses the woman's features. She lifts her hand to brush the sticky hair from her son's eyes.
The two fall into a deep silence, both souls too weary to keep ahold of grudges. Rin briefly closes his eyes, pretending for a bittersweet moment that he has a mother who entirely dotes on him. “I met someone," he murmurs, heart aching when he sees a pair of radiant golden eyes through the gloom behind his eyelids. "A filthy rich noble who thinks he can save everyone.” Rin laughs wetly, his voice hoarse and slightly nasally from his stuffy nose. “He thinks he can save me, Dasom. Isn’t that the funniest thing you’ve ever heard?”
The woman sits quietly beside him, watching him with an unreadable expression upon her pale face. “He sounds wonderful,” she murmurs, fiddling clumsily with the front of her dress. “Your father was like that. Back when we first met. I thought he was just a stupid boy. But really, in a way, he did save me.”
“The guy’s an asshole who abandoned us. He didn’t really save you if he abandoned you afterwards.” Rin scoffs, dropping his chin atop his knees. Firelight bounces off his damp cheeks and sends a tremulous light through his eyes.
“I don’t need saving,” he mutters, dewy lashes falling low over his shimmering gaze. By the way he speaks, it's almost as if he's trying to convince himself. “And even if I do, I’m too far gone. It's like you said. There's something wrong with me. Something incurable." Brows knit together as if he were in pain. "He was gonna toss me aside anyway. I was nothing more than a stray animal he picked up off the side of the road. A project for his guilty conscience.”
Dasom leans her head against the couch backing, eyes drooping as she grows drowsy from the drink. “I like to think...maybe I could be saved. If one day...she comes back...and things are different this time…” Her eyes flutter close, the rest of her words turning into incoherent mumbling.
“If he comes back, you mean.” Rin murmurs, watching his mother fall asleep with a heavy expression. “And he’s not. He’s not ever coming back. So stop killing yourself over him.” He gently readjusts her shawl, making sure both of her arms are covered. “It’s time to let him go, mother.”
When Dasom wakes, there would be no sign of her son ever being there. Save for a very large and very full coin bag sitting beside her on the couch.
