Although hearing them say stuff like that isn't his favorite, the rest of the display makes him snort and laugh. He does feel better for the privacy too.
His own belt is a hassle. He's had the rope tied around his hips for so long that knot has gone stiff. He yanks, pulls, huffs. Then, at last, it goes free and he sets the rope and the attached pouch to the side. His torn up pants are kicked off, his tie is removed, then, last but not least, he sets the hat aside.
He's actually surprised by how much smaller being "naked" like this makes him feel. What he's not surprised by is that his disinterest in the asked-for-event is still well and present. He snorts, stands, and walks over to Nekane, reaching to push their hair back from their forehead. He puts a kiss there, for their troubles.
"We're married," He reminds them, with a thrill in the empty cage of his ribs for that statement alone. "By God's rules, only the married are supposed to engage this." Not even enjoying it, if he recalls right. He remembers finding that part rather silly.
Off with their pants, for which he can't help but look down. Seeing the absolute nothing of anything reproductive, he can't help but laugh again. He bumps his head to theirs as he does.
"There you are. If you ever needed it, absolute proof I like you for you alone," He says.
He really does look smaller without any clothing. Héctor isn't the first skeleton that Nekane's ever seen, even before Hell, but it's only now they've really thought about it. It'd be interesting...if this shit wasn't happening.
Nekane doesn't have to look down at themself to know nothing's changed, nor do they want to really look in particular. "I think my fucking personality would have scared you off otherwise," But despite their dry tone, they do smile briefly.
And then close their eyes and mentally start counting. "After twenty seconds I'm putting my fucking clothes back on."
There's a chores of boos from outside. And they hope after twenty seconds, nothing will have happened.
He laughs. The booing demons outside on the other hand get a sideglance. He falls quiet as the countdown begins. Twenty seconds of bracing themselves, hardly a time at all, yet he could swear it feels longer.
He glances down again at their unchanged state. What makes him sure that time is up though is that there's a firm knock at the window. The knocking continues in intervals until the dresser is moved.
Once it is, it'll be Héctor going to it to answer it, the window lifted up so he can snap, "What?"
The answer is a noxious looking potion with bubbles on the inside being thrust at him. He steps back, repulsed. The demon is the one looking unimpressed now.
"It's for you. Drink it," The Incubi commands. Héctor looks from the bottle to the demon and back again. Then, with a grumble, he snatches the bottle. Or rather, his hand passes through and he snatches its glowing copy. Then he points.
"This is sick. You're sick."
He trudges back to the bed and sits down upon it, making a face at the bottle and its contents. He glances at Nekane.
They're reaching for their pants and belt, happy that this bullshit has stopped before it could get started, but then the knocking just has them groaning in annoyance. So does the drink, but they're going to be smart about it.
"Hold it. I know you guys got a rough fucking deal but I ain't letting him drink something that'll hurt him just so you can eat. I want your guarantee this shit won't hurt Héctor or I'm going to rat you assholes out to your new boss right fucking now. And if it does hurt him..."
And they cross their arms and wait. As much as they want to get this over and done with, they're not doing it at his expense. Fuck that.
One of the demons to the back, a younger-looking one, starts to cheerily sing-song, "Hurt so good~"
This ends in a yelp as the demon next to them elbows them sharply. The demon at the window looks exhausted with the antics.
"It'll change him. It won't hurt. You've obviously got the leverage against us." This time, goes unsaid.
Héctor heaves a defeated sigh. Then he lifts the bottle up.
"Bottoms up," He says without enthusiasm. He tips the vile concoction back, regretting that he still has the ability to taste. The bottle is set down hard on the nightstand. He sits, rigid, face screwed up and eyes squeezed shut.
He lurches suddenly, nearly folding, as his body shakes and trembles. Something seems to form over him, like clay, spreading over his limbs and giving them form. The more that spreads, the more human it looks, becoming flesh. It's not the body of before, the carved in words and the crossed-out eye, but scars show all the same in the place of each lost or broken bone-- his leg is badly done, his arm, a spot on his back, and, as he rises up, a scar at the front, over his ribs, can be seen too. There's one last little line of a scar going diagonal over his cheekbone in place of a hairline crack, but it's hardly noticeable next to the bright marks that have made it through his skin, the colorful rainbow once on his bones now settled on his cheeks like paint.
