Our story begins in a studio apartment, cluttered with not-technically-trash but overall unappealing junk. Located at basement level, directly underneath no one particularly important. A cozy abode with occasional dangers of flooding.
Said residence is home to none other than Mark Dinglebob. Mark rarely leaves his couch, never mind his underground apartment, but in his defense, he has quite a very good reason. For you see, the last time he left his apartment, he was turned into what he considered an abomination – a half human and half opossum hybrid.
Now was this something which happened every day? No, certainly not. It was a one-off occurrence, but this sort of thing is not something which gives oneself confidence in the outside world. Try as the world may be with its awareness, but awareness does not help when it comes to trying to undo hexes and curses or whatnot.
When it really comes down to it, sitting on the couch wasting away watching tv is a lot easier than getting up and going out into a world which views you as some sort of an abomination or weirdly specific fetish.
Mark is content to sit and watch his laptop conveniently placed nearby when the clock shows it's time to work. Sit and watch the time is broken up only by phone alarms, just to fill time. Just to make life continue. Sit and watch. Ding! Take a shower so you don’t have to smell yourself. Ding! Check the mail in case it's not junk on the off chance you orders something while high then forgot about it.
Would you look at that? The rent has been raised?
“What am I supposed to do now?” Mark asks himself, and only himself because no one is around to see his performance because he knows what he must do, he must look for a roommate because of course what else is he supposed to do here?
An ad online, oh how quaint. The lonely man is looking desperately for someone. Not too desperately. There’s still shit he can do here, but if someone is actually willing to live in the closet, well then why shouldn't he try for the extra rent money?
A day passes. Two days. Then, a knock at the door. Mark is stunned, and quite a bit nervous. There is rarely a reason for knocks, and yet Mark stands up, zipping up his yellow hoodie, checking that he is indeed wearing pants in addition to his most favorite and comfy hoodie, opening the door to see a strange man.
“Can I help you?” Mark asks the man.
“I hope son. My name is Andreas, and I saw your listing.”
“Wait wait wait.” I cut Andreas off. “Why not contact me before simply showing up?”
Andreas did not respond, instead looking a bit sheepish as I waited. He had striking blue eyes, pale skin, and light brown hair. He wore jeans and a button down, and save for his face, was covered in tattoos.
“...so,” I prompted him again.
“I wasn’t really thinking if I’m being honest with you. If you like, I can leave and call to arrange to check out that closet,” Andreas gestured behind him as if to leave.
Mark sighed, “No It’s fine, come on in. No one’s been messaging me about this anyways, and honestly, I forgot about it.” He turned on the light, remembering how the average human’s eyesight was not improved in the dark. “Well, here’s the living room, over there is the kitchen, bathroom, and the closet. I sleep on the couch.”
Andreas checked out the closer, surprisingly enough concluding that it was perfect. He claimed that he’d be using the wall as the floor for a more efficient use of space.
“You’ll be able to pay your share of the rent, right?” Mark was cautious of this mystery man who showed up out of nowhere, ready to move in with the clothes on his back.
“Does this answer your question?” A small tattoo of a wallet on his wrist came into existence, leaving his skin suddenly unmarked. He pulled out triple what was Mark had listed, and handed it to him, “This place is perfect.”
“Are all of your tattoos real objects?” Mark immediately felt embarrassed to ask. How many times must have he heard that? It was probably like hearing comments about his apparently rat-like appearance because no matter how many times you insist that you’re part possum now, apparently you look like a rat according to some people who don’t care enough to see the difference.
Surprisingly enough, Andreas was not offended, simply saying, “Yes, I keep everything on me, that’s why I thought this was going to be preferred. I don’t need much space. However, I may use the kitchen occasionally.”
Mark nodded thoughtfully. It certainly was much more convenient compared to his original plan of getting a second job, perhaps one spent selling fetish photos online. “Yeah, sounds good to me.”
Mark realized that he’d instinctively been hiding his tail curled under his sweatpants due to numerous overheard remarks about the off-putting nature of its appearance. However, after realizing that the knock at the door was Andreas, now a spontaneous roommate who did not react to Mark’s slim, clawed hands, nor his unusually animalistic face and furry body. He also did not comment on how the apartment’s air seemed to be primarily composed of THC.
A new addition to Mark’s schedule was now within the realm of his existence. Something to be adjusted for. Day 1 was started with a pleasant addition in the form of awakening not from the alarm clock, but by the sizzling sounds from the kitchen paired with a tantalizing aroma.
Mark stumbled off the stretched-out couch to see Andreas in the kitchen preparing sausage and eggs on the stovetop. A small Bluetooth radio shaped like a purple cube sat on the countertop playing pop music that sounded like it was popular a few decades ago. Andreas was wearing the same clothes as before, but now wearing an additional apron.
“All for you, or are you willing to share?” Mark asked innocuously.
Andreas jumped slightly in reaction to the sudden speech. “Yeah, of course. It’ll be ready in a few minutes.”
Mark nodded, getting up from the couch, trying (and succeeding) to not trip over the bong on the floor. He searched for his phone, finally discovering it wedged between two cushions.
Then, an early morning beeline to the toilet to the tune of checking notifications. Nothing important. However, Mark noticed Andreas while checking Grindr. He wasn’t sure if he’d come across him before, but to be fair, it was a bit city. Usually, Mark would gravitate towards those only visiting for a weekend. Plus, Mark tended to filter out those above a certain age range. Andreas was 477. That was a solid 401 years older than Mark.
Andreas hummed along to the music while Mark finished up. There was a small table in the kitchen with two chairs, rarely used other than to store random stuff. Mark realized this, and felt obligated to clear it off.
