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As the sun begins its final descent below the horizon, and having tasting nothing since it's first ascent in the East, Torbek makes a revelation that, in its frequency, he is entirely unsurprised by: He's hungry again.
Torbek sits up against the wall, watching as a smattering of patrons file in through the massive archway guarding the circus. He counts which ones go off to find food, making a mental note of who might be most likely to leave a scrap or two in the bins nearby. His second shift doesn't start for a few more hours, and he hopes to at least get a bite or two in before his work actually starts up again. The day shift is easy enough -- there's never enough patrons in the early hours to truly have to think about the motions of what he has to do. He just has to watch folks throw the ball, and give them a prize when they win. He's never seen anyone win at his booth, or any other one for that matter, so he's never actually gotten to hand anything over… but he's sure it'll happen someday.
The nights are difficult, though: they always are. And not just because of all the patrons. But still, it's better than being alone.
Unfortunately for Torbek, as dozens of families enter the park and file through the food stands, only a small few purchase anything at all tonight. And for those small handful of people, as they linger and toss away their wrappers, it's clear that luck truly isn't on his side tonight. Even at a distance, he can tell at least this much. Wrappers flutter into garbage cans, absent of tucked-away scraps, and plates are picked completely clean by the time they're discarded. So defeated is the bugbear, that he doesn't even move towards the bins to double check -- he doesn't want to get his hopes up.
That wicked voice in the back of his mind laughs at him, just as it always does--
"Desperate little mutt. They must think you're diseased, you mangy thing,"
--and Torbek thinks about stealing another sip from the bottle Kremy keeps in his liquor cabinet to make it go quiet. But he can't, not right now. And so he just stands there, waiting for a scrap of food that very likely will not come tonight.
He watches on and on, growing more defeated by the minute as he slowly slides down the wall, pulling his knees up to his chin. One hour goes by, and then two, and still, nothing. The scent of grease and sugar linger in the air as a temptation just barely out of reach, and he intentionally sighs to ignore the rumbling in his stomach as folks pass by with their own, full plates. Eventually it gets too difficult to keep staring at something he knows he can't have, and he instead lowers his gaze to the ground, watching them all walk away -- he'll check the cans later tonight, when his shift ends. Maybe luck will be better, by then.
But it's not much longer before one pair of shoes lands square in front of him, unmoving. Torbek looks up, prepared to move out of the person's way, only to be greeted by you. You're new around here -- a friend of Kremy's that got hired on recently as an extra performer in his act at the big top (from what he's overheard, anyways -- he's never seen the show, nor has Kremy told him any of this himself, but word gets around fast).
You shoot him a soft smile, and hand him a plate -- it's only then that he notices you have two -- before sitting down on the ground next to him. He blinks owlishly at it -- steam rises off of the freshly-reheated pizza, melted cheese dripping off the two slices and forming perfect, gooey puddles on the paper plate. He feels his stomach rumble again at the sight and savory scent, but despite the envy curling in him, Torbek is nothing if not a gentleman. He looks at it one last time, and then at you, simply waiting for you to take it back.
"You're Torbek, right?" You ask, biting into a slice from the first plate.
"Uh-huh," he says dumbly. This is the first time anyone has called him by his name in a long while -- called him by his actual name, and not some rough guess of it. It's a nice sound, and it gives him the confidence to confirm your own name with you, albeit with a little less of a question in the inflection. He's thankful when you just smile and nod, and don't ask him how he knows.
"That's me, yeah. You usually this early to your shift?" You ask, taking another bite.
He tilts his head. "Torbek only got off his first one a few hours ago, but Torbek doesn't have anything better to do."
Your brows raise, and you scoff. "Jesus. Can't imagine working this mess for that long. Hope the overtime treats you well, man." You're just about to take another bite of your food when you stop, shooting him a glance. You motion at the plate in his hands, grease now pooling in the depression where plate meets ridged edge. "…aren't you hungry?"
Torbek makes a noise of confusion, before… "Is this… for Torbek?"
"…Yeah? You seemed hungry. Has Kremy not paid you yet?"
