Thunder rumbles the world outside. Muffled patters of rain imbibe the silence.

"... Hnff, nh." Crimson's irises gleam with gold though it wisps away quickly. He already knew it was a futile effort but tried anyway, just as he has for the last... who knows how long. An hour or two maybe. Still he lays eyes up at the ceiling, having bothered not to move a muscle after Lippy left. Crimson feels no motivation to get up. There is no reason to.

Not a damn thing is going through his mind. Engulfed in ire and bothered, he couldn't be damned to think. His mouth is still soured from the potion, his eyes feel a pound each, his fingertips feel icy, he's hungry and thirsty. A steadily flowing hatred moves throughout his veins and circulates all over.

At least being alone in silence is far better than dealing with the sociopath that locked him here. He heard her take the front door outside and leave the cabin, but isn't sure where she went or when she'd be back. Hopefully never.

He's going to make her pay, no matter the cost. He had killed men for less than this but he allowed it to happen. He failed to see past her mask of false probity and got rightfully suckered into being chained.

"... Soft," Crimson murmurs to himself. "Pathetic." He clenches his fists enough to pop his fingers, becoming gradually more self-contempt. He lifts his palms to his eyes and presses them harshly. "Fuckin'... god damn it. God... damn it!" He swings his fists from his face to his sides, slamming them on the ground at the same time. He blinks his heavy eyes at the ceiling, rather, past it towards the sky above, staring into the otherworldly beyond. "... This what you had in mind? ... Hm? This'll make me better? Make me grow 'n... 'evolve,'" he gestures air quotes with his fingers then plops his hands back down. "... You did this to humiliate me. Didn'cha? Reckoned you didn't have a sense of humor... findin' it all misfigured. Fancied you the mystical type, curtains 'n shadows... ch. What a joke. This. All of this. A fuckin' joke."

His heart aflame, he knows no one is around to hear him but he can't help but voice his frustration.

"Ain't even A joke. 'Cuz I'm the joke. I'm the clown now. I'm sure you're watchin' me, point'n 'n laughin'. 'Look at this moron,'" he mocks satirically. "Chalk it up while you can. I'll bide my time... just like you are..."

Cli... click

Crimson quiets himself and squints at the ceiling.

Squueeeee...

A door is opening, and it certainly isn't the front door.

Just then, he remembers who it is. He sits up quickly. The door stops, pattering across the wooden floor begins. He mentally traces the sounds, following them through the wall as it approaches the bedroom he is in. Small light-red fingertips line the doorframe, then, a wavy bushel of fire-orange hair and a yellow pair of eyes. The man is almost startled at thinking he's seeing a human version of Lippy, but notes apparent differences.

Crimson and this light-red skinned girl make eye contact for what seems like forever.

The girl then begins to slink into view while keeping low to the ground, exposing more of herself. She is hunched over and holds the top of her knees, making herself seem smaller than she is. By no means is she a tall human, at most four feet and a few inches, about the height of an early teen. Though her facial structure and proportions point that she is older than that. All she wears is an oversized white long-sleeved shirt and... maybe underwear. He can't tell with how long her shirt is.

Crimson notes that her posture is unlike the previous humans he had encountered. Even discounting the aggressive humans that attacked him, the others he saw in the formation and in the Castle's spa, they were only mildly slouched and kept their hands to their sides. It's difficult to gauge what this stature means because of how stern and expressionless her face is, but he can only assume this is some sort of method to illustrate she means no harm.

She quickly glances to her left and right then back at him. She continuously approaches him, and he decides not to move or speak for good measure. As she closes the distance she stops right in front of him. Her eyes trace his figure, from his toes to his eyes.

She crouches down all the way and hugs her knees, looking down at Crimson's pants. Her chin remains tucked between her knees as she ogles. Her right hand opens and slowly reaches towards his pants, though she halts herself midway. Her eyes return to Crimson's and they keep locked for a few seconds, he assumes to gauge his potential aggression. Not that he'd want to, but he couldn't be bothered to attack her.

