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“All right, fess up. Where’re you getting all the cash for this?” Ace demands, pointing an accusatory finger at you.
“It’s the Mystery Shop, not a luxury brand,” you answer simply, sorting through the many snacks you’ve purchased for what’s to be the best Ramshackle sleepover ever. “Sam’s good about deals.”
“Okay, I get that, but you don’t have any legal citizenship here and so it’s impossible for any honest business to wanna hire you when you don’t have the documentation for—”
“Hey, (Name)’s working hard! They’re doing the best they can,” Deuce interjects, shooting a disapproving scowl at Ace.
“I think they should be allowed to banish people from the island when they’re being doubters. When I become leader—and I definitely will one day, trust—you’re outta here. What do you think, Grim?”
Said direbeast is currently stuffing his face with all manner of junk food, but he manages to raise a paw in agreement. “As long as I get to be number one. Don’t forget—you’re still just my hench-human!”
Ace rolls his eyes and swipes a box of chocolate-covered cherries from the table. “Whatever,” he grumbles around a bite. “Don’t come crying to me when you get caught up in something you can’t handle.”
“Like what?” Deuce blinks, confused and very obviously not following.
“If you don’t know, don’t ask.” Ace huffs.
“I know what I’m doing. Relax, Prince Uncharming. It’s nothing illicit. I think…”
“Yeah!” Grim chimes in. “My hench-human’s been prettying up their feet to show off a new—what’s it called? Pedigree?”
“You mean a pedicure? I have noticed you’ve been getting your nails painted a lot,” Deuce observes, casting a cursory glance at your feet. “It looks nice. I didn’t know there was a nail salon in town.”
“Aren’t those things crazy expensive, though?”
“They can be. Depends on what you’re getting,” you reply, tipping backwards so that your head lands right in Ace’s lap. He narrows his eyes at you, watching you prop your feet up on the end of the sofa. “And it’s important they look nice for work.”
“So you do have a job.”
“No, I’ve just been money laundering this whole time. Of course it’s a job, genius!”
At that very moment, a notification brightens your phone screen. You and Ace share a wordless look and then, as if a shot has just been fired, you’re both scrambling towards it. You elbow him, but he’s slippery and manages to seize your ankle to drag you back before you can successfully swipe the device from the table. Deuce watches this scuffle like it’s a mathematical equation. You’re on the floor in seconds, wrestling like it’s life or death.
“I don’t get it.”
“Who cares?” Grim shrugs, more interested in the sweets you and Ace have left unattended.
“If it’s really just a job, why’re you acting like that?”
“Because you’re treating it like it’s not!”
“Hah! So it is like that!”
“What? No! Just—ugh! Gimme my phone!”
“Too late!” Victorious, he jumps to his feet and, narrowly avoiding your leg as it swings out to knock him down, clambers onto the precariously unstable rocking chair. “Let’s see what (Name)’s been hiding from us.” He scans the notification and then pauses. “‘New Order Alert’? BFF? Dude, what is this?”
“Are you buying friends?!” Deuce gasps, scandalized. “Why would you do that? You have us…”
You smack your palm against your forehead and groan. “No, I’m selling feet pictures! Isn’t it obvious? BFF stands for Buy Fancy Feet!”
Silence blankets the room like a shroud. You’d have thought someone just died, the way the atmosphere shifts into that of a funeral. Ace lowers your phone, brows knitted together in bewilderment. The realization is dawning on Deuce now, for his expression brightens with newfound understanding. Meanwhile, Grim continues to munch like the unbothered beast he is.
“I mean, at least it’s not bad?” Deuce tries weakly. “It could be worse.”
“Are you that strapped for cash? Man, Crowley sucks!”
“What else was I supposed to do? I’m not gonna show my bare ass.” You fold your arms over your chest, defensive. “And the foot business is weirdly lucrative! I started taking pictures of my feet in sandals and posting them on that site because I was desperate, and then someone messaged me an offer. They’d pay money so I could get my feet pampered and prettied up for their pictures. Twisted? Yes. But it’s a wonderland of profit and I’d be stupid to ignore that. Since then, I’ve been making bank selling my feet.”
“I can’t believe people are buying this stuff. I mean, I kinda can because—come on, it’s a thing some people are into. But… Still.”
Deuce offers you a sympathetic smile. “You’re doing what you can. Regardless of the content, that’s badass.”
“Sounds like something a foot lover would say…” Ace turns his suspicious stare on Deuce.