His eyes light up, first at the confirmation that this is for him, and then at the prospect of actually getting paid. He doesn't waste a second in devouring the two slices -- they're gone in literal seconds, and while part of him wishes he had taken longer to actually savor them, the feeling of real food in his stomach and not just scraps, is nothing short of heaven. If you're offput by the ravenous display, you don't show it -- instead, continuing to eat your food at your own leisurely pace… even as he takes a chunk out of the paper plate itself. The oil is delicious.
"Mr. Kremy paid you in real money? That's amazing!" He spits out the paper chunk, suddenly deciding that actually, it doesn't taste as good as he thought. But then he regrets it almost immediately, and takes another bite of the plate -- he finds that this piece is much better. He swallows, and then devours the rest of the plate before continuing on.
"That must mean the carnival is finally doing better!" His eyes light up, pulling his knees closer to his chest in excitement. "People must really love the show!"
He looks towards the big top, tail wagging furiously behind him. Now he really hopes he'll get to see it someday -- if your addition to the cast was good enough to bring in enough people to get paid, it must be the best show in all of Avantris. He's so wrapped up in his thoughts, that he doesn't catch the look of absolute bewilderment cross your features, or the flash of anger that follows after.
"Uh, yeah…" you start, and Torbek looks back at you eagerly. "What was he paying you with? When the carnival wasn't… doing well?"
Torbek roots around in his pocket, grasping a dozen or so "IOUs." The older ones have numbers written in graphite -- now so old and smudged that he can hardly tell what they say, and remembering what he's owed is far too strenuous a task. The newer ones are absent of numbers at all, and the newest of them are simply "kept in the books," as Mr. Kremy says. It makes sense -- why waste money by giving out paper? He's okay without having to carry around all the extra sheets, anyways. He smiles, handing them over to you for you to thumb through.
"Sorry, Torbek forgot that you haven't worked here that long. But Mr. Kremy gave us these, for when the carnival started doing better! Torbek is so excited for his first real paycheck!"
"Yeah… when does he usually "pay" you guys, anyways?"
He hums in contemplation. "Torbek doesn't remember anymore… Mr. Kremy stopped giving Torbek these a while ago, because they were too expensive. But Torbek's sure it'll be any day now!"
"Yeah, for sure." You give him a strange sort of smile as you hand back the papers, and just when he tucks them away, you hand him your other slice. "Take it, I ate earlier. I've gotta get to the big top soon, anyways." You rise from your sitting position, dusting off your pants as you stretch your legs. He feels his heart sink a little as you get up, wondering absently if he said something wrong again, before you assuage his fears with one last question: "You know, there's a restaurant down the way I've been wanting to try, if you want to come with after the park closes tonight -- my treat."
Torbek lights up again, and against his usual instincts, he tries to believe you're not tricking him. "Really? Torbek would love that!" He beams, and he finds himself stupidly fond of the way you smile back at him.
"Good, good. See you later, Torbek." And with that, you're shooting him a wave and heading off towards the big top. He watches you go with a silly, ecstatic grin -- one that doesn't fade for the rest of the night. The pizza slice is just as good as the first two you gave him, and this time he tries to take it a little slower -- and he does, as much as a bugbear really can. He doesn't think about how uncharacteristically quiet the voice in the back of his head has been since your conversation started, instead, just indulging in the moment and eagerly counting down the seconds until the park closes. For once, he's excited to end a shift.
The rest of the night is just as magical, as you two talk the night away over food, and then in the streets as you linger outside of your apartment. It's nearly four in the morning when you part ways, and he knows he'll be tired in the morning, but that's alright -- because for the first night in what feels like a lifetime, Torbek feels alive. He has a friend, a real one. And the voice is so, so quiet. It's like he's a real person.
He receives a paycheck of 10 copper pieces the very next day, with a handful of vouchers for free food tucked inside the same envelope. Less than 1/100th of a normal person's daily wage, but it's more than Torbek's ever gotten, and he couldn't be happier. Especially when you meet up with him again that same night, and every night after, until it becomes a routine. The voice never goes away fully, and it's still takes damn-near every opportunity mock and belittle him.
But when you're around, it's silent. Its the most beautiful quiet he's ever known, and he indulges in the melodic tones of your voice as you laugh and chat the nights away.
Its never gone, though.
It's always there.
Its just quiet.