#zouzab draws

[zouzab]

Sketch of Zouzab from memory! I have a lotta references saved of him but I doodled this one at church, tho I may refine/render it later if inspired so.

[zouzab]

[MINOR BOOK 1 + SHOW S1E1-2 SPOILERS]

Accidentally wrote 700+ words of slarb and zouzab hate fighting. Well, not really. Consensually fighting each other to stress relief? Then it ended with angst. Uhhhh. The ficlet under the cut, may post to ao3 eventually.

Cw fighting, violence, minor spoilers, + mentions blood and of wishing child harm. Fighting is mostly consensual (lol) but turns a bit dubious near the end hhhhh

This was a thing they both benefited from.

They both got to practice their fighting skills. Fighting in a non-lethal setting was good for practicing and getting better at their craft. Slarb learned the flaws of Ridgerunners, and Zouzab learned the flaws of the Fangs. They didn’t say it, but they both knew the other was figuring out ways to best their kind. They were still at war, even if now it seemed peaceful. Zouzab couldn’t get used to this comfortable lifestyle, and Slarb had no choice but to fight.

Brawling on a level playing field wasn’t just good for training to fight wars, they both learned. It was also good for, as you say, de-stressing.

Slarb fought with hatred and anger, channeling his emotions into every punch and swing. He was broiling with hate for the people around him, focusing on how they had wronged him. He hated Gnorm, he hated the other Fangs, and in their most recent brawl, a new name slipped from him in a venomous snarl.

“Igibys?” Zouzab squeaked, the brief moment of surprise leaving him vulnerable for a clean punch to the face, knocking him back into the base of a tree.

“You wish to harm the Igibys?” Zouzab repeated, ducking as Slarb launched out a foot towards him, the bark crunching under the blow.

The Fang’s shoulders were heaving, eyes wild. “Those- those bratss humiliated me!” He snapped, distracted, “made me laughing sstock!”

“But not Tink, right?” Zouzab should’ve kept quiet, but the words slipped out, scrambling backwards, eyes darting around the wooded clearing.

Slarb stopped in his tracks, regarding him curiously, “Tink? Who’s that?”

“Middle child of three,” Zouzab answered honestly, caving in on himself as Slarb slowly sauntered forward. “One with dark hair.”

“Why do you know that? Do you care for the Igiby brat?” His voice was strangely level, lacking the hate he usually carried.

Zouzab backed up, heel catching a root and tumbling onto his backside, realizing all at once he was cornered in a grove of trees, Slarb looming over him. “He, Igiby children are friends of Oskar.” He explained, finding the wall of the tree to brace himself against.

He was on his haunches, and in an effort to not seem so helpless, he started pulling himself up by his palms against the bark. Slarb sent a smoldering glare and Zouzab slumped, frightened by the pure hate in his gaze- directed at him, now.

“Friend of Osskar, not you,” Slarb said slowly, flickering his tongue, Zouzab reeling back at the sight of those nasty fangs, dripping with venom.

He averted his eyes, “well, friend of me, too. Known them for years. Eldest Igiby child read me stories, Youngest sing song, Tink... Tink give fruit, play games.”

Slarb tysked, folding his arms over his chest, “Tink is not only one with fruit.”

“He draw pictures, too.” Zouzab offered weakly, not liking to be emotionally vulnerable in front of the Fang.

Slarb growled, and a pit settled in Zouzab’s stomach. Not a good pit like from a fruit, but a bad pit. One of fear and dread, rotten to its core.

“You like them. You like the Igiby children.”

Zouzab wanted to protest, opening his mouth and then shut it. He didn’t like them! But Oskar liked them. They were Oskar’s friends, and he didn’t... he didn’t want to hurt Oskar.

Slarb punched him in the stomach. He howled in pain and surprise and tried to scramble away, fight or flight instincts firing up. Slarb didn’t let him. A clawed hand wrapped around his throat and hauled him up the tree, back scraping against the ridged bark.

Zouzab thrashed. They weren’t on an even playing ground, this wasn’t fair! Slarb held him to the tree with one hand, while his other delivered half a dozen sharp blows to his gut and chest. He was saying things, the word “Igibyss” repeatedly slipping from his jaw, but Zouzab couldn’t pay attention to it.

“Stop! Stop!” Zouzab yelled, “Stop it, time out!” He never called a time-out before, but he needed one!

Slarb stopped, only to put his hand flat across Zouzab’s torso, then sank his claws into it, dragging down.

Zouzab must’ve screamed, he couldn’t remember, for the lightning bolt of fiery pain knocked him out.

…

He woke up under the trees, laid flat on the cool grass. He groaned, his injuries becoming apparent. He lifted a hand, running it idly over his stomach, pursing his lips as he felt the scratchy bandages dressing his wounds. Slarb must’ve... Zouzab groaned again, rolling over to press his face against the soft dirt, finding solace in the scent of home. He would think about Slarb and what transpired later, but right now.. rest sounded nice.