(Mark was checking stuff on the toilet, then went to clean the chair off)
Mark is often insecure of being part possum. He sometimes studies magic, but doesn’t know nearly enough to undo the unfortunate condition. As a kid, He’d been more into magic, but the pressure and trauma was too much, and he never got past the basics. Some help that was.
Andreas was putting the breakfast on the newly set up table, distracting Mark from his insecurities. The plates were unfamiliar, as was the pan used to cook it all with. Presumably, they were his, brought along in tattoo form.
Mark sat down at the table; an unfamiliar act compared to his couch. Mark was never sure how to position his tail, but defaulted to partially sitting on it as it trailed off to the right, hanging slightly. It was bound to end up wrapped around the leg of the chair via uncomfortable fidgeting.
Andreas was already digging into the meal he cooked, and Mark felt inclined to do the same, grabbing a sausage link and taking a bite. And another. And all of a sudden his plate was being licked clean.
“That good, huh?”
Mark froze in embarrassment and placed the plate back down on the table. “Yeah, it was awesome.”
“Glad for the feedback,” Andreas said.
Mark felt awkward as Andreas continued eating. He searched for something to talk about, and noticed the music speaker on Andreas’s arm.
“Can I ask you about your tattoos?”
“Wouldn’t be the first.”
“How many things do you have tattooed onto your body?” Mark hoped the question wasn’t too derivative.
“I’m not really sure.” Andreas paused. “Every so often, I try to take inventory, but I don’t think I’ve done that in a while.” He finished eating and looked up at Mark, “Why? Are you interested in finding out?”
Mark shrugged. It was the weekend, and he didn’t exactly have much planned for the day. “Sure.”
“Great.” Andreas slammed his hand down on the plate, causing it to disappear. His hand hit the table with a surprisingly soft slap. “I can never stay focused long enough to get through it all, but if I fake that it is like a presentation, then I’ll be able to stick with it.” Andreas stood up, and walked over to the open area between the kitchen and the couch areas, taking his shirt off as he walked.
Mark did not move from where he was sitting, as he was still facing Andreas. His body was covered in tattoos. He was also nicely toned, and Mark was not about to complain abou the shirt on the floor. “Wait, are those bullets?”
Andreas looked down at himself. “Yeah.” He started pointing them out. Less as a way to show them to Mark, and more as if he were counting them for himself. Distractedly, he said to mark, “I can move their positions, but it is easier to stop a bullet than it is to get rid of it.”
“What do you mean?”
“The bullets retain their kinetic energy, and once they are no longer frozen, they will move until they hit a target.”
“Are you able to aim them?” Mark seemed wary.
“Yeah.” Andreas smirked. “I can basically use myself as a gun, provided someone else pulls the trigger first.”
Mark instinctively shrunk a bit in his seat. He tried to hide it, but he wasn’t exactly subtle about it.
“I usually try to find somewhere to dump them, but I haven’t gotten around to it in a while. It’s kind of tedious cause you gotta make sure that it’s somewhere that there won’t be anyone bothered by the noise.” Andreas explained. “I rarely get around to doing it.”
“How many are there?” Mark asked.
The immortal tattooed man looked around. “You know, I’m not actually sure.” He’d had his neck stretched to look at his back, but he looked back at mark to clap is hands and say, “Ok, let’s skip that for now. Where do you throw out your trash? I think I saw a dumpster in the alleyway to the side. What do you think for a little change in scenery?”
Still a bit shocked, Mark found himself saying, “Yeah sure, let me get my shoes and stuff.” He goes and he puts on his shoes and his regular heavy black hoodie in which he can hide and be self-conscious in. They go outside and are now in the dirty alleyway which indeed has dumpsters.
“Why are we out here again?” Mark prompted as Andreas stood there as if not sure how to initiate.
“Well, before we sort through more important things, we need to acknowledge all the garbage.” Andreas stepped onto some cardboard boxes next to the garbage to help him climb up onto the dumpster. He sat on the edge and Mark noticed that his outstretched hand was mostly blank, free of ink. Then, some food wrappers started falling. Lots of wrappers.
The items were coming from all over his body, sliding down his arm as a moving image, then falling into the dumpster. The items started getting bigger- empty pizza boxes, an old bike, lots of broken glass, an old bird cage, empty bottles, broken glasses, and even a few actual bags of garbage. The whole thing was topped off with a seemingly endless supply of sand and dirt interspersed with bits of what looked to be rubble.
Andreas jumped down from the dumpster to stand next to Mark, who’d been staring up, intently watching the barrage of garbage.
Andreas opened his mouth to say something, and was cut off by a low growling sound coming from the dumpster. Andreas froze, made nervous eye contact with Mark, then slowly turned around as a creature jumped out and landed next to the two of them in the alleyway.
The creature looked like a Doberman pincer, if a Doberman was a lot taller and skinnier and its fur was so dark that it somehow ceased to exist in its current dimension. It growled with yellow teeth which stood out against the stark void of its fur. Its eyes, also yellow, resembled those of a cat’s. IT glared back and forth between the two of them, before settling its death glare at Andreas.
Mark looked over at him, who simply said “Birdcage” before being cut off.
“Yes, birdcage. You know what you did?” The creature did not wait for an answer. “You tried to prevent me from escaping it. Lied about getting me free, but I was able to break the curse of my own accord, and escape the confounds of my cell.” It paused, as if suddenly aware of its surroundings. “Where even is this? What was I doing in a box filled with garbage?”
“Yeah, about that-”
“You better choose your words carefully.” The creature interrupted.
Mark still had his hands up. Wait. Why did he do that? It’d been an instinct once the creature had a appeared threateningly before them.
