'Finish what?' they ask, a drop of irritability sliding over their thought-voice's edge again. 'You're hurt, you're bleeding, we...there's a month of this jus' like last year, and you're not gonna be up the whole time, that's stupid.' Even Frisk tries to rest when they've got active wounds. Unless it's an emergency. Red shouldn't have any emergencies, except maybe running away if someone else tries to hurt her, and they can do that for her anyway.
Tell me what you want, she said before, and she wants to help, so they add a half-truth of 'I need some sleep too. Should be beds big enough for both of us.' Even if they end up being those mats on the floor, those're better than the floor only, bare and cold and getting colder. And if they don't feel tired enough to try resting yet, the weight on their back could change that in a little while.
They wander, and listen, though warm instinct directs their attention towards blood or pack or, in general, others now that they're not full of empty, and it's hard to ignore. Chase the rat, bite it or sniff it, explore it, this is their territory now, just like it always has been.
No. They're looking for alcohol, and not the beer or wine kind, those won't work, will they? At least being able to smell so strong means they can pass by doors instead of trying to nose every single one open.
Red shifts. They pause just long enough to be sure she's not going to slide right off.
Gentler. 'Not all the stories are your fault. You're not where my monsters are from, and people killed and locked them up anyway. It's not your fault you're...usually big and scary, is it?'
Frisk looks over their shoulder.
Judgement.
'Don't know,' they venture, 'what people here think you are.' Frisk never asked anyone. They never wanted to aim eyes her way. Some friends would try to kill her if they knew the truth of Frisk's illness, and they'd probably just get killed trying. Or infected, which would be worse. Or even try to steal her power too, and neither of them want that.
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Date: 2018-02-02 07:25 am (UTC)Tell me what you want, she said before, and she wants to help, so they add a half-truth of 'I need some sleep too. Should be beds big enough for both of us.' Even if they end up being those mats on the floor, those're better than the floor only, bare and cold and getting colder. And if they don't feel tired enough to try resting yet, the weight on their back could change that in a little while.
They wander, and listen, though warm instinct directs their attention towards blood or pack or, in general, others now that they're not full of empty, and it's hard to ignore. Chase the rat, bite it or sniff it, explore it, this is their territory now, just like it always has been.
No. They're looking for alcohol, and not the beer or wine kind, those won't work, will they? At least being able to smell so strong means they can pass by doors instead of trying to nose every single one open.
Red shifts. They pause just long enough to be sure she's not going to slide right off.
Gentler. 'Not all the stories are your fault. You're not where my monsters are from, and people killed and locked them up anyway. It's not your fault you're...usually big and scary, is it?'
Frisk looks over their shoulder.
Judgement.
'Don't know,' they venture, 'what people here think you are.' Frisk never asked anyone. They never wanted to aim eyes her way. Some friends would try to kill her if they knew the truth of Frisk's illness, and they'd probably just get killed trying. Or infected, which would be worse. Or even try to steal her power too, and neither of them want that.