Cynical Depression

My eyes snapped open. Even in the suffocating darkness, I found myself beginning to relax. The noise had come from outside my door, from the sounds of it, the little ones were playing a rather rowdy game of tag. I sat up, shifting so I could lean back against the wall, a flick of my wrist illuminating the room with dull light. What little concrete wall was peeking through my décor absorbed much of the light. Another bang interrupted the silence, followed by some shouts in protest. I reached for my phone, the light of the screen blinding me. It was only 7 am. Figures. I rolled my eyes as I began to swipe through my messages. Another email from the mayor with a request for a sit down, five emails from the bank on First Street pleading for their money back, and one email from Love. I stopped my scroll and stared at the name. Why would Love be contacting me? I didn’t miss a meeting or kill anyone this week last I checked…

A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. I slid my phone into the pocket of my sweatpants before heading to the door and sliding it open.

“Hello Depression, what can I do for you?”

“I apologize for waking you sir, but there is something that requires your attention.” Depression tilted his head up, his sandy blonde hair falling back to reveal freckles. He was dressed in denim jeans with a white tee and a leather jacket, the collar pulled up to cover his neck.

“Sorry to say Depression that the honor of waking me has gone to the kids who were playing tag. Why don’t you come in while I get ready?” I turned and headed towards the bathroom in the corner of my room. Depression slipped through the door before closing it and standing at attention.

“Depression, how many times do I have to tell you that when it’s just us you can relax? Take a seat on the beanbag or something,” I said, waving my hand in its direction. Depression rushed to follow my request, per usual, and took up residence on my bean bag; his tiny body becoming fully immersed as the bag accepted his weight. I watched him begin to gaze around the room, calculating and impassive as always.

“So,” I said as I closed the bathroom door and began to undress, “what is this thing that needs my attention?”

“Reports of Halos in our territory, sir. Joy, Delight and Mischief were seen loitering in front of the Prankster’s Bar on 34th street.” I flushed the toilet and began to brush my teeth, mulling over Depression’s words. Upon exiting the bathroom, I snatched my jacket and dagger before heading towards the door. A rustle was the only indication that Depression had followed me. “You’re telling me that Love sent his lieutenant, his wench and your sister into our territory then proceeded to simply have them loiter in front of a bar? I guess I should have read that email.”

“What email sir?” Depression sidled up along my left side, his face twitching as he attempted to quell his surprise.

“I received an email from Love sometime last night but haven’t had a chance to look at it. I figured it was no big de..” My words were cut off as Depression thrust me into the wall, his hands caging me in as I caught my breath. If he wasn’t so short he probably would have had a hand on my throat. I stared down at him, smirking as his face began to redden.

“You’re telling me, that you received contact from the King of Halo’s and diDn’T FUCKING TELL ME! Jesus Cynical, it’s like you want us to be attacked.” Depression threw his hands into the air, simultaneously releasing me from my cage before crossing his arms and taking a step back towards the middle of the hallway.

“Depression, chill,” I said, pushing off the wall. “I know I made you my lieutenant and you don’t think I take my job as leader seriously, but I would never do anything that would put us or the rest of the group in danger. Love would never announce an attack via email. It’s probably just another list of self-help books that he wants me to read.” I sighed, reaching out to pull Depression into a hug; his head barely reaching my collarbones and his hair falling to cover his face. His body tensed before accepting it, relaxing momentarily before pushing away.

“Why don’t you go check on Angst and see if she needs any help with the training room reconstruction,” I suggested. Depression gave a slight nod before turning away.

“Oh, Depression,” he stopped before turning back to face me. “You should call me Cynical more often.” I swiveled and began to stalk down the hall, smiling at the shock on Depression’s face as he realized his slip up. Six years and he still thinks he needs to call me “sir.” Oh well, he’ll figure it out eventually.