The man shows no reaction so the girl moves her stare back to his pants. She finishes reaching and pinches it between her thumb and the side of her index finger. She rubs it lightly with both fingers, then tugs on it just as softly. Silk, something he assumes she has never touched before. Satisfied with the texture, she retracts her hand and holds her knee again, glancing up at Crimson's eyes once more.

Crimson blinks back in return, content with letting her do as she will. Speaking or interacting with her in any way might intimidate her, he opts playing it safe.

Just then, the girl rises up and steps backwards. She turns around and jogs out of the room, remaining low and hunched throughout. She disappears past the doorframe to some other part of the house, leaving him to his lonesome.

...

Crimson sighs and slides backwards, resting the back of his head on the side of the bed. He stargazes in thought. He didn't have any expectations for how the first interaction with another passive human was going to be, but at least it wasn't... bad. Weird, but not unpleasant. He assumes she already saw him while he was knocked out. In that time, who knows what that insolent manic Lippy did.

Crimson inhales deeply, still trying to fathom the position he's in. He knows he'll get out eventually... hopefully before Equestria is swallowed by magic gone awry.

Frustration builds at this very thought - the magical anomalies - the things that are destroying Equestria at this very moment at arbitrary intervals. He was trying to stop them, or at least get an understanding of them so someone else could figure it out.

And were did that get him? Chained up like an animal. And now that he thinks of it, he's hardly surprised. The mentality of the ponies towards humans in Equestria has not changed at his arrival. The faces of those he sees in the major cities, the crowds that whistle and fawn over him like some sort of prize... they'd rightfully do the same. Or worse. It's only a matter of giving them the opportunity to do it. Just as it was given to Lippy.

He can't ignore the fact that most ponies he has personally met have been compassionate and friendly, but it really comes around in a full circle. He was a pet when he got here, he was a pet to royalty, and now, he's a pet to a psychopath. Nothing has changed. All of his efforts to help Equestria, change the course of the future for the better, protect those that reside in this world, only to be chained up like an animal again. The very ponies he's trying to save...

His attention is grasp by the teetering again of feet on the wooden floor. Interestingly enough, the girl comes back into view with something in her hands. She holds it in front of her mouth, leaving her eyes exposed to stare at him. The item she holds looks like a stuffed toy, taking the form of a red bunny. She stops at the doorframe to analyze Crimson intently.

The man lifts his left brow.

The girl lowers her head farther and walks into the room. Again, she stops in front of him and comes down onto her knees, heels against her rear. With another prolonged stare, "Hnh," she hums and pushes the plush towards him. The timbre of her voice is rather strong and mature, coinciding well with her appearance.

Crimson shifts his glance between the offered plush and the girl. He reaches his left hand to take the red bunny from her. She relinquishes it and immediately brings her hands to her thighs, eyeing the man with deep intention.

Crimson turns the bunny up and down, left and right. Just a typical stuffed animal. Black beady little eyes and nose, pink on the insides of the ear and belly, stubs for limbs, round, squishy and soft. He returns his stare to the girl, into her intent gaze. Looks like she is expecting something from him, but he's not sure what. He racks his mind on what to do with this thing.

An idea sparks. Out of pure assumption, he takes the bunny and holds it to his chest, as if cherishing a gift from a friend...

... and a slow smile turns on the girl's face. It's hardly noticeable, but...

“Your face. Facial expressions? You know, these things? You're doing it again. Smiling. Humans don’t make faces, unless they’re pissed off. So don’t make any faces. At all."

"Why's anger the only face they make? That don't seem right."

"You're asking the wrong pony, Crim, but that's how it is. So wipe that smile off your face."

Crimson snaps out of his reflection to note the girl approaching him. She is no longer smiling. She steps in between his legs without advertence, regardless, he spreads them a bit to give her room. She holds her palm out towards him and holds it there, appearing anticipant.

