Chapter Text
Zanka had decided, in the last two hours of knowing what it looks and feels like, that he hates snow.
He hadn’t experienced a cold climate this visceral in what feels like ages. His feet feel like they’re being dragged down by cold fingers every step he takes. There’s trees the size of buildings here too, and they shake and tremble along with him in the wind. Although, unlike Zanka, they are bare and weak.
“We should clean it up before it reaches the city,” A voice suggests from behind.
Hurry up is what they really mean, and Zanka picks up the pace.
This forest of white and grey has been going on for what feels like centuries. After a cluster of trees and snow, there’s more trees and even more snow. If their footsteps weren’t so obvious in the knee-deep blanket of white, Zanka might have believed they were walking in circles. One loop of never-ending ice until they freeze and succumb to the weakness of the human body.
Zanka grits his teeth. They’ve been walking for hours. There has to be at least a sign that a trash beast is out here.
He begins widening his search beyond what’s directly in front of him. If he wants to get out of this, he needs to find his exit. He won’t get anywhere waiting for it to come to him, and Zanka’s growing increasingly more desperate to get out of the cold.
There aren’t any tracks ahead of them, and there aren’t any behind them for miles. If they have been going the wrong way, they wouldn’t be able to tell. Zanka slows his pace, closing his eyes, and focuses on his nose. They’re downwind from the air blowing left, so if something smells fishy, he’ll know where to go. And if not, he’ll have cut off one direction of search.
Assistaff settles in the snow as Zanka takes in a long deep breath until his lungs begin to burn. Nothing.
“Damnit,” He curses under his breath.
“Zanka? Why’d you stop bud?”
He lifts his staff, and awkwardly maneuvers to face his fellow cleaners: Gris and Enjin. Who, for the most part, are letting Zanka take the lead. They think they’re being subtle about it, but Zanka’s been babied before. He’ll just have to prove himself.
“I’m tryin’ ta sniff out the…” He trails off.
He swings his head back to the left. There’s something sharp, almost tangy, in the air. Something like blood, but not quite.
Metal. Rusted metal.
Bingo.
Before the trail is lost, Zanka brakes out into a sprint. He’s sluggish in the snow, especially because in this spot it’s so deep, but he manages to move quickly without tripping over his feet.
“Zanka!”
He ignores the distraction. This job will be finished in minutes if he gets this right.
The further Zanka gets, the more obvious the signs become. There are huge dents in the trees towards the top. Like they’d been forced out of the way, but not quite uprooted. The trash smell becomes more apparent, and then the litter appears. A single plastic bottle, and then a cluster of ripped bags.
Eventually, tracks begin to show themselves. First as small disturbances in the flat snow, and then as clear outlines.
Zanka laughs, adrenaline beginning to hit him in a rush.
This is his chance.
Once the tracks are no longer little splotches and become clear outlines of U-shaped hooves, he prepares for a fight.
His mind centers on Lovely Assistaff, and his anima reshapes the wooden stick into a dense, metal weapon.
Eighteen—No, seventeen feet ahead he can hear it, groaning like a wounded animal. The beast’s limbs cry out as they shift. It’s big, Zanka can see it now, looming in an open area and preparing to charge.
He makes it to the forest’s tree line, and is met with a ginormous wall. It stands taller than the beast by a good length, though it wouldn’t hold long in the face of such a monster.
Luckily he got here before it’s durability could be tested.
Zanka yells a not-very-battle-like cry, but luckily it’s loud enough to get the attention of the ugly beast. It lifts a skull-like head as Zanka takes his stance before the city barrier. A crackly call of an alarm system echos from behind, and Zanka thinks briefly that the city should know better than to make loud noises for extended periods of time.
The beast howls. Its body and head resemble the skeleton of a buck, or more accurately, a reindeer. An animal that has long been extinct like every other living creature on the ground; it’s likeness now being mimicked by this amalgamation of broken tools and rotten food.
In front of the city the ground is open and smooth. Zanka settles his feet against the freshly flattened snow. He breathes, and conjures a makeshift plan in his head.
“I hate to break it to Santa,” Zanka taunts, “but he’ll be givin’ out gifts on foot this year”
He leans his body forward an inch before he throws himself in the direction of the beast. He’s much lighter on his feet now, and the adrenaline has yet to wear thin.
“I gotta show ‘em what I can do.”
The beast swings its head back, a movement that tells Zanka exactly how to brace.
He swings Lovely Assistaff to the right, and hooks the faux antler into the mouth of his Jinki. With the weight of his body, and friction from the ground, he all but stops the swipe entirely. He moves quickly, swinging himself up and onto the handle of Lovely Assistaff, throwing his weight down, and using the opposite force to send himself into the air. In the process, he breaks off the end of the antler.
Not enough.
He swings to the left, and like an axe to the belly of a tree, Zanka slices the entirely of the antler clean off. It falls to the ground with a satisfying thump. Although the hit only slightly disables the beast, and its no where near enough to kill it. So Zanka redirects his path. His arms hurl Lovely Assistaff at the back of the beast’s neck, and he lets his body be dragged along.
The point of contact caves with a crunch, and Zanka begins to pray.
“Come on… C’mon!” He huffs, begging his instrument to follow his lead.
