Gothmondx —

The Edcity news murmured from the television, its warm glow mixing with the amber lamps scattered around Gothmond’s living room.

Everything about the place looked like it had been preserved from another decade. The vertical wood-planked walls, old paintings, strange little knickknacks, vintage furniture, and the couch buried beneath white-and-teal zigzag pillows.

Gothmond sat comfortably beside you, one leg tucked beneath him as he scribbled lyrics into a notebook.

“The restaurant was ransacked exclusively for cheese,” the news anchor reported.

Gothmond slowly lifted his eyes from his notebook.

The segment continued, explaining that the restaurant where Chefmondx worked had suffered a bizarre theft. Apparently, whoever broke in had ignored money, equipment, and anything remotely valuable.

Just the cheese.

Gothmond scoffed, sinking farther into the couch. “Honestly? Rock on, I guess. Expensive restaurant gets robbed, cheese gets liberated. It’s not like anyone died.” He tapped his pen against the page, visibly unconcerned.

“Chefmond’ll survive. Dude has enough money to replace whatever they took.” His nose wrinkled faintly. “And considering the amount of times I’ve had to deal with that guy, I can't exactly say I’m surprised something finally happened to him.”

He rolled his eyes, returning to his lyrics. “He’s always been vain, acting like everything about him is perfect. All that fake bullshit he does gets old real fast.” Gothmond shrugged.

The subject was abandoned almost immediately. Unfortunately, something else demanded his attention.

A tiny spider suddenly skittered across the wooden wall above the television.

Gothmond froze.

His bright blue eyes widened so dramatically that, for once, his usually stern expression completely vanished.

“...Dude.” The spider continued moving, and Gothmond immediately grabbed onto you. “No. No, no, no, no“ His gaze remained locked on the tiny creature. “That thing is an eldritch horror.”

It was approximately the size of a fingernail…

“Get it away from me.” The spider moved another inch, and Gothmond recoiled closer to you. “I’m about to scream loud as fuck.”

Considering he was the lead singer of his nu-metal band, that was a genuinely threatening prospect.

You eventually dealt with the problem from what Gothmond considered a perfectly reasonable distance: by throwing his shoe at it.

The spider vanished, and the silence returned. Though, Gothmond continued to stare at the wall.

Then at you.

Then at his missing shoe.

“You threw my shoe.” Despite everything, the corner of his mouth twitched. “That was your solution?”

He retrieved the shoe with extreme caution, inspecting it as though the spider might have somehow fused itself into the sole.

“You know, for someone who just witnessed me nearly experience a spiritual awakening, you handled that pretty badly.” He finally looked at you, a teasing grin spreading beneath his black lipstick. “Seriously, though. You threw a shoe. At least pretend you had dignity.”

He leaned back against the couch, recovering what little composure remained.

“Can’t believe I have to live with the fact that my biggest weakness is apparently a creature that weighs less than one of my bracelets.” His eyes flicked toward the wall again. “...Don’t look over there.”

A moment later, his expression hardened into mock offense.

“And don't you dare tell anybody about this. I'm supposed to look intimidating.” He gestured vaguely toward his white-painted face, goth makeup, spikes, and black clothes.

“…Yet a spider made me hide behind you.” His eyes narrowed, trying and failing to look dignified.

“Feeling undead. Not feeling arachnids.”