With only a slightly delayed reaction, the man lifts his palm and presses it to hers. She stares at the connection they make for its duration. This moment feels as if it goes on for several minutes.

After four seconds, they simultaneously drop the contact. She then reaches her small hands towards his face and cups his cheeks. The man's half lidded eyes gawk back without reaction.

As she holds his face, a demure smile comes again. Whatever it is she's doing, she seems to be enjoying it greatly. She squishes his cheeks softly before moving to his hair. She runs her fingers back through its messy direction a few times, as if combing it to give it a bit of form. She then pulls away, noting some of his hair in between her fingers. She looks at the fallen strands and studies their curly shape.

For this brief moment, Crimson leaves his trouble. Admiring the girl's innocent curiosity, it drives a melancholic peace into his mind. He comes to realize that this may be the first interaction she's had with a human as well. It drives a stake in the assumption that she had already seen him before waking up, especially since the door was closed when he arose.

CLI-CLAK!

Both Crimson and the girl shift to the clamor of the front door. From one moment to the next, the man's fury flares up again. It takes no time for the girl to realize his angst, her brows furrow and she stands up quickly, placing her hands above her knees like before.

"I'm hooome!~" calls a zany voice.

The girl takes a cautious step back and darts her sharpened eyes between him and the door. As hooved steps approach the bedroom, Crimson clenches his fists tighter. He hides the red bunny behind himself under the bed and waits for the four-legged mental condition to appear.

Lippy comes through the doorframe with no signs of being wetted by the rain. Her jerking smile flops at seeing the human girl near Crimson, inhaling for an exaggerated gasp. "Autumn! What are you doing to this poor boy!?"

The girl named Autumn sinks at being scolded, stepping quickly towards Lippy and standing by her side. Though her face doesn't display any form of sadness, only stale and bored.

"Didn't I tell you to WAIT until I got home?"

"Muhn," Autumn hums as she anxiously rubs her knees.

"Hmph! Looks like someone won't be getting their cinnamon crackers tonight!"

The girl turns her eyes away in a manner Crimson can only see as defeated. Though her expression shows no change, the efficacy of her actions exposes her sentiments. The girl doesn't fight or argue against her master, only listens...

... listening. They can understand spoken language.

"Are you hungry, Crimsy?" Lippy asks. "I've got chiiickeeen!"

The man nearly leaps. Chicken?

"Huhuu, from those bright eyes of yours, I know you want it! C'mon, Crimsy, say please! Please!"

"Pehm," Autumn calls.

Lippy snickers and shakes her head, "No, silly girl! I wasn't talking to you! But you get chicken too~"

Crimson darts his eyes between the girl and the pony. His resentment exceeds over his urge to eat something with protein, still, he's so damn hungry.

"C'mon, Crimsy! Say pleeaaase!"

"You ain't gonna hear me beg," he retorts sharply. As he had initially assumed, the girl wasn't keen on hearing him speak. She glares with astoundment and postures visibly more intimidated than before.

"That's no good, lovely boy! You won't be getting any chicken if you don't beg!"

"Peh! Pehm!" the girl nears her owner and pleads.

"Just like precious little Autumn here! She's such a good girl! Maybe she can earn her cinnamon crackers back tonight!"

"Huh!" the girl comes down onto her knees and holds her shoulders by crossing her arms over her chest.

Lippy frazzles her hair with a catholic smile. "Who's a good girl? Who's a good girl?~"

Crimson watches the scene before him in complete disgust. It burns worse in the fact that he knew this was the case. He was told multiple times by multiple ponies that this was the reality of this land. Humans were pets, ponies were their masters... but watching it happen. Watching it unfold in front of him. He feels he's going to be sick. His anxiety is rising, his urge to scream boils in his chest.

I... I wanna go home...

