You point towards the noise Crockett is making, backing towards it.

"Go ahead." Palmer encourages, putting a hand on Delilah's shoulder. "We'll stay here and wait for grandma."

Delilah nods. "Right. And then we can talk after and um, get you fixed up." Hand on to your shoulder, you nod before turning towards the noise.

As you walk, the footsteps echo through the strangle empty room. Too little rests inside the spacious area, though you can only guess what had filled this place before.

The ajar door that dots the hallway gives away Crockett's location, mostly silent now as you take weary steps. Unlike what little you've seen of the house, this room is nearly overwhelming with the clutter. Boxes upon boxes take up much of the space, some pushed away to create a narrow walkway to a wooden desk. Slumped in the chair behind it sits Crockett, head in his hand as he mutters to himself.


Standing at the doorway, you let him know you're here with a quick knock. A flash of silver dips into his coat as he motions for you to walk in, sitting up to appear presentable now. "Delilah seeing Mrs. Esposito?" he asks, trying to act like nothing has happened. The lamp knocked over to the ground tells you otherwise, and with a sigh he gives up the facade. "Come in, shut the door." You follow his instructions, trying to carefully wade through the narrow mess.


"Had a message from the hospital," he starts to explain, "The one Denise is at- Del's mom. Was trying to have her brought here before Delilah, figured that way she'd have one less thing to worry bout. Ran into a few snags along the way with that, and now they're trying to tell me one of the reasons she can't leave is cause she's under some sort of quarantine."

You mouth back the last word to him, confused. She might have had a few loose screws last time Delilah saw her, but she hadn't been under any sort of quarantine.


"Might be too strong of a word. Something risky showed up in some of her blood work, and they don't know what to do about it. They've got her separated from other patients in the meantime though, just to be safe. Doesn't help that she's also under investigation for causing a fire that killed her 'daughter'." Crockett stares at the mug on his desk, finally taking an extended drink from it. From the way he shudders at it, you really doubt that there's only coffee in there.

"Course, we can prove that Delilah is here and healthy. Still leaves us with a dead girl and an unknown arsonist though," he absentmindedly fans through papers and photos on the desk, and you notice a small frame that rests carefully on the edge of the clutter. "Would like to prove Denise innocent, and at least figure out who this mysterious girl is. Best we can do for her now is make sure her headstone has the proper name."

He notices your stare of the frame and hands it over, picking up his mug again. In it you see a woman looking back towards the camera, long blonde hair partially covering a tired and unhappy face. In her arms she holds a young girl, looking up at the camera with wide gray eyes.


"Got that from the apartment," he explains, "It was in Denise's bedroom, tucked away in a dresser. Doesn't Delilah look just like her in that picture?" You nod, noticing the singes at the edge of the photo. It returns to its rightful spot on the desk, Crockett's eyes fixated on it.

"Shame neither of them are smiling in it," he mumbles, "Denise has a pretty nice smile, I can see it on her daughter too."


You feel woozy, knowing that it would be best for you to find a bed soon. Crockett seems to be thinking over personal stuff right now, but the whiff of alcohol you catch from his mug doesn't spell out anything good.


>Let Crockett vent, try to keep him sober
>It would be better to give him some space, he's earned a drink
>Write-in

>>1545556
>Let Crockett vent, try to keep him sober

>>1545556
>Let him vent with a drink.
>Ask for some too

>>1545556
>It would be better to give him some space, he's earned a drink

You stay here, deciding to ignore the pain in your shoulder for the meantime.

Crockett takes another drink, sneering at the bitterness. "Seems pretty sad, doesn't it? Having a picture of a wife and daughter that aren't even mine. But even after all this time, I still just remember the Denise that would sit in my car and was fine with just driving all night. Never complained about the radio sounding like shit, or the fans only working sometimes... She was just happy to go somewhere that wasn't home." He pauses, staring at the photo once more.


You point at the mug, getting his attention again.

"What, you want some?" he asks, grinning a bit. The silver from his coat comes back out, and after topping his coffee up once more the flask trades over to your hand. "Here, bet you'd prefer it straight anyways. While we're at it, why not a toast?" The mug comes up and you raise the flask to join it, clinking the two together.

"For a, mostly, successful good job today." He punctuates it with a long swig, and you follow. The whisky burns you throat and warms your chest, returning the flask shortly after. The picture frame replace the mug in his hand, tracing a finger over it before falling back into his chair again.


"I uh, remember the night Denise told me she was pregnant." Crockett is looking off and away, unfocused as he returns the alcohol. "We'd been driving 'round some back roads, nothing really out of the usual. Ended up with a nail in one of my tires, and was too stupid to have a spare. Left us on the side of the road, so we just waited for someone to drive by, Talked about some of the usual nonsense, or at least I was. Thought Denise had fallen asleep, when she finally speaks up. Said it so bluntly too... 'I'm pregnant'. And I uh...and for a moment there I'm thinking to myself that I'm ah...that I'm about to be a father..."


His voice wavers on the last word, falling silent as he tries to compose himself. "We weren't really dating, and her other relationship was really rocky. Swore that one of them was gonna end up calling it off soon, but then a baby came into the mess. Denise swore it-, that Delilah wasn't mine. Something about the timing not matching up right, but still had that fear in the back of my mind. But I convinced myself to hold back fighting it, she'd be better off with a doctor for a husband and father. But from what I've heard, that wasn't enough to make it work. And, apparently, he wasn't too keen on getting hitched either. And now when I look at her, it's pretty obvious that I'm not Delilah's dad."

The frame returns to its place, though Crockett's hand remains resting on the top. He lets out a long sigh, shaking his head.

"Even now, I want to be there to help them both. I don't know if I could ever replace her dad, but even if she's not mine I want to help Delilah. I can't help but think of her as my daug-...ah, dammit..." Once again he trails off, mumbling under his breath this time. You try to think of something to say, but feel yourself start to sway where you stand.


"Here I am feeling sorry for myself, and you're about to fall asleep on your feet. Why don't you head back? I'm sure Dr. Rizzo would take a look at you right now, get you set up for the night. Looks like you could use a couple weeks worth of sleep. I'll just stay in here for a bit and uh..." he looks into his now empty mug, "I'll try not to hurt myself too much. Thanks for listening to me ramble."

You wave him off, heading back the way you came. If you weren't so tired right now, you'd have hoped to say more to Crockett back there. He did genuinely seem glad that you stayed to listen though, and that might have been the best you could have done.