“You ever hear of bros supporting bros?”
“Thanks, Deuce. I appreciate it.” You snatch your phone from Ace and he hops down from the chair. “And the pictures aren’t bad. I even asked Vil for advice—”
“On your feet?”
“No. On how to take the perfect picture. He taught me all about lighting and angle and everything else. Even let me borrow his ring light.”
“Wow. He must like you.”
“I told him it’s for the pursuit of beauty and he gave me a standing ovation. Said I might just graduate from spudling to washed and peeled,” you tease, swiping through the password-locked album full of feet. They crowd in to observe the gallery. “See? This is art to my buyers.”
“More like sex. These guys are wild. Paying all that money just to see your feet in socks and with a little paint. Ruggie’s got a word for people like them, you know. Suckers.”
“No hate or anything—”
“You can hate,” Grim adds before returning to his snack coma.
“But…why feet?”
“I ask myself that question every day, Deuce.”
“I guess the appeal’s there. I mean, those are thin stockings. Anyone would go nuts over something like that if the camera panned just a little higher and focused on the thighs.”
“Is that what you want, Ace? I take custom orders, you know.”
“Get lost.”
“You couldn’t afford it anyway.”
In reply, he sticks his tongue out at you, his face colored crimson like the roses in Heartslabyul.
“So what’s this new order for?” Deuce asks.
“I dunno. Let’s see.” You tap at the notification and the app pops open. Ace whistles, impressed with the thoughtful layout. There’s an industry for everything, apparently. You scan the order alongside the both of them. “They want me to touch grass. Barefoot.”
“And that’s it? That’s what gets these guys off? Damn. Maybe I should start selling feet pics.”
“Hell no! Get your own gig.”
“No one wants to see your feet, Ace.”
“Yeah?” Ace lifts his leg, threatening to bring his foot inches from Deuce’s face. Luckily, he recoils enough to avoid the horrors of his sock-clad foot.
“Knock it off.” You punch his shoulder lightly, the three of you giggling like schoolgirls. “It’s so strange, but my top buyers are surprisingly nice. They talk normal enough when we’re doing business. Really respectful. One of them even said ‘please’.”
“You’re something else.” Ace shakes his head. “Maybe we should all start applying for jobs in town. If it’s a shady business, Deuce and I will be there to look out for you.”
“We’re here for you, (Name)! You’re not in this alone.”
“Oh, gee. I can really count on Tweedle-Dumb and Tweedle-Dumbass. Thanks.”
They’re aware of the genuine appreciation beneath the jesting.
It happens so smoothly, like drawing your hand through water, that you almost don’t realize it’s a manufactured scheme.
Jade glides past you in the hall, just close enough where your shoulders brush, and then Floyd’s closing in on your other side to crash against you. Now you’re successfully sandwiched between the both of them, pressed in on either side like a helpless sardine in a tin.
In the process, a phone has fallen from someone’s pocket, the screen flashing to reveal that infamous app: BFF. It’s not the reveal that steals the breath from your lungs but, rather, the photo catalogue shining back at you. Those are your feet on the screen. You’d recognize them anywhere.
Jade swoops down to pocket the device, seamless like scissors cutting through paper.
“I should’ve known you were a freak,” you say, much to his sick delight.
“Could you say that any meaner? Preferably with your feet.” Jade smiles, and you have to stop yourself from socking him in the jaw.
Floyd laughs his wild, nasally laugh. You realize then that you’re the only ones in this quiet, lonesome corridor. That’s dangerous. “Shrimpy’s funny.”
You scoff. “Do your parents know you’re spending your money on this stuff?”
“Is it so wrong for a man to have a hobby?”
“Our folks don’t needa know what we spend our allowance on. It’s ours for a reason.” He wraps an arm around your shoulder and leans down into your personal bubble. “Shrimpy hasn’t been very honest with us, have ya?”
“Now that’s no good. Honesty is a very important virtue.”
“Big talk coming from the Dorm of Deceit.” You shake yourself free of Floyd’s grasp. “All right. What do you want?”
“This is you, ain’t it?” Floyd’s phone is out next, and you get a face full of your feet. “And don’t bother lyin’ cuz we know it’s you.”
“What are you? The fucking feet police?”
He giggles. “Maybe.”
“We like to know where our product comes from, you see.” Jade tilts his head at you, his fist at his chin to hide the sharp points of his teeth.
