Executioner's Gambit: Movie Night (Patreon)

This one is silly and I won't be shocked if my editor cuts it, but whatever, I wrote it anyhow.

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Daskatoma sat in his recliner. The television mumbled softly, providing the only sound in the gloomy room, but the krakun’s thoughts were a thousand light years away.

Sutzir climbed to a seat on Dask’s wrist, rousing the giant lizard from his brooding. “I feel terrible,” he admitted to the little mammal.

“I know, buddy,” said Sutzir. He leaned forward and petted his owner’s scales with a gloved paw. “First your uncle and now your friend, Thojy. That’s a lot to swallow in not a lot of time.”

Daskatoma looked away, cradling his face with his free palm. He sniffled. “It’s all my fault.”

“No, Dask, of course, it’s not all your fault,” said Sutzir. He stood, trying to keep his best friend from withdrawing once more. “Your uncle’s death wasn’t your fault.”

The krakun opened his bloodshot eyes and studied the little creature for a bit. Most people preferred to tell a white lie rather than hurt someone’s feelings, but the ringel not so much. “But you think I’m responsible for Thojy dying.”

Sutzir’s helmet covered his ears, but the way his posture slumped was verification enough. Instead of answering, he asked, “Did I ever tell you how much my sister loves bread?”

Daskatoma flopped his head back against the recliner, cautious not to knock the tiny creature from his arm. “Okay… Is this your way of changing the subject, so you don’t have to tell me that I’m a bad person?”

Ignoring him, Sutzir explained, “Yequiwu loves bread so much that she’ll always take a slice that’s twice as big as anyone else’s.”

The krakun sighed, wondering which was more painful, Sutzir’s ruthless honesty or his bad analogies. “That must make her very unpopular.”

The ringel chuckled. “She has endearing qualities too,” he assured his friend, “but she has a funny habit. Let’s say there’s only enough bread left for two—two slices worth of bread left. Well, that’s how much she normally takes.”

Daskatoma glanced to Sutzir. “Is that when she only takes a single slice?”

“No, Yequiwu will always take a double slice if she can,” said the ringel, “but she’ll tear a little crumb off her double slice and leave it behind.”

Dask smiled the tiniest bit. “Why?”

“Well, so she won’t feel bad about taking the last slice, obviously.”

The krakun sighed. “Okay, Sutzir, I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to make me feel better by making an analogy,”—he shook his head—“but you’ve never been very good at this. I don’t get it.”

Sutzir growled. “I’m trying to say that you’re my sister.”

“I am?”

“Yeah,” he said, standing straighter now, “Yequiwu doesn’t want to feel bad that her double slice is leaving no bread for anyone else. You don’t want to feel bad for doing bad things—that’s why you hired Thojy to do them for you.” He raised his gloved palms, encouraging the krakun to follow along.

“I see … maybe?” Daskatoma shrugged. “You’re saying that … I shouldn’t feel bad about taking the last of the bread? That I shouldn’t feel bad for doing bad things?”

“No, of course not, Dask!” huffed the environment suited mammal. “You should always feel bad when you do something bad. People who do bad things without feeling bad are monsters.”

Daskatoma rolled his eyes. Morality lessons from a ringel was more exhausting than calisthenics. “Okay, so maybe don’t take the last of the bread? Don’t do bad things in the first place?”

Sutzir walked up the krakun’s arm. “Obviously, I don’t want you to do bad things, but sometimes your slice is the last slice,” he said. “That’s not what I’m getting at.”

Dask frowned. “So, I was being silly to hire Thojy? Just like your sister is being silly for leaving a crumb behind?”

“No!”

“See, this is what I’m talking about, Sutzir,” he growled. “I love you, little guy, but I don’t think analogies are your strong suit.”

“Damn it, Dask!” said Sutzir, stomping his booted paw. “What I’m saying is that when my sister leaves a crumb behind, she thinks it will keep her from feeling bad. That’s her mistake. She takes the last slice and feels bad about it. Leaving a crumb is stupid, and it doesn’t make her feel any better.”

He crawled up the krakun’s arm. “You didn’t want to feel bad about killing geroo, so you had someone else do it for you. You thought that you wouldn’t feel bad if someone else did it, but that doesn’t change anything, does it?” he asked. “Of course, you feel bad.”

The krakun let his head flop once more. “So, is there a lesson in this bread story somewhere? Because I’m totally missing—”

“What I’m saying is, sometimes you do bad things. You’re going to feel bad about it. Having someone else do it for you doesn’t change that. You’re still going to feel bad.”

Daskatoma shook his head. “That’s the lesson?”

“Yeah,” said Sutzir with renewed optimism in his voice. “What? It’s a good lesson.”

Instead of replying, the black krakun reached up and petted his best friend.

“You know what you need?” Sutzir asked.

“What?”

Sutzir pointed two finger guns at his best friend’s face, and Daskatoma knew that inside the ringel’s helmet, his ears were grinning. “A movie night!”

The krakun smiled and shook his head. “Oh, no.”

“No, I’m serious!” Sutzir said. “We haven’t done one in ages, and I know they always help cheer you up.”

Daskatoma patted the suited slave once more. “Really, it’s not necessary.”

“It is, and I insist!” He slid down the krakun’s arm and back to a seat on the gigantic creature’s wrist before pulling his communicator from a pocket in his suit. “You get comfy and pick out a film. I’ll call the crew.”

And so, Daskatoma finally dimmed the lights and tapped his tablet to start the movie playing. The big screen lit, bathing them and the darkened apartment with the bold krakun text of a title screen. He didn’t even recognize the movie. He’d just flipped over to the comedy listing and selected one at random.

The krakun stretched out as flat as he could manage, his head propped up on a pillow, with drinks and snacks arrayed within easy reach. Across every square meter of his chest and belly, dozens of suited slaves snuggled together—some curled up with others, some resting their heads on the scraps of foam padding they used as pillows.

A sea of tiny voices rose up to meet him. “Thanks for the movie, Dask!” some called. “Thank you!” said others.

Daskatoma couldn’t help but grin. “Thank you, guys, for hanging out with me. I really appreciate it,” he whispered as the opening credits faded, but several suited individuals hushed him.

“Shh, Dask! Movie’s starting!”

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Reviewer's link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1FttKrSbUoaOZc_4QWhF4lrnJCrjeWIzp4jrkgjmPzyg/edit?usp=sharing

Thoughts?