Delilah and Palmer are gone from where they were when you left, and the soft mummer of conversation down the other part of the living room let you know where they are. There's not a lot of energy left in you right now, but the first thing you should do is;


>Talk to Mrs. Esposito
>Get seen by Dr. Rizzo
>Ask Palmer about your parents
>Write-in

>>1548249
>Get seen by Dr. Rizzo

>>1548249
>Talk to Mrs. Esposito

As you walk across the concrete floor, it becomes even more obvious that this place was built with safety over comfort in mind. It's secure and keeps out the snow though, and that's all that matters to you. Chills start to shake your limbs, though you can't be sure if that's from the dark chill this place gives off or if it's your body being pushed further than it should.

Palmer leans against a wall, low light coming from the half cracked door she stands at. She nods in your direction as you approach, moving upright.

"What is it? Are we okay?" she asks and you just nod. It may not be ideal, but it's nothing that can't be explained later.


"Good," Palmer says, pointing back to the room behind her, "Delilah is in there with her grandmother and Camilla, did you want to see the doctor?" You nod and she motions for you to follow. Walking past the room, you take a peek inside to see Delilah standing at the side of a large bed. You leave their conversation uninterrupted as Palmer takes you another room just down the hall, knocking at the door frame.


"You free, Dr. Rizzo?" she calls in.

A low voice heavy with an accent responds from inside, "Come in."

Palmer moves out of the way to let you in, stopping you for a quick moment. "I'm heading out soon. I'll go talk to Ace before I go, but try to take it easy now." She gives your uninjured shoulder a quick pat before leaving you with the doctor.


A room much more kept up than the one Crockett has taken up, it could almost resemble a normal office if not for the barred up window. The doctor, a man much older than Camilla, doesn't look back as he points for you to sit, digging through a cabinet in front of him. You go to the examination bench, grateful for the chance to lay back on it. Rizzo remains quiet, coming over with a small table of supplies and sits in a chair beside you.

"Remove your shirt." He pulls on gloves as you disrobe, leaving the bandage in place.

"One bullet?" he asks, cutting away the gauze. You nod, noticing that his pinky and ring finger on his right hand are missing from the second joint. He starts speaking again, but you can't understand anything that he says.

"Questo fa ma-" he starts to repeat, realizing halfway through that you don't speak the language. "Does it hurt when you move?"

You shake your head.

"Do the tips of your fingers feel numb? Move them for me." Following his orders, you wiggle the fingers on your right hand. There is a bit of pain that shoots through your shoulder, something that Rizzo notices.


"Might hurt, but doesn't look too bad. I will clean it up and dress the wound. Keep an eye on it for a while, are you right handed?" Another nod from you. "Then it better to leave it in. We would risk damaging your nerves and uh, what is the word..." He starts to disinfect the wound again, wracking his brain for the word. "We do not want you to lose use of your hand."

You let him know that you understand, trying to keep your eyes open.

"I apologize. I came down to America in '63, and I still am learning the language. When I'm done here, I will give you something to help you sleep through the night."


It doesn't seem likely that you'll actually sleep well, even with how tired you are. But you aren't about to turn down the offer, and just wait for Rizzo to finish. As he starts wrapping you up again he speaks up, "I was informed about the girl's condition. About the blood."

You stiffen up when he says this, still not quite used to other people talking about it so openly.

"I have some here for her, but I do not believe it. A little girl...needing sangue? Blood? It sounds like something a madman would say. You have been with her for a while though, yes? Have you seen her do it?"

"Yes."

"So you can speak. You have seen her do it? Seen her drink the blood? Who's?"


You're ready to answer, to let him know that you've been the main source for Delilah's relief. As you think about how that may sound out loud, you can't help but feel weird about the answer. Like you're about to be judged for how you respond, that you should feel like some sort of freak for being so willing for the job. Rizzo already thinks the idea is crazy anyways, you can't imagine how he would think of you for it.


>Mostly your own blood, be honest
>Sometimes yours, don't let him know how much
>Tell him that it has just been a few people, don't mention yourself
>Write-in

>>1550134
>Sometimes yours, don't let him know how much
Still honest, but less like she needs to gorge herself frequently.

"Mine. Sometimes." It's barely there, but you see Rizzo's eyebrow lift up at this.

"I see. Will have to ask you more questions. But for now, give me your arm." Following his direction, you feel even woozier when Rizzo holds your arm in one hand and a syringe in the other. You barely look away in time as the needle pieces through your skin, doing your best to not pull away.


"So tense..." mummers Rizzo, "Was all I had at the moment. New supply supposed to come in soon, have only been taking care of signora Esposito, so I do not much else on hand. Though I expected tough guy to not be afraid of needles. You will let me fix that later, yes?" He gestures to your cheek, and you can only nod at any of his demands while you avoid looking at the needle. "I was thinking you had received such a mark by being in a cosca. Happened to me."


The needle can not get away from you faster, and you start to rise up. Rizzo mentions something about taking you to a room, but the entire trip over is a slow blur. He tells you things to notice going wrong, when to ask for help, but you can barely listen to any of it. Most you can recall is finally walking into a room, one that actually feels like it would belong in a real home, and letting yourself fall to the bed. You take just enough care to make sure you aren't laying on you shoulder, and let your eyes stay close.

It might only just be evening, but the day is over for you.

...


The dull pain in your right side wakes you up, though you don't have the strength to rise up. You stay laying in the bed, eyes closed as you reach up and touch over where it hurts. It's nothing too intense, feeling sore more than anything, and you probably have the morphine to thank for that. There's a small rustle as you try to ride out the pain, and through the dark you look over to find Delilah sitting next. Resting her head and arms against the space on the mattress, she starts to stir.

"Mm...are you awake...?" she whispers, rubbing at her eyes.

"Yeah." Your mouth is painfully dry, the word barely coming out.

"I didn't mean to fall asleep here." Delilah leans up on her elbows, yawning. Next to her rests the cassette player, the headphones still around her neck. "I wanted to say good night, but you weren't waking up. It's um... I think it's been a few hours. I'm not sure... there's not too many windows in here." She passes over a glass of water, pausing as she lets you drink.


"I got to talk to my grandma for a little bit," she says as you pass the empty cup back, "She couldn't get out of bed though and was really tired. I only got to say hello for a little bit, she's um... I-I guess she's sick or something." It's easy to hear her tear up as she talks, trying to rub away the tears before they come. "S-She has to have surgery soon... they have to take her somewhere else for it. Doctor Rizzo said he can't do it here."