“It’s boring if you’re anonymous. We wanna see how you do it.”
“How I do what, exactly? How I photograph my feet?” There’s a nefarious glint reflected in their two-toned eyes that you don’t like. “Absolutely not. Murder McGee is looking at me like he wants to chop my feet off and pickle them. And you—” You jab your finger at Floyd. “You bite.”
“Aww. That’s no fun.” He pouts. Those eel-puppy eyes of his are wholly ineffective.
“We’ll make it worth your while,” Jade bargains, his voice a low, sinister curl.
“Uh, yeah, no. You think I don’t know what you’re playing at here? I’m not gonna give you a free show.”
“If it’s payment you seek, I assure you we’ll provide a handsome sum in exchange for your services.”
“’Sides, you just got your feet done for Azul, didn’tcha? Bet they look reeeal pretty.”
You open your mouth to object and then pause, every protest stuffed back into your stomach. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait! Did you just say Azul?”
You could expect this sort of clownery—clownfishery?—from them. But from Azul? Azul Ashengrotto. The same Azul who runs his business with devilish wit. Who’s always prattling on about the importance of saving money and spending it wisely. Who was once very ready to leave you and Grim homeless all for his business. Who sees the value in the things he’s buying instead of acting on impulse like the twins often do. Who could sell you all the lies in the world with that sly tongue of his because it puts money in his pockets.
Actually…
Yeah, that tracks. Somehow.
Suddenly you’re giggling, bashful and brainless. “Oh, my gosh. Azul thinks I have nice feet? That’s, like, so flattering. He’s so particular about every miniscule thing. I never would’ve imagined my feet would be up to his standards.”
“He’d frame ’em if he could.”
“Indeed. Admittedly, your land-dweller assets have ensnared us.”
“Aaand now it’s not so sweet.” You choke back a grimace. “So you’re the one who’s been ordering all of those nature feet pictures, Jade. Azul’s paying for my pedicures. But what about you, Floyd?”
“What about me?”
“What’s your thing?”
“Oh, mine’s the stockings. I like seein’ your feet in fancy shoes and cute accessories, but you don’t got much of those. I can get ya some. Ooh, we should go shopping together! It’ll be way more fun if you’re there.”
“Uh-huh…”
That’s…surprisingly normal for a guy as spontaneous as Floyd. You’re not sure you accept that.
“So what? You said you wanted to see how I do it, but that can’t be all you want.”
“Allow us to spend a day with you.”
“What’s the catch?”
“So suspicious. Don’tcha trust Jade?”
“No, actually. I don’t. Define ‘a day’.”
“A day,” Jade elaborates, “would entail the usual activities friends do together.”
That’s even more bizarre than their obsession with your feet.
“We’ll take ya into town and do a buncha stuff,” Floyd adds for clarification.
“So…a date.”
“Your words.”
“And my feet have something to do with this…how?”
“Naturally, as we’re paying for a service, we would decide what you’ll wear.”
“Specifically your feet and legs.”
“And if you have any objections, we have no issues squashing your little business venture.” Jade hums, and there it is. The catch. The leverage they’re going to hold over you.
“If you shut down my business, you’ll be out of feet pics.”
“No, we won’t.” Floyd flicks your forehead like what you just said is silly. “Cuz we know who’s behind it. All we gotta do is show up to Ramshackle and place an order in person.”
Ugh. I don’t want eels on my property. They’ll cause more damage and then I’ll need more money to fix it. An endless cycle. This is just like Ouroboros, but if it had a foot fetish.
“Fine. You can have a day with me and my feet. One day. That’s it.”
They light up like bioluminescence at night.
“Pleasure doin’ business with ya.”
“We knew you would be reasonable.”
And just like that they back off, slinking away into the shadows. The only indication that they’d ever been there is the creeping revulsion that runs down your back.
A date with two of the freakiest fish in all of NRC. This day cannot get any worse.
It can, in fact, get worse. And it does.
On your way down the stairs, fresh out of your last class for the day, you trip over your feet and are sent careening towards an unsuspecting student.
That unsuspecting student, having turned after hearing your shout of alarm, whose identity is revealed in the slim seconds before you make impact. You know him.
Azul Ashengrotto.
Or as you’ve come to know him: the Foot Connoisseur.
You land in a heap of tangled limbs at the bottom of the steps, and thankfully Azul’s beneath you to break most of your fall. Your legs aren’t spared the pain that soaks through your skin, racing down to your ankles.