"Last chance, Crimsy! Chicken tonight? Gotta say pleeeaaaase! C'mon! Autumn can't say please, but she tries! Let me hear you say it, I know you can! You won't get anything if you don't! Remember, Crimsy, you're here fooreeeveer! The sooner you relax, the more fun we'll have! I'll make you whatever you want, I'll take you for walks on the mountain! Write you songs, poems! You just need to be a good boy! Say it! Say it, my lovely boy! Say it! I know you can--"

"FUCK YOURSELF, YOU CRAZY WHORE!"

Both the human and Lippy rear back in shock.

...

The air grows cold. Silence presses the bodies of the three in the bedroom. Crimson shoots his dilated pupils at the appalled girl, then to the mare...

... and just when he thinks it couldn't get any worse. She's blushing. His elevated voice sparked a twinkle in her eye.

"Yer not..." Crimson stews in rejection, "... you're shittin' me."

Lippy huffs, batting her eyes rapidly, "... Oh my gosh."

There it is. The confirmation to his agony. The floor under Lippy's tail is moistened, drop by drop by inconceivable lust.

"U-Uuuhm, ehehe~" Lippy whips her tail left and right, her face a flustered mess. "I'll get that cleaned up. I-I need to take care of... personal matters! Eheh! Last chance to beg, Crimsy!" At a loss for words, he only glowers in return. "Mm-nh, t-then, only oats and fruit for you, bad boy! Such a... bad... boy~ Hmf, be right back!" She darts out of the room to another part of the cabin and slams a door behind her.

This leaves him and the girl alone. But not for long. The browbeaten Autumn keeps her hands on her knees, keeps silent, and makes a bashful exit. She didn't even look his way as she left.

Crimson feels a pit form in his stomach. He brings his palms to both of his eyes and presses down his mountain of agonizing frustration. Not only did his outburst stimulate his captor, it pushed away the human girl that was warming up to him. He inhales a stressed breath then releases it brokenly. He drops his hands from his face to inadvertently allow something to drip from his left eye.

"... Nh?"

He smears it off with his index finger. He holds it up to his face and looks at it, at the collection of watered lipids that stain his nail. A... tear.

Something inside his jaded mind loosens. His surroundings come unfocused and time becomes a distant concept. Dipping into dissociation, memories of old flood back to anchor his conscious. Memories of angst and aridity. Tactile voices speak to him as if he hears them in person. Rustic visions display on a lucid stage.

‎

---

‎

"Hit back! Hit back, stupid kid!"

"Ehr! Eghk!"

"You're takin' the fun outta this! Fuckin' hit back! Hrrrgh!" The teen of sixteen growls, halting his fists from the young boy of nine. He gawks bitterly, hating how he doesn't even squirm. The kid takes the blows without trying to block, he takes the abuse like a limp ragdoll. "You ain't gonna make it far in this world if this is how you act, worm. You gotta FIGHT BACK!"

Hit one last time on the cheek, the young boy spits blood onto the desert dirt.

"Right, enough, Marcos," calls another teen who stands behind the assaulter. "We should probably move. Black Spurs prolly gonna make their rounds soon. Cobalt finds us with his kid, we'll be in some shit."

"What? Ain't nothin' wrong with a little 'initiation.' He can take a beatin', he don't even cry when I hit 'em! Imagine if he tried fightin' back? Grow up to be a killin' machine! But he don't fight! He never fights back! Kid's got a stick fer a spine, and ain't no way we're havin' weak pricks ride in the gang!" He glares at the boy. "Toughen up, kid!"

"Don't wanna..." the young boy mumbles through his bruised lips. Both teens glare at him in confusion. "... Don't wanna be... in gang..."

"You shittin' me?" Marcos belts a single laugh. "Spruce, you heard him? He don't wanna be apart of the family!"

Spruce shakes his head, "Ain't an option. The sooner you understand that, the easier things will get. We're family, like yer pa' and yer brother. All of us in the Black Spurs. This gang is who we are, whether you like it or not. Remember what Michael told you, Crimson: if you're in, you're in for life. Even if you don't wanna be."