You just pat her on the shoulder as Delilah whimpers at the thought, giving her time to collect herself.

"When?" you dare to ask.


"Um, soon. They're w-waiting on something but they wouldn't tell me what..." Her sleeve dries her tears and she sits up, trying to appear okay. "And my mom is still at the hospital. The same one from before, and um..." She tries to hide a yawn, quickly apologizing for it. "I'm sleepy too, I'm sorry. Crockett is going down to visit her, and said it would be okay if I went to. I think I will, I want to see if she's okay and if she r-remembers anything else. And- um, maybe I shouldn't say that..." She stops short, but the way she fiddles with the headphone cord it's obvious that she wants to tell you whatever it is that's on her mind.

"What is...it?" you ask, holding her hand next to try and keep her still.


"I don't think I was supposed to hear it, but um...I was trying to find the bathroom and got a little lost, and Crockett- I think he wants me to call him Ace... um, anyways, he was talking on the phone with someone. He was kinda loud and I think he m-... might have been drinking a little. I shouldn't have, but I s-stayed and listen and he mentioned...mentioned um..." She looks back towards the door, then motions for you to lean in. Cupping her hand around you ear, Delilah whispers to you;


>Information about the person who started the apartment fire
>Something about the body found after the fire
>The full reason her mother is being kept at the hospital

>>1551642
>Take the gun out the drawer, load the magazine and place the tip in your mouth.. Take a deep breath and pull the trigger

>>1551642
>The full reason her mother is being kept at the hospital
Deepest Lore

>>1551642
>The full reason her mother is being kept at the hospital

"He was talking about Mom, about her being at the hospital..." Delilah's hushed voice sounds grim already, and doesn't get any better as she continues. "I didn't understand all of it, and I could only hear what he was saying but I th-...I t-think my mom has st-... that she has street rot." She sobs out the last part and holds on to you, unable to hold it back now. You ignore any of the pain or soreness you feel and let her cry against you, letting her continue talking.


"H-He said it, he s-said something about her and having it. Th-They k-kept using some other name, but then h-he started getting mad, and kept trying t-to ask how she got s-... street rot in a hospital...a-and apparently s-she went in with it and-" Her hands clench up as she whimpers again, pressing her forehead against your arm. "And with Grandma's heart being b-bad right now I'm.. I'm really scared. I'm scared to see my mom, I don't want to see her l-looking like she's... like she's going to die. I don't want my grandma to die, I'm... I'm so scared...!"


You sit up better, grunting a bit as you feel your shoulder burn. Delilah continues to hold on and you let her, having a hand pet through her hair to help her calm down.

"Remember...Jessica?" you ask, waiting for Delilah to look up and nod.

"Y-Yeah. She had it too..."


"She was...fine. Took...medicine." You remember the day you had found out she was sick with street rot, and being amazed that it hardly showed. You'd seen others on on the street with it before, those who looked like corpses barely holding on to life, yet here was this girl- peppy and going through life as normal as possible. Had Sam not told you what it was, you might have just thought she was diabetic, not someone who with a sharp knife cutting their short life.

"Illegal medicine," Delilah sniffs, "I remember what they said. She had to h-have those shots, and Sam had to g-get them illegally."

"Worked...though. Can do...the same."

"But they won't let her out of the hospital..."

"They'll...find way. Crockett...will." You aren't going to go in the finer details, that's something he'll have to tell Delilah himself.


"Do you think so?" You nod, and while Delilah looks calmer she still doesn't look much happier. "I'm um... I'm still a little scared to have her around here though... Is that bad?"

"No. Not bad." You go ahead and hug her properly now, hearing her take deep breaths now. Staying like this, you almost think she's fallen asleep but Delilah's voice rises up between you both.

"He was there..." she mumbles, "He was actually there. Why me...? Why can't he leave me alone?" The burn in your chest makes you worry that you already know the answer, but you refuse to believe it. There's no way you're the same as the man who babbled on like a lunatic today, and you sure as hell can't let her think that either. You don't want to be the cause of nightmares for her, and wish you could take away the ones she has now.


>Tell Delilah that she'll have justice for what happened to her
>Talk about taking a trip away from this, when the time is right
>Ask Delilah if she wants to pose for a new portrait later
>Write-in

>>1552695
>Talk about taking a trip away from this, when the time is right
>Ask Delilah if she wants to pose for a new portrait later

>>1552695
>Tell Delilah that she'll have justice for what happened to her
>Talk about taking a trip away from this, when the time is right

>>1552695
>Talk about taking a trip away from this, when the time is right
>Ask Delilah if she wants to pose for a new portrait later

"Listen..." You can see that Delilah is trying to keep her eyes open now, and you too feel more than ready to fall asleep again. "Trip. Together. You and...me."

"A trip?" She asks, yawning as she talks. "Where to?"

"Camping. By beach. Where you...want. Right?"

Delilah nods, "I want to see the ocean finally. I want to walk on the sand and find seashells... When? When would we go?"

"When safe." The vague answer lets her down slightly, you can feel her shoulders drop down in a response. "Will be...soon." Delilah stays quiet, but you know she hasn't fallen asleep yet. You don't doubt that she's been letdown by promises in the past, but you're fully set on making it happen. "Will take...motorcycle."


"A motorcycle? Isn't it kind of a long drive though?"

"Is fine. Explore...way there. Road trip."

"Hm..." She's thinking it over, trying to imagine what it would be like.

"Be model...for now. Need you...for portrait."

"But you don't have the one you already worked so hard on-"

"New one. Even better...one. Will finish..it." You keep stroking her hair, feeling her relax more.

"Grandma would like to see that."

"Good. Model needs...to sleep."

Delilah refuses to let go, adding "I am trying to sleep."

"In bed."

"This is a bed." You can't imagine the way Delilah is hanging on to you is too comfortable, but you're proven wrong when she falls asleep with her cheek pressed against your chest. It's been a hard day for her too, and you aren't about to make it worse. Instead you just keep an arm around her, keeping her from sliding off the edge of the bed. Your plan was to, of course, take her off to her own bed in a bit. But listening to her rhythmic breathing, you manage to feel calm enough to sleep past any pain you feel at the moment.

Once again, you're sleeping hard till a soft voice stirs you awake again.

"Excuse me, Mr. Talbot?" Camilla's voice at the door jerks you awake, Delilah whining in her sleep at the sudden movement. Arm still around her, you prepare to try and explain why she's in your bed instead of her own. Your head feels groggy, the painkiller from earlier still having its effect on you. Camilla doesn't seem bothered though, standing poised and professional.