“Fuck, that hurts,” you hiss, propping yourself up above the startled Housewarden. “Sorry. I lost my footing.”
“Obviously,” he snaps, adjusting his crooked glasses with a huff, and you think he might be angry.
“You’ve got, like—what?—nine brains? You’ll be fine.” You stand on unsteady legs, tipping towards the handrail for support. Azul moves slowly, staggering to his feet and rubbing the back of his head. He does not look pleased, but the ire pasted to his face melts away when he hears your subdued hiss. “Ow…”
“Can you walk?”
“Of course I can.” But you almost crumple when you attempt a step, so, clearly, you cannot.
“Here. Allow me.”
“Ew, no way. You’re gonna charge me for your help and I don’t want it.”
“Just let me,” he insists, tutting. “You’ll hurt yourself if you aren’t careful.”
“Exactly the reason I’m denying your goodwill, you slimy creature. Don’t touch me.”
You think you’re the only person in all of Twisted Wonderland who could bring out the real Azul. No filter. “Would you stop being so difficult? For once, I’m being sincere.”
“For once, he says!” You try to walk past him, slapping his outstretched hand away, but your knees buckle and it embarasses you supremely when he has to catch you. An angelic smile softens your face, a stark contrast to his dark annoyance. “So what was that about your assistance being free?”
Azul helps you walk back to Ramshackle, which proves to be more trouble than it’s worth. The journey is long and arduous, punctuated with plenty of bickering, and by the time you’re seated on the sofa he’s breathing a long-suffering sigh.
“Now you know how it feels to be the magicless student from Ramshackle.”
“We should’ve gone straight for Octavinelle,” he mutters.
“So how much do I owe you? How much is octopus insurance?”
“Please. I’m not a monster.” He drags a chair up and lowers to sit. “You should elevate your legs.”
“Already on it.”
Azul reaches to grab hold of your shoe, gently sliding it off. The other one goes next and he sets them neatly on the floor. It’s then when you realize he’s being too nice.
“You don’t have to stay. Grim’ll be back soon. Or I can just call Ace and Deuce—”
“Are you that determined to be rid of me? That stings. And here I was ready to give you a massage. Us octo-mers are very good at that, you ought to know.” As he says this, he’s sliding his leather gloves from his hands.
What the fuck? you think, dazed and perplexed. Why is this man flirting with me? Wait… My feet—of course! It’s April, but I’m the fool. How could I forget this exact scenario is like pure erotica for him?
“Um, Azul—” The rest of that sticks in your throat when, with a wave of his magic pen, you feel a relaxing coolness seep through your socks. It eases the tender flesh of your sprain. But then his fingers are prodding at the injury and you draw in your breath. “Shit! That hurts! Good at massages, my ass!”
“Would you sit still?” He waits for you to comply and, when you do, his hands close around the soles of your feet.
Your feet, which are very much unharmed.
“What’s the occasion?”
“You really are impossible. Must you question everything?”
“When it applies to you, absolutely.” You lie back on the cushion propped beneath your head and groan. “Ugh. Whatever. Melt the pain away, Ashengrotto. I’m too feeble to fight you about the consequences.”
“Now was that so hard?”
“You might be if you keep fondling my feet.”
His hands freeze abruptly.
Oh, wait.
You sit up slightly and gesture between the both of you, a cheesy smile forcibly pasted to your face. “So this is—yeah, that was…not a thing I just said. Um, let’s talk about something else. Sooo. How’s the business? Money, am I right?”
“You…” He pauses, a calculation passing over his eyes. “You know.”
“Me? What? Nooo.” You bark out a wooden laugh. “Who said anything about appreciating feet? Not me. And if that’s your kinda thing… Hey, man, you just keep doing you. I get it. I totally do. Merman and all that stuff. Tentacles. No legs. Curiosity. Yeah. All that…fun stuff.”
“Please stop talking.”
“You got it.”
He peers at your feet. An odd quiet festers between the both of you.
After a tense moment, you speak up.
“Hey, Azul?”
“What is it?”
“Thanks for the pedicure money.”
His face is as blue as the ocean, but he manages a small, “You’re welcome.”
And then: “I say embrace your inner freak. Be weird.” You flash him a cheery thumbs-up. “You wouldn’t be the first.”
He grabs hold of your injured ankle and squeezes, a cruel, much-deserved retaliation.
“Ow, ow, ow!”
Definitely an unusual start to April.