"... Don't... call me that," the young boy utters angrily and grips the dirt.

"Awww, poor little Crimson gettin' mad? Sister's cutesy nickname makin' you upset? C'mon! Show me how mad you can get!"

"Nah, Marcos, c'mon," Spruce puts his hand on his shoulder. "Quick pickin' on him, we gotta move. Bad enough he'll probably tattle on us."

"Nah. He never does. Least the fuckin' pansy ain't no snitch." With a wicked grin, he stands over the downed boy. "Just remember. You'll be gettin' yer serving of 'these'," he lifts his fist, "every time I see you, until you finally grow a backbone. Crimson." He turns around and marches away towards the setting sun.

Spruce shakes his head, moving slowly to follow his friend. "... Like I said, James. The longer it takes you to accept this, the more it'll hurt. Just some advice."

The young boy remains resting on the ground and stares into the oranging sky. He likes it when the sky looks like this. He remembers that dinner was made about half an hour ago, but he doesn't want his mom to see him like this.

Not once has he lifted a hand against anyone. Ever. But the number of times he has been battered into the dirt is becoming difficult to count. Not just by Marcos, plenty of the gang's kids try to aggravate him so he can finally throw his first fist.

None have yet to succeed. For his mother's sake.

‎

---

‎

Crimson looks down at his open palm. His eyes track the thick callus under each finger, at the multitude of small scars and scrapes that are healing their way out of existence. From hand to fist, he gazes at his rugged knuckles.

Hand and fist. A human's first weapons. Simple in nature, but capable of boundless destruction...

‎

---

‎

"... Oh! Wait, hold this fer me, please, Vi."

"Mm?"

The young boy of ten passes the two empty water buckets he was holding to his sister of the same age. They walk on a dirt path towards a river nearby, where the surrounding environment is a mix of desert flora and leafless trees. "Momma will get angry if I get my new pants dirty," he states as he bends forward to roll up the legs of his jeans.

"Sleeves!"

"Oh, yeah. Sleeves too." He follows through and rolls up the sleeves to his brown shirt. He smiles at his sister and holds his hands out to take the buckets back.

She shakes her head with a modest smile. "I'll carry them! You'll be less tired when we take them home."

"They don't weight nothin', Viola. Lemme hold 'em."

"Mm-mm! Save your energy, little brother." She commences her stride with a peppy skip, holding the water buckets by the handle and letting them rattle. The young boy moves into a jog to keep up with her.

"Don't go so far ahead, Vi! I'm supposed to be watchin' you, remember?"

"I don't remember that! Because I'm supposed to be watching you!"

"That's not what momma said!"

The two children bicker playfully as they make pace to the stream of steadily flowing water. The boy takes the buckets from his sister and approaches the bank. He sets one bucket down and crouches to fill one up first. After it brims, he uses both hands to heave it up and onto the bank. He takes the handle of the second bucket and dips it into the water next.

"Crimson?"

"Yeah?" he says, still watching water fill the bucket.

"Do we know those men?"

He turns from his task to glance at what his sister is referring to. Indeed, he sees two grown men smiling and waving at them, approaching from their right along the river bank. They look ragged, dirty, and definitely over enthusiastic. One of them is thinner and taller while the other is stout and wide. "... I don't think so. Maybe dad's friends?"

"... M-Maybe," the young girl clasps her hands together over her groin anxiously. The boy finishes filling the water bucket and heaves it onto the bank with a grunt.

"Hey there!" the taller man calls out, lifting his cigarette into the air. As they get closer, the boy's sister nears him and pinches his upper sleeve to calm herself. "You two young ones out here fetchin' water?"

Both children don't immediately respond. Only after a moment does the boy nod.

"Dang!" the wider man calls, his voice more gravely than his partner, "only two'a you 'n carryin' back them pales? Heavier'n sin they look! Need'sm help gettin'm home?"

The boy shakes his head. "Thank you, mister, but I can carry 'em."