"Er..." You're not quick to come up with anything anyways, just trying to keep your voice down instead now. "Y-...Yes?"

"I didn't mean to wake you. It's almost noon, and I am suppose to check on you. Both of you are fine, yes?" Camilla, though much softer than Rizzo, still speaks same as he does. The accent hides behind her gentle inflection, though you can't imagine her being in the same line of work as her older counterpart.

"Yeah. She uh...scared. Gets scared...at night." Finally you offer a quick excuse, flinching when your shoulder moves a bit too much. "Hurts...a bit."

"I can give something for that if you like." You nod and Camilla motions for you to follow. Carefully, you switch places with Delilah on the bed, hushing her when she starts to stir. Camilla waits patiently, and walking over to her makes you realize just how sore you really are.

Following her, your heavy footsteps echo in the empty halls. You find it strange to see Camilla again, expecting perhaps another one of Mrs. Esposito's staff to come at some point. You're taken again to Rizzo's office, though the man himself seems to be missing. You take a seat once more, clenching up when you see Camilla preparing a syringe.

"Do not worry, the doctor told me that you do not like needles. I have little needles, the kind we use for kids. You can handle that." She's still smiling as she says this, but you feel stupid for it all the same. You look away as she cleans a spot on your arm, trying not to tense up too much.

"It is nice that you let her sleep with you like that." Camilla talks as she presses the needle in, going slow with the whole process. "She must have awful nightmares about that man. When I was still in Italy, I worked at a hospital there. A poor one, the church often had to pay for its patients. We sometimes got others like her, girls and boys hurt by terrible people. Some could not sleep at night- No matter how much I said they were safe, they would see monsters in their sleep. I could only hold their hand while they cried, so I am glad she can sleep with you."

She places a bandaid over the spot, disposing of the needle now. "Ah, and Ace asked me to give you something today. He is supposed to be back later, but left a folder on his desk that I am supposed to give you. Something about your friends, I think?" You nod, remembering when you had asked him to get the information for you.


Camilla seems pretty informed on what has been going on, and being friendly doesn't hurt either.

>Do you have any questions for her?

>>1554972
Hear her out on whatever happened after we left Mrs. Esposito's. She rushed us out the door with a vague warning about cars, and the place was deserted when we came by some time after.

>>1554972
>>1557473
This works
Also ask her about what she thinks of this situation. I know she's only hired help but it would be interesting to get an outsiders opinion on things.

You motion at Camilla for a pen and paper, waiting patiently as she gathers them. As you prepare to write like normal there's a quick twinge in pain through your arm, and Camilla is quick to notice.


"It might be a bit before you can do your usual activities, your body is still trying to heal from yesterday," she explains, "Take it slow first, there's no rush." You try again, moving carefully as you write out the note. It doesn't hurt like earlier, though it does start to creep up by the time you finish writing.

The last time we saw Mrs Esposito we had been at her house
She received a phone call and looked scared, made us leave
Warned us to look out for certain cars but didn't explain why
We came back later and her house was abandoned
Can you explain what happened?


Camilla reads over the note, humming the words as she does. "Hmm, I can tell you what I know. There are very, very few of us working for her so I find out about everything sooner or later. I am sure you know how Mr. Esposito came into his fortune, right?"

You have a pretty good idea how, from what Delilah told you the man came to America without much to his name. It would be better to have it confirmed though, and you nod for Camilla to explain.


"I do not know much about his life over in Italy, but when he came over here Mr. Espostio did not have much. He had trouble finding any sort of stable work, and one of the local families nearby were more than willing to let him join. Of course, when you join a cosca, you are no longer a friend of the police. Mr. Esposito helped with a smuggling ring, he really saw money when he began bringing in shipments of ah, heroin, I believe. He made connections and enemies, but that's expected. The problem came when they finally had their first child, and his wife didn't want to be part of that life anymore. One final run and he was supposed to quit forever, something not really common but he had done good work for them. Their cosca had a rat though. There was a police raid, and he was put in a very serious position. Either he would go to prison for a very, very long time while his son grew up or he could sell out his fellow brothers. I do not know the agreement he made from there, though as far as I know he never had any time in jail. What he did have was very few friends and many many enemies, and enough money to move away and hide with his family."

Camilla stops for a moment, making a cross over herself before continuing. "Mr. Esposito died after his granddaughter was born. He had been driving when his windshield was shot through, killing him at the wheel. They labeled it as a car accident, but everyone close to the family knew better. Someone paid to have him killed, but Mrs. Esposito couldn't get any information from anyone. There were very few people still willing to help, and even fewer than she could trust. Corrado- Doctor Rizzo, is one of those people, he had been with them since their marriage. Other than that, she tried to distance herself away from all of it, she didn't want her son following in his father's footsteps. If she had received a call that scared her off that badly," Camilla says as she taps on the note, "I would guess it had something to do with that. I have mostly heard her speak of that Bower man, maybe something to do with him? If he really is as awful as I've heard, than I believe he would be more than willing to dig up her husband's past for leverage. Maybe he let some of the old family know where she had been hiding? If they were wanting revenge, I could understand why she would be so scared."

So what is this place?


"Mr. Esposito tried to get rid of as much evidence of his previous life, but he kept this hideaway for an emergency. In case something came up, he bring his family here and wait till it was safe. It hasn't been used it years though, and used to house guns and the like."

You take a moment to let it all sink in, though you can't say it surprises you that much. Delilah, on the other hand...

"This...some shit..." you say under your breath, catching Camilla off guard.

"Ah! Corrado was right, you do talk!" You only offer a half-assed grin, but it drops as the groggy feeling creeps up again.

"You know...about Delilah?" you ask, Camilla giving a sad nod in return. "What do...you think?"

"About all of this?" She pauses, looking off to the side as she ponders over it. "I think it is awful, I really do. What happened to her was bad enough, and I know it eats up Mrs. Esposito to know that she let her wander the street and get hurt more. But that man, Bower? I can not wrap my head around it, no matter how much I try. He is terrible for what he did, yes, but all this effort to get her back? Nothing I have heard about him makes sense, he sounds like the type of person to be locked away in a crazy house. He can not keep this up forever, can he?"


You start to answer, saying that there's no way, but after the way you saw him yesterday you just can't say for sure.

"I can...go longer. He won't...get her."

"That is a very admirable thing to say, I just hope you do not have to keep proving it. Though, there is still her and the blood-" Camilla shakes her head, wanting you to follow her to the door now. "No more grim talk. Ace wanted you to see this, let me take you before I forget."