“C’mon, C’mon, C’mon!” He pleads, his hands white-knuckling the bar.
He tries to focus the abstract force of his anima, as Lovely Assistaff begins to vibrate. It has to work this time. He needs to prove himself to the cleaners.
He presses harder into the neck of the beast.
“C’mon!!” He cries.
With a second slick crunch, Lovely Assistaff punctures the beast four times through neck. Each cut combined together severs the head entirely from the body, and without the balanced weight of a second antler the skull begins to fall. Zanka uses the leverage his feet have on the solid material of the beast’s body to remove himself and his staff from the brute.
He settles smoothly on his feet, and manages to stay balanced. His performance was clean, but his chest feels like it’s on fire from swallowing down so much icy air, and his arms are beginning to ache.
“Niiiiice Work!” Enjin cheers. “Nice work!”
Zanka pulls himself together and looks up as he faces his superiors.
“A freshly minted giver, but already using that vital instrument like a pro!” Enjin marvels, clapping like he’d just watched the performance of a lifetime.
Zanka swallows down a giddy laugh, and can’t care to listen to Gris’s chiding. He’d done good. He’d proved himself.
Enjin turns back to Zanka as he and Gris pull themselves out of the forest.
“Our Zanka is totally a full fledged cleaner now.”
Zanka feels the left over adrenaline buzz around his body along with the pride from praise. He can’t help but let it out.
“Woo!!” He howls, hopping up and down on the high of accomplishment.
Enjin slows his walk and laughs, “Whoa, what?”
Zanka cheers again, letting himself ignore the likely strange looks from the people around him.
He finally feels a little less like fire trapped in a jar, so he relaxes his shoulders and turns back to Gris and Enjin. He forces himself not to grin too widely.
“That was incredible kid,” Gris says warmly, pulling a hand up to toss Zanka’s already messy hair.
He looks up to see Enjin waving to a group of people leaning out of a lookout window from above. Zanka once again wonders about this city’s safety protocols.
“Hey!” One of them yells, waving an arm over his head. “Mr. Cleaner! Come have dinner at my restaurant!!”
“No!!” An older woman interjects. “Stay at my inn! Free of charge!”
Zanka feels a little warm from the fight, and now from the scrutiny of an entire city’s worth of people asking for their attention is making him flush. Enjin grins as he turns back to their group.
“Dinner and a warm bed? Sounds pretty good to me.”
Zanka shrugs, not entirely put out by the idea of spending the night in a foreign city. Gris nods with a relieved sigh, and they make their way towards this North Ward city’s entrance.
Zanka is exhausted by the time they eventually settle down.
When they’d been welcomed into the city Enjin and Gris helped ward off most of the nosy strangers, but it was still a hassle having to talk to so many people. Though most of them were actually quite generous. It seemed the offers for a free meal and boarding were not false claims.
Enjin brought them to the place he was most interested in, which was a family owned, and supposedly, authentic restaurant. Zanka couldn’t care less about the “Northern authenticity” of the meal really. He needed something to keep him awake for at least the next hour or two, whether it be expensive cuisine or someones leftovers.
Enjin and Gris did most of the talking once they sat down. Zanka clung to Lovely Assistaff and tried not to nod off while they waited for their meals. It felt like forever, but the wait wasn’t nearly as agonizing as the walk here, so Zanka chose not to complain.
Especially not when a warm plate of food was set in front of him for the first time in a few days. A plate of soft Gyoza accompanied by a basket of buttered bread for the whole table. Zanka didn’t think he’d ever be hungrier than he is right now.
Once the waitress moves on, Enjin starts to fuss about not being offered something to drink. When no one joins him in his sulking he groans, slumping back in his seat before moving to stand.
Gris perks up when Enjin stands, and lifts an empty glass.
“Oh, while you’re up Enjin—“
“Excuse me!!” A pitched and shaken voice yelps, interrupting Gris.
The table turns to face the sudden disruption. A tall, scrawny boy stands in front of their table with his head lowered. He makes his case to them, strangers, like they’ll punish him for not giving this moment his all.
“I-I’ll do odd jobs! I’ll do anything!” He pledged, his voice still thin. “So please…”
For the first time since making his brilliant entrance, the boy lifts his head.
“Please let me join the cleaners!!” He cries.
His back straightens and, with the experience of someone who clearly doesn’t stand up for themselves very often, attempts to look serious.
Enjin bursts into laughter.
Doubling over, tearing up laughter, and Zanka feels a little bad for the guy. Grimacing, he glances over to Gris, who wears a similarly grave expression.
“Shut it Enjin,” Gris gripes, kicking at the man’s shins from his seat at the table. “You’re gonna freak the kid out”
For the record, Enjin attempts to pull himself out of his fit of laughter, but the attempt is not successful. Gris gives him a firm nudge towards the kitchen window.
Gris sighs wearily, and shakes his head as Enjin shuffles along. He turns back towards the exuberant stranger with a warm, apologetic grin. He stands and reaches a hand over the table.
“The names Gris,” He starts, and Zanka thanks the sky above that he doesn’t have to be the one to talk. “I work with the cleaners. It’s nice to meet you.”
The boy shakes himself into the present and takes a clumsy step forward. Zanka watches quietly as the two shake hands.
“Follo,” He grins brightly, “Follo Tunito”