"Well, it... It sure wasn't a fast change," Capochin says quietly. "I mean, it took a couple decades to get, y'know. Bad like it was. I think if it was sudden, then we coulda stopped it, but... I dunno."
Capochin stares down into his own drink, before setting it aside to light a cigarette. Nicotine is better suited to this job than alcohol, he thinks.
"When I met Hector, he was so... bright, y'know? I'd never met anyone in Drain who dared to have dreams. Couldn't find a damn job and his piece of shit old man was about to toss him on the street just to not hafta feed him anymore, eatin' cheap bodega snack cakes to cope with the stress, but still dreamin'. It meant somethin' to me. I couldn't stand to watch the dream die. So I supported him, and he--- gave my life meaning. We was the first two Bizzyboys. Then we met Paulie and Wally, a couple'a older guys who was retired by the time you joined, n' it just... took off. We built the headquarters building by hand, y'know. Once we finally made it topside. It was backbreaking work. Every night we'd just flop over into our cheap mattresses on the floor and pass out immediately. I ain't slept so hard since. And getting Hector elected, that was hard work too."
A long drag of his cigarette is exhaled into the twilight air as Capochin looks to the stars, foreign in their arrangement, recalling those days too.
"We became the peacekeepers of the Grove. Helpin' humans, helpin' gods. We was doin' good work, proud work, pullin' people outta drain and makin' lives better. When Hector got put up for election, there wasn't nobody who didn't think he deserved it. We campaigned day n' night, and we stayed up the whole night of the election to see the results. And you know what pulled him through? Drain. It took forever to get the votes from Drain, so they came in last, and it turned a close race into a landslide victory in a matter of hours. Our people were so damn proud of us. Proud of him! And I knew, even then, how he felt. How scared he was that none of it would mean anything. That his life would be a waste. He wanted a legacy so bad, and we were so sure this was it, that gettin' godhood would mean he wouldn't have to be scared no more. But... it didn't last."
"Even livin' forever, even bein' elected a god didn't make the dread go away. Didn't make the fear stop. It was quiet for a long time, after he ascended. He settled into his new role well, expanded da Bizzyboys, named me the new leader of the Grove division, reestablished the Drain division. Things were good, they really were. For a long, long time. But then jealousy started to creep in as the novelty wore off and people stopped bein' as excited about him. Envy towards gods like Thespius and Huzzle Mug, with big personalities and popular art. Envy towards old gods like Mitternacht and Bauhauzzo who were such household names that no one could ever forget 'em. He fell in with the newer gods, Click Clack and Cobigail, and that helped for a bit, but then... then people started forgettin' Cobigail and her holidays, and watching the effect it had on her... it terrified him. Meanwhile, I was gettin' old, and I was desperate to stay special to him, prove I was still useful. So I... started makin' going to see him more n' more exclusive, till it was just me. I made it worse."
"And then came King, and--- well, the rest is history, ain't it? By the time she showed up, and started gettin' popular so easily just for bein' herself when we'd torn ourselves to shreds for it... it was easy for all that fear and loneliness to turn to anger. And I got angry with him. I used that anger to hurt all'a youse. Took your names, your free time, your other clothes, everything that made you, you. I took a buncha dreamers, the same kinda people I once admired Hector for bein', and I beat you down and tricked you into bein' complicit in Inspekta's vanity project, cause we were both too blinded by fear and hate and obsession to see how goddamn selfish we was bein'. And we almost ended the whole world over it."
At long last, he trails off, his cigarette finishing alongside his story. He stares daggers into the grass, head hanging low as if set into the jaws of a guillotine, waiting for whatever blade Patty's judgement might take the shape of to fall on his neck.
no subject
Capochin stares down into his own drink, before setting it aside to light a cigarette. Nicotine is better suited to this job than alcohol, he thinks.
"When I met Hector, he was so... bright, y'know? I'd never met anyone in Drain who dared to have dreams. Couldn't find a damn job and his piece of shit old man was about to toss him on the street just to not hafta feed him anymore, eatin' cheap bodega snack cakes to cope with the stress, but still dreamin'. It meant somethin' to me. I couldn't stand to watch the dream die. So I supported him, and he--- gave my life meaning. We was the first two Bizzyboys. Then we met Paulie and Wally, a couple'a older guys who was retired by the time you joined, n' it just... took off. We built the headquarters building by hand, y'know. Once we finally made it topside. It was backbreaking work. Every night we'd just flop over into our cheap mattresses on the floor and pass out immediately. I ain't slept so hard since. And getting Hector elected, that was hard work too."
A long drag of his cigarette is exhaled into the twilight air as Capochin looks to the stars, foreign in their arrangement, recalling those days too.
"We became the peacekeepers of the Grove. Helpin' humans, helpin' gods. We was doin' good work, proud work, pullin' people outta drain and makin' lives better. When Hector got put up for election, there wasn't nobody who didn't think he deserved it. We campaigned day n' night, and we stayed up the whole night of the election to see the results. And you know what pulled him through? Drain. It took forever to get the votes from Drain, so they came in last, and it turned a close race into a landslide victory in a matter of hours. Our people were so damn proud of us. Proud of him! And I knew, even then, how he felt. How scared he was that none of it would mean anything. That his life would be a waste. He wanted a legacy so bad, and we were so sure this was it, that gettin' godhood would mean he wouldn't have to be scared no more. But... it didn't last."
"Even livin' forever, even bein' elected a god didn't make the dread go away. Didn't make the fear stop. It was quiet for a long time, after he ascended. He settled into his new role well, expanded da Bizzyboys, named me the new leader of the Grove division, reestablished the Drain division. Things were good, they really were. For a long, long time. But then jealousy started to creep in as the novelty wore off and people stopped bein' as excited about him. Envy towards gods like Thespius and Huzzle Mug, with big personalities and popular art. Envy towards old gods like Mitternacht and Bauhauzzo who were such household names that no one could ever forget 'em. He fell in with the newer gods, Click Clack and Cobigail, and that helped for a bit, but then... then people started forgettin' Cobigail and her holidays, and watching the effect it had on her... it terrified him. Meanwhile, I was gettin' old, and I was desperate to stay special to him, prove I was still useful. So I... started makin' going to see him more n' more exclusive, till it was just me. I made it worse."
"And then came King, and--- well, the rest is history, ain't it? By the time she showed up, and started gettin' popular so easily just for bein' herself when we'd torn ourselves to shreds for it... it was easy for all that fear and loneliness to turn to anger. And I got angry with him. I used that anger to hurt all'a youse. Took your names, your free time, your other clothes, everything that made you, you. I took a buncha dreamers, the same kinda people I once admired Hector for bein', and I beat you down and tricked you into bein' complicit in Inspekta's vanity project, cause we were both too blinded by fear and hate and obsession to see how goddamn selfish we was bein'. And we almost ended the whole world over it."
At long last, he trails off, his cigarette finishing alongside his story. He stares daggers into the grass, head hanging low as if set into the jaws of a guillotine, waiting for whatever blade Patty's judgement might take the shape of to fall on his neck.