...

Camilla just takes you to his office, leaving you alone to stare at a folder resting on his desk. A note rests on top, his writing scrawled across

Didn't want to keep you waiting, here's the information on the people you asked about
- A. Crockett

You pick up the folder, trying to prepare for the contents inside. It felt like forever ago when you asked for information on the group, on Michele, and now you're about to find out.

"Um, are you in here?"


Delilah's voice appears before she does, her face peeking in through the door. Messy hair and slurred words, you can guess that she has just woken up. You greet her, giving her permission to walk in.

"I didn't know what you were doing, sorry," she apologizes, trying not to stare at the folder in your hand, "I'm going to see if my grandma is up. Are you doing something important?"


>Delilah deserves to know too, let her see what's inside
>Tell her it's nothing important, you can share it later
>Look at the contents later, go see her grandmother
>Write-in

>>1559248
>Delilah deserves to know too, let her see what's inside

>>1559248

>Delilah deserves to know too, let her see what's inside

File: LawDelFolder.jpg (183 KB, 1750x1250)

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Delilah walks to the desk as you invite her in, keeping the folder close at hand, writing with the other.


I asked for information on what happened after we left the group
This is what Crockett found out

Her eyes open wide when she reads this, nodding to show she understands. Looking between you and the folder, Delilah asks, "Can I see it too?"

"Yeah."

You wait for her to stand behind before you even open the folder, sharing her fear and anxiety at what's inside. There's no use in waiting any longer, and with a flip of the folder you take a look at what is inside.

...


Looking through all the papers is a bit confusing, there's a lot to read and you don't quite understand it all. You scan over the first pages as Delilah waits, biting at her thumb nervously. There's no important snippets you can find in the first two pages, they seem like requests that Crockett had put it with names listed but not much else. The third page sticks out, and you quickly pick out DuBois.

"Eric," you announce, "and Sarah."


"What about them?" Delilah is already looking over your shoulder when she asks, looking over what she can see. "Wait, does that say re-...relator in the logo? Isn't that someone with houses for sale?"

"It's lease," you answer, feeling rather sleazy for reading over this, "For...apartment."

While you feel worried by how a landlord was so willing to hand over a copy of a lease, Delilah's brow burrows down.


"So they did get their own place." It's a bitter response, so much that Delilah can notice it herself and tries to cover it up. "That's...good. They must be tired of always running..." She fidgets with a piece of her hair next, trying not seem to upset. "Um... what about everyone else?" You tuck away the lease, moving on to the next page. This time time you instantly recognize the logo on the top, and a quick glance at the page already lets you know this isn't going to be good news.

"Hey, is that John's picture?" There's a sinking feeling in your stomach, and you hold up the paper so she can see what it's about.

Delilah doesn't say anything, probably rereading it over and over before taking it in her own hands. Even inspecting it up close she can't seem to believe what she's reading, shaking her head as she puts down the paper.


"Jail? John's in jail?" You take the paper back from her, trying to see what else it says.

"Found him...in house," you read off, "Alone. Had gun. Took him...in."

"How long does he have to be in there?"

"Don't know...yet." Looking at John's mugshot, you feel bad that he's behind bars, yet another part of you knows that he just might be safer there. His busted up leg was a big concern, but if it starts hurting him more than help might be easier to get. This just makes you worry more about the fate of everyone else, and you hesitantly move on to the next page as Delilah remains silent.


The next one just looks to be a note from the restaurant Mabel and Sarah work at, saying that Mabel hadn't made it to her last few shifts. A note at scribbled at the bottom serves as a reminder for Crockett to try and keep digging for info on her, though it doesn't seem there's anything else at the moment. Delilah just hangs by your shoulder, leaning on you for support as she sulks.

"Anyone else?" she mutters, and you look over everything once more. One envelope remains, but you can already tell what it's for.

"No." You need to prepare yourself for this letter, just a few moments to steady yourself.


"So Sarah and Eric already moved away, and John's in jail? That's all we know?" she already knows the answer, but lets out a frustrated sigh as she scratches at her head. "What about Marilyn and Aria and-... there isn't anything about Mr. F-Faraway, is there?"

"Nothing. Yet." you quickly add the last part, knowing that this is already eating Delilah up on the inside. It's tough enough for her to hear what little information there is, but not knowing lets her think of every terrible scenario for the people she considers friends.


Some information is better than none though, and you can maybe use this to keep learning more. If there's already a plan for Delilah to go see her mother in the hospital, it should be easy for you to also make a quick stop.

Your first visit should be:

>The jail, visit with John and see what he knows
>Sharron Faraway, find out about her brother
>Try to visit Sarah and Eric
>You need to see Mom and Dad first
>Write-in

>>1562681
>>Sharron Faraway, find out about her brother

>>1562681
>Sharron Faraway, find out about her brother

It may feel a little weird to visit her, but it seems like Albert Faraway is the biggest concern right now. If anything that bad had happened to the others, you're sure there would be something about it in here. And if Faraway turns out to be alive, which you pray he is, that will be one burden off from Delilah.

But for now, this is one thing you can't just push away for later.


Still, you just hold the letter between your hands as Delilah looks back over your shoulder. "What's that for?" she asks, drained of energy already.

You flip over the letter, following over the label that seals it together.

"About...Michele." Without skipping a beat, you begin to lift away the seal. In an instant, Delilah freezes up and then her hands begin to shake.

"O-Oh okay..." she gulps, putting her forehead against the back of your shoulder. You pull the label up, waiting to pull out what lays inside. Already your heart has started to beat harder than before- You keep reminding yourself that even if Delilah was part of the reason Michele died, that doesn't change anything. It's something that has to be accepted, easier said than done for her. It may take baby steps, but with everything else you'll just have to take it slow.


Yet, you have an urge to tear up the letter and forget about it. If you never get the answer, than the full weight of guilt won't have to be there.

You've gone this far without knowing, you don't have to change it.

But as you start to tug the paper in half, Delilah speaks up.


"Whatever it says in there..." she says, gripping at your shirt, "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry you couldn't see her again. It's awful..." She buries her face against you now, trying to brace for the news. Now you really want to just tear up the letter and toss it away, but that would be the easy option. You let out a frustrated sigh and pull out the folded page inside. Delilah refuses to look over, waiting for you to tell her out loud. Your heartbeat rings painfully in your ears as you read down the page, careful to not skip a word. The Cause of Death finally catches you eye, and you read it over and over again to make sure you've got it right.


