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Language:
English
Series:
Part 4 of Sad-urday
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Published:
2016-05-07
Words:
463
Chapters:
1/1
Comments:
12
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74
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3
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1,187

Give me Coffee and TV

Summary:

Easily

Notes:

kiiiinda shit but i love film buff tom so fuck you

Work Text:

They'd never spoken to that Tom.

The belief had always been that he was too normal. Upon being sent down his first request was a haircut. He asked to be called Tommy, and was generally quiet. Tomatoredd made the executive decision to not interact with him. Tommy was an introvert -- moreso than anyone ever before him. He'd sit in a fetal position with his gaze shoved into his kneecaps and his arms crossed over his chest.

But then Scribs became worried due to his lack of appetite. Though eating wasn't necessary for a clone, it was generally a detriment if one didn't eat. The fatigue and gut pains were enough to keep Tomatoredd stealing hot pockets from the closets. But Scribble was a worrier, and everyone was his friend. He grabbed Torm and decided to at least check on the guy.

"Uh, hi."

Tommy was silent.

"Hello?" Torm spoke, sounding annoyed. "Don't ignore us, asshole."

"Go away."

He turned around. His fingers were covered in a greyish goop. "You're making things harder. You ugly old thing." The two amalgamations stare at one another, and then at Tommy.

"What's that stuff on your hands?"

"I hate it."

"...But what is it?"

"I hate it!"

He slammed down his fist into a pile of shattered glass. The grey fluid came gushing out in a thick river. Tomatoredd immediately pulled him away from the glass. Had this guy been injuring himself? He swept the glass beneath the closet door.

"No."

Despite being absolutely minuscule, Tommy had the guts to kick Tomatoredd in the shin.

"Don't do that, Tommy, that's bad for you."

Tomatoredd assumed it was just something within his programming. He held the little reject back by his forehead. Perhaps it was the fall into the white room, but this guy came up weaker than a newborn baby.

"Friend!"

"Oh crap, Scribble, no, now's not the time."

The scribble reject stood behind Tommy, then snatching him up in a violent back-hug.

"Friend! I miss you. Please come be friend."

"No."

"Please don't eat your skin, friend."

"No."

"I wanna be friend with you!"

"I hate you."

Scribble doesn't care. He held Tommy close. The other two looked at each other in confusion.

"Did... did he say eating skin?"

Torm stilled the two, pulling Tommy's sweater up. A big chunk of his skin appeared missing, showing a gray, meaty wound. It hadn't healed, not at all. He then turned his attention to the now-gone glass shards. They were covered in his blood. Clone grume wasn't red, or even brown, it was absolutely gray. As artificial as their existence. The hell was wrong with that guy?

"...Dude."

Tommy looked up at him, uninterested.

"Does it matter? It's ugly."

What made this poor asshole the way he is?

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