Face still screwed up, he opens one eye, then the other. He looks down at himself.
And promptly, he screams.
He scrambles frantically backwards like he can outrun his own form, moving so fast he actually slips back over the other side of the bed, tumbling to the floor.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
His own belt is a hassle. He's had the rope tied around his hips for so long that knot has gone stiff. He yanks, pulls, huffs. Then, at last, it goes free and he sets the rope and the attached pouch to the side. His torn up pants are kicked off, his tie is removed, then, last but not least, he sets the hat aside.
He's actually surprised by how much smaller being "naked" like this makes him feel. What he's not surprised by is that his disinterest in the asked-for-event is still well and present. He snorts, stands, and walks over to Nekane, reaching to push their hair back from their forehead. He puts a kiss there, for their troubles.
"We're married," He reminds them, with a thrill in the empty cage of his ribs for that statement alone. "By God's rules, only the married are supposed to engage this." Not even enjoying it, if he recalls right. He remembers finding that part rather silly.
Off with their pants, for which he can't help but look down. Seeing the absolute nothing of anything reproductive, he can't help but laugh again. He bumps his head to theirs as he does.
"There you are. If you ever needed it, absolute proof I like you for you alone," He says.
no subject
Nekane doesn't have to look down at themself to know nothing's changed, nor do they want to really look in particular. "I think my fucking personality would have scared you off otherwise," But despite their dry tone, they do smile briefly.
And then close their eyes and mentally start counting. "After twenty seconds I'm putting my fucking clothes back on."
There's a chores of boos from outside. And they hope after twenty seconds, nothing will have happened.
no subject
He glances down again at their unchanged state. What makes him sure that time is up though is that there's a firm knock at the window. The knocking continues in intervals until the dresser is moved.
Once it is, it'll be Héctor going to it to answer it, the window lifted up so he can snap, "What?"
The answer is a noxious looking potion with bubbles on the inside being thrust at him. He steps back, repulsed. The demon is the one looking unimpressed now.
"It's for you. Drink it," The Incubi commands. Héctor looks from the bottle to the demon and back again. Then, with a grumble, he snatches the bottle. Or rather, his hand passes through and he snatches its glowing copy. Then he points.
"This is sick. You're sick."
He trudges back to the bed and sits down upon it, making a face at the bottle and its contents. He glances at Nekane.
no subject
"Hold it. I know you guys got a rough fucking deal but I ain't letting him drink something that'll hurt him just so you can eat. I want your guarantee this shit won't hurt Héctor or I'm going to rat you assholes out to your new boss right fucking now. And if it does hurt him..."
And they cross their arms and wait. As much as they want to get this over and done with, they're not doing it at his expense. Fuck that.
no subject
This ends in a yelp as the demon next to them elbows them sharply. The demon at the window looks exhausted with the antics.
"It'll change him. It won't hurt. You've obviously got the leverage against us." This time, goes unsaid.
Héctor heaves a defeated sigh. Then he lifts the bottle up.
"Bottoms up," He says without enthusiasm. He tips the vile concoction back, regretting that he still has the ability to taste. The bottle is set down hard on the nightstand. He sits, rigid, face screwed up and eyes squeezed shut.
He lurches suddenly, nearly folding, as his body shakes and trembles. Something seems to form over him, like clay, spreading over his limbs and giving them form. The more that spreads, the more human it looks, becoming flesh. It's not the body of before, the carved in words and the crossed-out eye, but scars show all the same in the place of each lost or broken bone-- his leg is badly done, his arm, a spot on his back, and, as he rises up, a scar at the front, over his ribs, can be seen too. There's one last little line of a scar going diagonal over his cheekbone in place of a hairline crack, but it's hardly noticeable next to the bright marks that have made it through his skin, the colorful rainbow once on his bones now settled on his cheeks like paint.
Face still screwed up, he opens one eye, then the other. He looks down at himself.
And promptly, he screams.
He scrambles frantically backwards like he can outrun his own form, moving so fast he actually slips back over the other side of the bed, tumbling to the floor.