"So what does it say?" mumbles Delilah, "Do you hate me now?" You take a deep breath, setting the letter down and facing Delilah directly. She tries to avoid looking straight at you straight on, and you hold both her hands in one of yours till she's prepared to hear it. She lets out a quick hiccup of a whimper, nodding for you to continue.

File: Spoiler Image (65 KB, 852x480)

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"It says...Michele died-" You have to stop to breathe again, it's still a difficult thing for you to come in terms with. Delilah watches with her eyes misting up, and you know that she can't wait any longer. "Happened...by overdose."


"Over...does?" She has to think over what the phrase means, that it doesn't have anything to do with her. "That's when you um, that's when you di-...hurt yourself from d-drugs and stuff, right?"

"Yeah. She did...it h-...herself." This whole time you were trying to prepare for Delilah to break down, but the sound of your own voice cracking is a shock. You let her hands go, instead covering your own mouth as you try not to cry.


Your sister is dead, and now you know for sure that she'd killed herself. Her death had struck you hard before, but this final confirmation about what happened to her sends you over. The guilt about not being there sooner, not waiting at her apartment, not searching harder for her in those earlier months- you choke for a second, trying to turn away so that she doesn't have to see you lose it. This time, you're the one forced to turn back to Delilah. Standing in front of the chair you're in, she's at the right height to pull you against her. She embraces you with arms around your shoulders, talking slowly as her hand strokes through your hair over and over.


"It's okay for you to be sad," she whispers, "You're hurting right now, I know. It's okay for you to act sad around me, I don't mind." She's probably expecting you to pull away, but this is something you need to do. Mourn right now while the timing is right, even if that means having to let someone see you in a moment of weakness. But she waits patiently, like as you've done for her in the past, and only lets go when you finally feel ready. You scratch at your face, partially feeling embarrassed but a whole other part of you feels lighter. It still stings, but it's something that can change. Cry about it now, and keep moving forward.

You give Delilah a sad small smile to let her know that you're alright, despite everything. She helps you of the chair, seeing the exhaustion you feel written on your face. "You can lean on me if you want." she offers, but you decline it for now.


"Am..tough guy." you boast to her, watching her nod in agreement. She tries not to hover over you too much, looking at the empty walls instead.

"This is a weird looking house," she comments, "It kind of reminds of like a um, warehouse or something. Like they kept a bunch of stuff here." Delilah continues to follow, but stops a step behind and tugs at your hand to make you stop too.


"I know my grandpa owned this place and all but um..." Delilah starts off saying, but decides not to beat around the bush and get right into the question that's been eating her up.

"My grandpa was a bad man, wasn't he?"


>Tell her the truth
>This is something her grandmother should tell her

>>1566014
>This is something her grandmother should tell her
We only have part of the story.

"Ask...grandma," you tell her, "I don't...know enough."

Delilah doesn't look too pleased with this answer, but nods anyways and gives a quiet "Okay". You feel bad for leaving her in the dark like this, but giving her the wrong impression isn't any more of an appealing option. She doesn't seem mad with you though, instead looking up and studying your face. "Are you tired? You look it."

"Have...pain meds. Getting...tired." More like you've been tired, but it's starting to hit you harder now. "Should sleep."


"Shouldn't you eat first? I don't think you have since you've gotten here."

"Nah-" you start to say, but Delilah stands with hands on her hips and a stance that says she won't accept no. "-Only if...breakfast...in bed."

"You're so needy," she sighs, "if I make it, you can't fall asleep before I can bring it in though, okay? Ms. Camilla said I can use whatever in the kitchen, so you better like whatever I bring." You're ready to tease her about it, but footsteps up ahead mark Rizzo's entrance before you actually see him. Maybe out of instinct, but Delilah takes a step behind you as he approaches.


"Hello, are you feeling okay right now?" he asks, getting a yes from you. "Good good. We may just let the wound close up, no need to go digging inside if we do not need to. And you, Delilah? How are you feeling?"

"I'm um, I'm feeling fine. Sir."

"I am glad to hear. Later I would like for a quick checkup with you, if you do not mind."

"O-Okay, yeah..." she doesn't sound too enthusiastic about agreeing to this, but it's just another thing that she'll have to suck up and get through.


"Camilla will be there, it'll just be a quick exam. Do not ah... stress over it too bad, will be over before you know it. And you, sir," Rizzo turns his attention back at you, "If you are feeling up for it, signora Esposito would like to speak with you." You must have looked panicked at this, as he adds, "She would like to thank you for bringing her granddaughter here, and to give you a proper welcome. If you're ready, she should be up for half an hour or so. Please just go to her room, I will be in there shortly." Rizzo walks past, going to some room you haven't gotten to explore yet.


Delilah tugs at your hand. "You should go say hi to her real quick, I think that would make her happy." She starts leading you down to the room, holding your hand the entire way. Despite how eager she is for you to go in, she looks more nervous than you. Stopping at the bedroom door, she looks ready to tell you something but stops, letting go of your hand. "So um...go talk to her for a bit, and I'll make breakfast and then um... and then I guess I'll get ready for an...for an exam." She backs away, upset by what she needs to do later. You get one quick smile from her before she turns away, leaving you to speak with her grandmother.

You knock at the door, coming in shortly when a faint voice calls out from behind it. The room has a feeling of warmth that the hall right outside does not have, looking like it could have came right from her house. Mrs. Esposito is leaned up in bed, pillows holding her up so can look at you. A few machines hum next to her, attached to either her arms or chest.


"It's good to finally see you." Her voice is soft and tired, and her face matches. You come to stand right next to her bed, where you saw Delilah the day before. The tubes and wires attached to her aren't too in the way, but you do your best to not stare at them. "It's only been one night, but how was it? Were you able to sleep?" She speaks less curt than before, sounding more grandmotherly. You nod and tell her thank you, trying to speak up for her.

"I heard you got hurt, but I thought it was from a gunshot. Did he really hurt your face too?" she asks, noticing the biggest change you've had since the last visit. You just shake your head, hoping you don't have to explain that it was all your fault.

"Did get...shot."


