Matte Assertion


Written by Sep&Tia.


-Chrlglptughp- The porridge vacated the pot with the graze of a toad upturned from a bog. An unsightly guise which was offset by the aroma of cinnamon macerating in the boiled oats. The result converged to promise a filling breakfast. 
	“Thanks, sis,” Met said as he poured milk into the bowl that melded with the boak wood of the spoon, a dash of smoke to the first scoop. 
	“Can't have you go starve,” Tam said as they poured their own bowl. “I've come to think about how most thief what we eat doesn't end up looking the same on the way out, but porridge is spot on for some of the dumps I've let off.”
	Met paused with a halt; spoon at the brim of his parted lips. 
	“Sis…” 
	“Just as steamy too,” Tam continued, swirling their white drill around their finger, “is that something you think about?”
	“Bro…” Met said stuffing the spoon past their lips. The conversation hitting a snag.
	After a few moments of fostering an exponentially growing smirk Tam added. “So you definitely think about it, a lot.” 
	“Mornin’s when I usually get my mind, out of, the gutter,” he said and held up a finger to stop Tam, “but since we're on the topic, you know my answer. I do.” 
	“Second question,” Tam continued, “I wonder what happens if you chugged down some gold, or coins, considering that's what you usually end up with…” 
	Met stuck his spoon into the porridge. “First, that hasn't come up. Second, I don’t often do gold. Third, that's an impressive way to phrase for someone to eat dung. Think yours would be different if you'd be interested in chewing down on some butt mud?” 
	“Mmhm…,” Tam's vision glanced elsewhere, avoiding Met's look, and the question. “Where'd you end up yesterday? Expected you to hang out home on a Saturday.” 
	“Same question,” Met said with a gesture towards Tam. 
	“Got me.” 
	Met turned their attention back to the porridge. The table rattled. He peered up to see Tam hovering over them, one palm on the table. 
	“Hold still.” He said, and reaching out. 
	Met froze. Tam's fingers trailing by the side of their cheek, upwards, along the satyr's horn… -Shrrtch- And plucked something off of it. 
	Tam held up A tuft of bread fluff, turning it over inquisitively, and popped it in his mouth. 
	“Mmf, tasty stuff.” He said, leaning back into the seat. 
	Met fumed. Tightening her face into a grimace… he tilted the bowl at her mouth and guzzled down the porridge in a few decisive gulps, scraping the bottom with the spoon as well as around her face to secure every bit of it. 
	“Mfmgh heading out,” he mumbled through the grit and stashed the plate in the sink. 
	“Mind picking up some, I suppose you won't pick up groceries? The Tygla-fast starts tomorrow.” 
	“You can handle carrying more bags than me, your front being so lightweight.” Met threw out before he pocketed the access card and snuck out the door. Leaving the apartment in silence. 


~ 1 ~


The streets were crowded. Last day of the week before the mandated fast, those who hadn't secured their rations, or those who doubted they had enough, all out on errands. Thus, the whole city seemed to stroll on a shopping spree. 
	Met stayed centered in the walkway, breathing in the air of cured sun-baked leather, stress, and discomfort all served up on a canvas of concrete. Hee drank it in. After all these years, there was a comfort in which the pavement brought, a sensation that kept him hostage. Though, perhaps that feeling remained, because Met had somewhere to go to when night came. A place to live… With their bro, sister. Relief siphoned from her throat. Was everything really fine? Had Tam become a real sister again, out of nowhere? His sister? Tam regaining the status of protective sister out of nowhere seemed dubious, considering their behaviour and nightly excursions. Though, was that an indication of their intent, or just, who Tam was? 
	Met grasped his horns, tugging and covering his face with his arms. What if he didn't went back there? Back 'home'? The option was to get back on the streets…
	Met uncovered his face. A center square unveiled before them; brimming with life; chattering groups walked past loners, an acrobat cuttlefish held a statue performance to a small, but enthralled, crowd, and birds bathed in the center fountain, pelting their surroundings with droplets. The birds often dodging coins flung into the water. 
	“Gutter's feeling fine to me.” Met affirmed.