"You can?" the taller man chuckles. "Stronger'n you look, boy! Go on then! Get them buckets! Wanna see it with my two eyes, I do!"

The boy and the girl exchange wary glances. The brother purses his lips and moves to grab the two pales, having his sister let go of his sleeve. He moves down to grip the bucket handles...

"GOT'CHA!"

"AAAAAAAAAH!"

The boy's heart thumps in his ear, snapping towards the scream of his sister.

The larger man slipped over to snatch her up and hold her hostage while the taller man ran forward to throw a punch at the boy who just lifted his head.

And he dodges it. The man's punch grazed the boy's cheek and missed, causing him to lose balance and tumble forward right onto the water buckets. The boy leaps backwards to avoid getting splashed on.

"What in the hell're you doin', shit-fer-brains!?" the fat man scolds his comrade. "We got our honeymoon! Quit fuk'n 'round 'n lay the kid out already!"

"CRIMSU-HU-HU-HUN!" the girl cries out desperately, kicking at the man's stomach.

The tall man looks at the soggy cigarette between his fingers, seeing it put out by the water. He grits and throws it on the ground. "Rrh! You little shit! C'mere!" He rises from the ground with clenched teeth, stomping his way towards the boy. With a roar, he leaps forward and reaches out to clasp him with both hands.

The boy ran forward to duck underneath him. The tall man hits the ground again, covering his face with mud and dirt.

"DAMN IT, CLED!" the large man shouts angrily, reaffirming his grip on the girl a little too tightly.

"Eelk!" she squeals at her chest being pressed in.

The boy gawks with trembling pupils at his sister. Her cries of pain and discomfort are shredding his heart, it feels as if it might rip. And due to this distraction, the tall man comes behind the boy and latches onto him with a rear choke.

"Got'cha, you little SHIT! RGH! HRRRH!" The man tightens his grip around the boy's neck.

Though gagging and gritting, the boy doesn't look away from his sister. The fat monster is crushing her, and it's hurting him. It's hurting him to watch her suffer.

"HURRY UP 'N CHOKE HIM OUT ALREADY, IDIOT!" the fat man hollers.

"WHAT DO YA' THINK I'M DOIN'!?"

"CRUSH'IM HARDER! HOW HARD IS IT TO BREAK HIS STUPID 'LIL NECK!?"

"RHEEAAA!"

Saliva trickles down the sides of the choking boy's mouth... but he only watches his sister. He watches her losing consciousness. He watches... a tear. A glittering golden drop trickles from the corner of her left eye.

"Embrace what you are, and what you stand for."

"Shield, protect, survive."

"For their life, you give your own."

"Hw--WHAT THE--!?" the large man recoils.

"RRRH! WHAT!?" the tall man howls in confusion to his partner's trepidation. He then feels small hands reach for his forearm, and like a titanium clamp, pain rockets at the boy crushing it. "Ah-AH-AAAAAH! AAOH GOD!"

The tall man releases his stranglehold, and when he does, the boy darts towards the fat man faster than his slow self can react. Able only to backpedal two steps, the fat man is leapt upon by the boy, planting both feet on his shoulders. Clasping the fat man's head, he drives both of his thumbs into respective eye sockets.

"GYOH-GYOAAAAH! MOTHER'A GAH-- AAAHAAA!"

With a grueling squish of flesh, the boy sinks his thumbs as deep as he can. The golden sockets that are his eyes blaze furiously as he twists inside the fat man's head. Paralyzed from pain, he releases the girl.

The boy kicks off the fat man's chest and shoves him towards the ground, leaving him to scream his woe. He takes something off the fat man's writhing body before turning like a sentry to his next initiative. He aims his attention to the taller man. His forearm is bruised a grotesque black-ish purple, leaving his right arm lame. The boy watches him struggle to unsheathe his revolver using his off-hand.

"Fuckfuckfuck, for the love'a christ, fuck! C'mon, c'mon, c'mo--"

PAOW!