"I'm sorry to hear that, and I'm sorry your parents had to be inconvenienced like that. Your father got the brunt of it, from what I heard. But he's being taken care of by good doctors, and you shouldn't have to worry about them." She stops to catch her breath, just talking wears her out. "I myself am not doing too good, but I don't think I needed to tell you. Doctor Rizzo is good at what he does, but unfortunately he does not have the equipment needed for what's wrong. But also," she pauses, checking to make sure that Delilah isn't out listening from the door, "And please, do not judge me too harshly for this. The problem is my heart, and the only way I can get better is if I can go through a successful transplant. Waiting on the list may take too long though, so we have bought one for me to have. I must go there for it though, bringing it here would be too risky. "

She hasn't said the phrase, but you know what she's trying to say. Not only is she going out for the surgery, she's buying this from some black market type deal. You can only hope that the donor was from someone willing and, preferably, already on their way out.


"I will be here for a bit longer, but the surgery date will be soon. I'll go, have it done and- praying that it's successful- I'll be back her for my granddaughter. I feel terrible for leaving her so soon again, but it feels like I can rest easier now that she's somewhere safe." Mrs. Esposito grabs your hand, making you look at her as she pats it with her free one. "And it's thanks to you that she made it here in the first place. You've been helping her through so much, and she absolutely adores you. If there's anything you need of me, just ask and I will do my best to take care of it."


>Ask for her to explain to Delilah's questions about her grandfather
>Ask what the plans for Delilah are now
>Ask what she thinks about Delilah's condition
>Write-in

>>1567702
>Ask for her to explain to Delilah's questions about her grandfather
>Ask what she thinks about Delilah's condition

>>1567702
>>Ask for her to explain to Delilah's questions about her grandfather
>>Ask what the plans for Delilah are now

"Tell Delilah. About...grandfather." You gesture at the house and add, "About this...place. Doesn't...understand."


"Ah, you mean explain- Hmm." She starts to contemplate this, seemingly falling asleep for a few moments. "Don found out about his father's past work, even though I did everything I could to keep him from finding out. But with Delilah, my husband made it his goal to keep her from finding out. Maybe it's cause she was a little girl, or maybe he became more careful with age, but he didn't want his granddaughter to know what he had done before. I feel like I would be disrespecting his wishes, but I owe her so much already."

"Doesn't like...not knowing." You can understand the fear in telling her, but you also know how frustrating it is for Delilah to be left in the dark about things.


"I understand, I'll find a good time to talk to her. It'd be better if she wasn't overloaded with information all at once."

You agree with this, and see that Mrs. Esposito's eyes are straining to remain open. Wrapping this talk up soon seems important, and you decide to move along with another question.

"What now? With Delilah." you ask.


"She's still young..." she says softly, "There's been a lot of change and... trauma in her life. It'll be a difficult adjustment...for sure. But I will try to get her...help, see if I can help undo some of... the damage done. Going back to public school now would be...absolute hell for her. Too far behind, and with so many students... Might see about enrolling her into the girl's only school. She could have counselors and teachers around to...help her work through it and catch up on her studies." Mrs. Esposito has to pause in the middle of her sentences, starting to reach the end of her rope. You know vaguely of what school she's talking about, it had opened up right around the time you were in high school. You also seem to remember it was a boarding school, and wonder if she would be okay with that.

You start to think about what might happen if she were to go, and became in a situation where she started to have cravings again. "What about...her condition?"


Right away, Mrs. Esposito frowns. "That could be an issue, yes. Well, I wouldn't be...enrolling her anytime soon. We need to see where she is emotionally and...mentally. And with her...'need', there might have to be more special arrangements made." She huffs, and the uppish tone that you'd been used to hearing comes through. "Whatever that is, it certainly did not come our side of the family-" A coughing fit interrupts her, and the gentler tone comes back again. "...I really do not mean to speak ill of Delilah's mother. We might always butt heads.... but that is still her mother. I'll do a better job at biting my tongue."

"So you...don't understand... it?"

"I'm afraid I don't. And I really do hope this is...some sort of terrible trick. I don't think I could stand... to watch Delilah do something so horri-" A crash travels down from the hallway, interrupting her.

"That sounds it came from the kitchen..." she starts to say and the quick cry of pain that follows shortly makes you jump up. You're already at the door before Mrs. Esposito speaks again, making yourself stop just long enough to hear what she has to say. "Thank you for what you've done, please continue...to make her happy."

You give a quick nod, rushing out to try and find where the noise came from.


"Oh dear, are you hurt?" Camilla's voice helps lead you to where the two of them are, the kitchen just tucked away a few doors down. You wait at the doorway, noticing that it lacks the warmth of the bedroom. It reminds you of a kitchen you'd find in prison, cold and isolated.

"I-I just knicked myself a little, that's all..." Delilah stands by the sink, holding a washrag around one of her hands. The culprit of her cut rests on the floor, a large knife fallen underneath a cutting board.

"Should I take a look at it?" Camilla offers, coming close just to have Delilah draw away.


She shakes her head quickly, backing away. "I'll go t-take care of it myself. W-Will you take care of the s-stove? I have it on and there are some eggs already cracked and all..." The pain from her injury wavers in her voice, but as Delilah peeks over the door she notices you. "L-Lawrence will help me! I mean I just have to w-wash it off, be right back!" Before Camilla can try to offer anymore help, Delilah storms past her and towards you. The rag continues to remain clutched around her hand, and she doesn't wait long for you to follow. Delilah leads you into what you guess is her bedroom, her bag sitting by the bed. A bathroom connects inside, and she goes straight to the sink and turns on the water.

"It really is just a cut, I promise." she assures you. The rag finally comes unwrapped, and even from a few feet away you can see where the knife had gotten her across the palm. Her teeth grit and she lets out a low hiss, feeling the sting of the water as it starts to wash away dried blood. You finally come to stand right behind her, making sure that it really isn't too deep. Instead of seeing the red you're used to, a dark sickish color drips out instead.


"Gross looking, isn't it?" Delilah asks, turning off the water. "I know that Ms. Camilla and the doctor know about me but um...I'm still not really used to that. I-It still feels like I have to hide everything and um..." She stops talking, opening the mirror above the sink and pulling out a small first-aid kit. "Will you help me? It's on a weird spot on my hand." You take the small plastic box, sitting on the edge of the bathtub and finding the right sized bandage. Delilah continues to press down with the rag, waiting for you.

"I was just trying to make you a fancy omelette..." she explains, holding out her open palm, "But the cutting board was too close to the edge and I guess my hand slipped. That must be a pretty stupid mistake, right?"


"Nah." You take a quick look over the rest of her hand, making sure there's no other cuts. "Happens."

Delilah glances over your handiwork, not looking as much in pain anymore. She flinches when she looks over at the sink though, quick to turn on the water again. "I don't like how my blood looks. It makes me feel gross, knowing that's inside me..." she says, making sure every bit of the offensive color is gone from the sink. "It wasn't always like that, I promise."