He found a spot by the fountain, away from the sprays of water and most of the crowd, a palace of peace. A calm breeze came, determined too enough to have nestled though the gaps of the buildings and give Met a breath of crisp cold.Out of all the cities his floozy rump had rested in… this one was just fine. 
	“Have any spare coins for the fountain?” 
	Met heard the question behind him, eyes remaining closed as they gave a cherry scoff. “Asking the right person, usually I would. Though left in a hurry today.” 
	“Aw, come, are we certain? Last time I saw you, you had change coming out the ass…” 
	The breeze returned, though now, it was a whip that cracked veins of ice through Met's back, feeling the discomfort shaking up through his horns. A ghost flashed in his mind, as he turned around. A young man, clad in a getup of rags in the fashion style that had dominated Met's teens, sharp featured, but dusk resting under his chin. 
	The ice melted. Aside from the getup he didn't recognize him. 
	“What did you think ya saw?” 
	He just smiled. And nodded. “Might I join you?” 
	Met made no resistance. 
	“There is a lot going on under the surface of any town, certainly one with such, diversity,” he lingered on the word, it didn't fit in his mouth, “but few so. Lucrative.” 
	“Shame to burst your greed bubble prematurely,” Met said and leaned back, having to straighten up when they remembered there was not but a fountain behind their back,” I have not yet mastered the forgery to match most currencies.” 
	“Yet,” the man said, scratching his chin, “which means you can improve.” 
	That brought back memories. 
	“You just need some more practice, then, right? And some, fodder for that practice, correct?” 
	“Suck on a lemon, I am not your piggy bank.” Met said, turning his back on the stranger. 
	“Then whose? You are someone's piggybank, whose?” 
	Thoughts of Tam surfaced. And faded, in lieu of memories, old memories. The satyr peered back, then down at their lap. Hooves clacking to the cobblestone. “My own.” 
 
	“Do beg your apology. I might have come off as overbearing,” the stranger said, giving Met space, “I am certain we can work out some arrangement that benefits us both. I doubt that bakery gives much of a stable wage to live on.” 
	Met saw his words reflected at the back of their eyelids, Spoken in another time, another circumstance, back when the street was all there was. He stood. Smiling back. “It's possible we could.” 


~ 2 ~


	-Pffssrhhrclrkts- A trail of smog eeked out among a clatter of metal scales. Met shifted her hooves along the bathroom mat, and prodded at the baking cloth covered pillow below. “Just about…” 
	She doubled over, palms hugging her knees and rump jutting out as like a bird on a clothes' line. 
	-Chrrlst- Her pucker contracted, squeaking as it pursed flat. An oblong bulge protruding the rugose lips outwards. -Shclslrht- The tip spreading aside with a -Chrlrlsthsc- polish of The brim twitching back as the polette tricked free, reflecting back a glimmer of chrome as the brim pinched taut… 
	“Mm… pah…” Met relaxed, and her rear eased, releasing the coin trapped in its clutches, twirling through the air as a fallen leaf, until it landed on the padding. -Dmf-. In its wake, Met's brim bloated, gaping, the ring of flesh drawing back to uncover a clump of coins cudgel’d together, drooping with the vines of viscous bowel slime, congealing in the gaps of the currency cob. Though, out in the open, it needed only a few moments of… -Chsltpsh- to serrate… --Chrspthckt- and as her pucker disgorged the clump of vacuum sealed coils, they broke apart into a hail of sparkling silver and bronze. The avalanche sculpted her pit wide agape, though as soon as it left the confines of her posterior, scattered. A tide of solid metal taking on the properties of a waterfall, escaping the satyr's musky gutter. The first few coin's landing were dampened by the pillow, though as the rain of currency kept up the tokens clattered on the ones below in a serenade of proverbial dough. -Crlrpths- -cklpthtss- -krlrpthstsj- The pillow sunk, cratered inwards by the heap that had amassed, the baking paper crinkling -Chlrlrsths- under the pressure, folding inward and peeling off of the pillow with folds bending into shape, crumpling upwards to form an outline of a rose surrounding the a magnifying bud of showering change. 
	“Mmm, haven't felt this good in a while, just beats m… porridge anyday. Think I nailed the…f mms… diameter this time…” Met mumbled, slowly raising as their abdomen gradually sunk back, withdrawing her investment to deposit in a safer locale. Relief cradled her form, as the final few coins weighing her down dropped onto the mountain of wealth below, the cascade diminished until a single coin twirled and rattled into place. 


“Hmm” Met mumbled, holding up a handful of coins from a rinse in the sink. Weighing them in each palm. She brought one close, a silver disk decorated in a the landscape of a wheat field stretching torwards the horizon. 
	“Hey, I even the depth downright decent,” Met beamed, picking up another for inspection. This one's landscape smeared out like a child had gotten to the still wet paint, tendrils of silver flowing and spiralling to and fro. “Can't get them all, though,” She said with a voice still in high spirits. She flipped it over. The face of the coin was unassuming, light-faced, near regal. Bland. “Bland,” met said, “in other words, unassuming, I like the sound of that.” She held a coin by her teeth to check its density. 
	-Kcnkg- -cknndink- “Bro? You mind?” 
	The knocking shoo’d Met, opening her mouth to respond a… -Glmomgph- and in a moment feeling the cool metal dick trailing down her gullet. “Phf… hah,” Met scoffed, patting her stomach, “I do mind, keep a hold of your nipples, if you can find them.” She called back, fingers pattering her abdomen. Seems she was on the road to answering if the coin was treated the same as the porridge.