The tall man's head notches back. His mouth hisses saliva as blood trickles down his forehead from a fresh gun wound. He tilts backwards and slams onto the dirt like a sack of cement, dead before impact.

The boy had stolen the fat man's revolver and swiftly used it with both hands, achieving victory in his first ever showdown. He walks towards the river bank and hastily washes his bloodied hands off, as well as the revolver. After clean enough not to dirty his sister, he dries his hands on his shirt and pulls back down his sleeves and pant legs. He comes to his sister's side and crouches to give her a hug, gun in hand. She whimpers against him, resting her right ear on his chest.

"Are you okay, Vi?" the angelic boy's voice echoes as he examines her, seeing that she'll get some bruises but nothing more. She only nods, briefly turning her eyes to the squealing pig then to the ground. Following his sister's glance, the boy's sunfire gaze directs at the fat man who still rolls in his torture. Using his free hand, he covers his sister's left ear so a second gun shot doesn't have to hurt her hearing.

Where the fat man's eyeballs used to be are pockets of blood, his face is a mess of mucus and spit from wailing in pain. He slowly tries sitting up against a dying tree. "GOD JUST TAKE ME! OOHOHOHO GOD!"

With the pull back of the hammer, the .357 spits mercy to the begging cretin, lodging lead into the side of his head. Matter paints the tree behind him and he falls back down, he kicks and grumbles for a few seconds longer, then... he stops.

It all goes silent. Only the flowing of river water to drown the little girl's sobs.

The boy carelessly drops the weapon and looks down to his sister. He helps her onto her feet and holds her by her arms. Just the sight of her beautiful, innocent face soothes the inferno in his heart. He pats down her blue dress at her chest, back, stomach and hips to take the grime off of it. As he does, she lifts her face to his.

With a sniffle and sigh, she shakes her head in disappointment. "You're covered in mud," she says as she pats him down the same way. "If I don't get it off, momma is gonna be mad." She continues swiping at his hair and back, trying to clean him off the best she can.

"... Least I didn't get my pants dirty," the boy smirks as his eyes slowly fade back to their hazel selves. To this, the girl has no reply. She only leans him to hug him. The boy moves to sweep her off her feet, carrying her like his bride. He makes a slow, steady pace back to his grandfather's home.

‎

---

‎

Thunder booms outside the cabin, briefly returning the man back to reality... but only briefly. He hears commotion in the kitchen, the sizzling of something being cooked. Then, the smell of chicken. Tasty, decadent chicken... the one that he won't be having. Whatever. He's more exhausted than hungry.

Crimson tilts to the side until he falls over, hitting the wooden floor with the side of his head. It hurt, but... who cares.

He closes his eyes and... hopes. Hopes that he'll wake up next to Viola again.

...

"Crimsyyy!~ Do you like your oats dry or with milk--" Lippy sings as she trots into the bedroom with a sizable bowl in hoof. Her brows raise at seeing the man knocked over. With a giggle, she leers her head close to the ground to analyze his face. Her profound intuition sedates her suspicion. "... Hmh, good thing I didn't put the milk in the oats yet~" she beams happily and confidently moves closer to him. She sets the bowl down on the ground nearby and plants a kiss on the side of his head.

She flutters her eyelids at his motionless form, staying well within grasping range with a smile of adore. She takes this opportunity to scan around, looking for something in particular...

"There it is," she murmurs quietly to herself as she peers behind him, seeing a certain stuffed animal hidden away under the bed.

Satisfied, she turns back and exits the bedroom, letting the man sleep to his heart's content. Pacing now to the living room, Lippy stops at her lumber rack and tosses two more logs into the fire. Since Crimson isn't sleeping with a blanket, she'll raise the temperature of the cabin a bit more to make up for it.

Her hearted eyes stare at the fire, her chest nearly bursts with joy. "Soon," she whispers. "Soon she'll get what she always wanted."

Next Chapter: Well-Nigh Innocent Estimated time remaining: 17 Hours