"It's fine. Doesn't matter."

"Right. Um..." Delilah looks down at her hands now, making sure they aren't stained either. "You don't have anything weird like this, right? I think your uh, stuff still looks normal but I haven't like...made anything change for you too, have I?"


>You've been feeling more chest pains recently
>Tell her how you sometimes feel anxious away from her
>Change the subject
>Write-in

>>1572082
>Except for some stress, you can't really say
>Claim some gray hairs will make you look distinguished
There's still the possibility the chest pains have nothing to do with her, or rather her disorder, and with Del being prone to already blaming herself for everything it's better to not add to it.

>>1572082
>>1572105
This works

"Haven't...noticed." You stand up, wandering into the bedroom as Delilah dries her hands. "Stress maybe. Of course." you shrug with this, coming over to a large mirror resting on a delicately carved dresser. A hand comes up to stroke over hair already in need of a trim, thumb tracing the curve of your chin. "Gray hair? Not so...bad. Little bit...fine. Makes me...distinguished. Experienced...looking." With a look back, you expect Delilah to reprimand you for such arrogant thoughts.


Instead, you're greeted with the sight of her walking forward slowly, eyes cast down at her injured palm. Her other fingers come up, traveling the line beneath the bandage.

"Good..." she says, lost in distant thought as she speaks, "I don't know what I would do if it turned out you were getting hurt from me." Fingers clench around her hands tightly, and by the time she looks up fear as started to creep onto her face, eyes clouded over with dark thoughts. This is one of the moments that make you terrified of the upward battle Delilah faces and of the possibility that it might never end for her.


"I'm fine-" you start to assure her, but just as you speak Delilah shakes her head as to clear her thoughts. When she looks back up at you again her face is brighter, though the uneasiness from earlier continues to creep through your skin.

"Hmm? Oh right, you're tired right?" she asks, now just sounding lost in the conversation, "I'm keeping you up right now, aren't I? If you want to go lay down, I can go see if I can finish the food. It's um, it's fine if you fall asleep... I promise I won't be mad."


You're still trying to recover from Delilah's apparent 180, just nodding in agreement. She backs out, returning to the kitchen like nothing strange had happened. A sinking feeling rips through your chest, reminded once again why you have such stressful dreams about her.

...

Staying up hadn't really been the goal- you'd returned to bed but couldn't find the peace of mind to sleep. The look she had given you earlier, the one that made it feel like part of her had died, burns in your memory. And later you'll see it in your dreams, where you're really powerless to stop it. Other times before, you've dreamt up her previous cries and faces of fear, a witness and victim to terrible and awful things. Or the times when she just sobs and sobs, nothing you can do or say makes it stop. It wears you down, making you feel guilty for not stopping her monsters. Even a man like you has a breaking point, a time where you only want the crying to stop, and the terrible ways you try to make it end-


"...-it's fine." Delilah's voice brings you back from your own troubled thoughts, hearing her conversation out in the hallway. "I can take it in myself."

"Alright ma'am," Camilla's voice answers as you force yourself to sit up, "I will go clean up the kitchen."

"No wait, I can do that too-"

"Thank you for offering, but it is okay. Go take care of your friend, I am sure he's waiting."

Shortly after, your door swings open and Delilah walks in. A small tray balances in her grasp, keeping a careful eye on the drink as she walks away from Camilla's clicks down the hall. She sees that you are, indeed, awake and waiting and she switches caution for speed.

"I hope you weren't just waiting for this!" she exclaims, thankful to have a steady surface to set the tray by the bed.


You shake your head, "Was up."

Delilah tries to flourish the meal she's brought, though her cheeks are flushed as she does. "Here, breakfast. I made it all by my-, um well, Ms. Camilla helped a bit too but i-it was mostly me. I have to get good at this so I can do it more often for you..." she explains, staring at anywhere that isn't you.

You smile at her effort, leaning up only to immediately grunt in pain. Too much weight on the wrong shoulder and you're given a good reminder. Delilah looks at your ready to call for help, but a grin forces its way to your face and you point at your mouth. "Feed me." You'd hope for a quick banter with Delilah, to make her feel comfortable again, but she looks determined in making everything easier for you. She begins to cut the egg, ready to bring it up, but you gently wave her hand away and get into a proper position with gritted teeth. She watches you eat at first, but quickly looks away when she realizes she's staring.


"Ms. Camilla told me that I'd have to go to my visit with her and the doctor after you fall asleep so um..." she looks back at you, "I don't mind if you stay awake for a while. Unless you want me to leave you alone already, th-then I can."

"That's fine." You don't feel that hungry, but continue to eat what was made for you. Delilah waits by, trying not to think about the looming examination coming up for her.


"Y-...You know," she speaks up after some silence, "I'm glad we made it here, especially before my grandma goes into s-..surgery, but I'm just glad you're here too. As long as you were there, I wouldn't mind if we were hiding away in some alley." You lay back down on the bed, feeling the struggle to keep your eyes open. With vision starting to slowly blur, you can see that she's twisting something around her fingers. A glint of light off of it shows to be the ring you got her, something she's held close onto this whole time. The silver travels down her left ring finger, resting still too loose for her to wear properly. It might not be too long before she can wear it as intended, but that time can't come soon enough for Delilah.


"I showed Grandma this," Delilah says, sounding much more at peace than she has been recently, "I told her you got it for me, and how amazing you are for it. She said it reminded her of her own mom's wedding ring, and uh..." She realizes the risky topic she's inadvertently stepped into, stammering as she tries to find a way out of it. "S-Sorry, I didn't mean to b-bring that up again, I know it makes you feel um... I'm just making it worse..." Her hands come up hide her face, peeking through her fingers to make sure you aren't as embarrassed as her. With nervous movement Delilah returns her hands to her lap, trying to appear more dignified.

"I think I'm just n-...nervous about later. I didn't want to make you feel weird for that, I promise, I just um..." Delilah pauses, taking a few deep breaths to steady herself once more. "No matter what, I'll feel the same way about you- as long as you let me. No matter what, Lawrence, I love you."


>Ask Delilah to talk till you're asleep
>Tease Delilah like you always do
>Say it back
>Write-in

>>1574961
>Ask Delilah to talk till you're asleep
Clearly the only real choice

>>1574961
>Ask Delilah to talk till you're asleep
This is not ideal in any way, shape, or form. At least we're barely awake.