"I don't have to--what if I don't want to."

"Then I'll just kill you. What happens if I kill you?"

"...I die?"

"Yeah."

"I hate you."

Clay laughs. "You don't hate me."

"No, no, I definitely do."

"No, you don't. --I still need payment, you know, for what you took."

"I thought I had to, like, sew for you or whatever."

"Well, yeah, but that was before you threatened me."

"Soooo does that mean I get to keep it?"

"No, it means you have to give me your mana now. Maybe some of your things, too, we'll go through your room later."

"I'm not going to give you my things! They're my things!"

"Tommy. Give me your mana." He holds out his hand expectantly.

"Or what, bitch?"

"Orrrrr I will kill you."

"What, like, fully kill me?"

"Yes."

...Fuck it, he'll call that bluff. What's the worst that could happen?

"I don't care."

Well. He gave Tommy a shot at doing this the nice way.

He hits Tommy, hard, and takes the mana.

(He... hasn't actually done any maleficing, before. He's done some cheating, maybe, before he came into the scholomance, taking from furniture and buildings and bugs, but-- not like this. It feels... good. It's not even that much mana, really--or, well, it's not mana, is it, not like this, it's malia--but it's a rush, heady and gratifying.)

"Take me to your room."

"Okay, okay, I definitely-- pain still hits different."

It's weird, to watch Clay go through his things like this, making hm noises and sorting them into two piles. On the left is his mana crystals, two of Wilbur's shirts, one pair of his pants, Terrence's knife, his backpack, his notebook, Toby's explosives, some scraps of material, two spare tokens, two pencils, and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. On the right is Henry and Shroud and Linda and Phukkit and Toby's water bottle and one pen and his baby blanket and his half-done homework and his music box with Over the Rainbow in it.

Clay takes the pile on the left.

"Am I in shock?" Tommy asks, staring at his ever-more-empty room.

"That all of it?"

"...Yeah."

"Great." He takes a moment to think, rummages around in his bag, and tosses a packet of very-expired kettle corn next to Tommy on the bed. "Here, you can have this."

"I don't want your fucking pity stuff. Fuck you." Clay is getting the packet thrown right back at him.