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/qst/ - Quests

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"You might be a smart girl, but you aren't a lucky one"

You play as Delilah, an unfortunate young girl going through tough times.

=Links and Information=


Thanks to an anon, here is the pastebin of just the text. With threads purposely being misarchived, this should be available and accessible instead:
Melancholic Quest Collection 1 (1-4): http://pastebin.com/hTK0fQmd
Melancholic Quest Collection 2: http://pastebin.com/cX4HC6Q9
Melancholic Quest Collection 3: http://pastebin.com/sTuR8xJv
Melancholic Quest Collection 4: http://pastebin.com/RPwa7nEt
Melancholic Quest Collection 5: http://pastebin.com/DJ71TtFc
Melancholic Quest Collection 6: http://pastebin.com/xxCdZfx6
Melancholic Quest Collection 7: http://pastebin.com/7skcyeX0

Quick Glance (SPOILERS) The quick Who is Who and what Delilah has. Mostly accurate.:


Twitter; @Cowboy_Sue
Discord; https://discord.gg/8CCdcQ3 <--updated to be working
Chat room with me and other players. I answer questions, post sketches, and act cheeky.
"...No matter what, Lawrence, I love you."

You keep your eyes off his patched up shoulder, looking down to the bed instead. It feels like you should be apologizing for getting him into this mess, but you doubt the right words could come so easily. Lawrence tries to lift up his right arm, wheezing as he flinches at the pain. Jumping up you're prepared to hold him still.

"Wait, if you need something let me go get it!" you say, reaching across to make sure his bandages are in place. That comes to a stop when his left hand comes up to hold yours, easily enveloping it. A lopsided smile scrunches up his tired face and without the energy to properly hold your hand he instead lets it rest against his chest. Beneath your palm you can feel the movement of his breathing, the grating and labored signs following with each motion.

"What's wrong?" you ask quieter now, trying not to startle him. All Lawrence does at first is shake his head, still resting his hand over yours. He still has a grin on his face, and you can't help it as you start jumping to conclusions. Your whole body tenses up, heartbeat painful in your ears as you wait to hear him speak. "What is it?" you whisper, trying to encourage him to say it without being too overbearing.

"Stay. Talk...to me." Lawrence's smile falters some as he catches his breath, "Till...sleep."

You hope he doesn't notice the quick flicker of disappointment that passes on your face, reaching out so you can hold his hand with both of yours.

"It won't keep you up?" you ask, trying not to let your voice waver too much. If anything, you should just be glad that you're not being pushed away. Lawrence shakes his head, still trying to smile as he lets you know that it's fine. You rest against the edge of the bed, keeping hold of Lawrence's hand as he closes his eyes.

"Alright, if I get too annoying just tell me. You really need to sleep," you warn, sighing quietly to yourself. Waiting for his nod, you bide time till you have to go for your 'check up'.

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"...and then her mom came home and found us with flour everywhere."

You couldn't think of much else to talk about, at least nothing that wouldn't make your stomach churn. Instead you went with telling Lawrence about some of the times with your friends back at school, pointless stories that he could drift in and out of. It would look like he fell asleep a long time ago, but it's far too quiet for that to happen. The corner of his lips turn up at your story, confirming even more that he's still listening- if barely. His breathing has slowed down though, and it shouldn't be long till his snores slip out.

Lawrence's hand still remains clasped between yours, and you sometimes run your fingers over the bumps and ridges of his knuckles. It really doesn't matter what you say right now, it's just filler to help him go to sleep. But the feeling of someone just listening to what you want to say is nice, even if it really doesn't mean anything in the end.

"I um, I really don't know if I want to go back to school though..." you say slowly. "It kind of scares me, to be honest. I don't know if I could do it, and then if its the school grandma was talking about then that means I'll have to stay at the school a lot. I can't do it, I can't-"

"Will...be." Lawrence breathes out the words, long pauses between them. You start to think he's fallen asleep in the middle of talking, but he squeezes your hand. "Be...fine."

You don't even get the chance to try and say anything else, his low snoring telling you that he's finally asleep. Hesitantly you slip your hands away, trying not to disturb him.

Camilla said you can just go see the doctor when you were done in here, but you really don't look forward to it. You could go check up on your grandmother or check out the rest of the house for a bit while you try to calm down. Or you can just go get and this over with, as dreadful as it might be.
Let's take a look around and gather our wits. See if this place is as empty as it first seemed.
>check out the rest of the house for a bit while you try to calm down
Haven't read this in a while
Did we give our boy law the succ yet?
Giving one last look back to make sure he's truly asleep, you let Lawrence rest in peace as you slip into the hallway. It's eerie, even with lights lining the walls this whole place has only felt cold and dark. Maybe the place wouldn't seem so dreary if there were more face around, the silence here is unnerving. It reminds you of other time, when you were waking up at random hours of the day only to fall asleep a short time later. The few minutes you had awake were lonely too, even in your dazed state it was near frightening. The thoughts of everything that happened in that room start to surface and you have to fight the urge to run back to Lawrence's bedside.

"I can't go through an exam like this..." you mutter to yourself rather pitifully. Kicking at the rug stretched across the concrete floors, the idea of exploring a bit seems more appealing. With a quick look around, you slink away towards the living room. The absence of any sort of windows is one of the first things you notice. WIthout them, you can't even be sure if the world exists outside. That and the industrial floor you can't really call this a living room, it's too cold and gray. Even with the furniture awkwardly hunched together in the center their bright red warmth is sucked away instantly.

It looks more like a storage room, the remaining scuffs on the floor and walls making you think there had been much more in here before. The furniture is definitely your grandmother's though, which is a small comfort. You're about to go take a closer look, but soft footsteps echoing down the hall you just walked.

"Delilah? Ma'am?"

Camilla's voice follows her footsteps and you feel your heart jump. Without thinking much else of it you duck down, peering over just to watch as she walks into the room. You hold your breath, waiting till she leaves with a quick tut. She walks down the short aisle that leads to the kitchen and you take the opportunity to sneak off. Still not ready for what waits ahead, you walk down a hall identical as the last. Heavy doors, all of them with a lock up front. Unfortunately, you don't get to see what most of these store. No matter how much you jiggle the handle, none of them want to budge and you're forced to move on to try the next one.

The next knob turns, throwing you for surprise, but you quickly see that it's the room Crockett has been calling his office. The boxes are stacked up taller than you, a windy path leading to the desk and only clear spot. You consider leaving, but hearing Camila call out again convinces you otherwise. Tiptoeing, you're careful to avoid knocking over or stepping on anything important, feeling slightly at ease when you reach the safety of his desk. You look around, seeing that it's just as an astray mess as his car had been. Funny enough, you find this the warmest looking room you've seen now. It feels like a place a real person works, and not just some converted room in the middle of nowhere.
You plop down in his chair, the back towering above. Leaning back against it, you look over the mess covering his desk and try to make heads or tails of it. A document with a police logo catches you attention, but trying to read it turns out to be too boring. You either don't recognize some of the words used or it's just a pain to read through. Carefully you try to set it back where it was, though you're sure Crockett wouldn't be able to notice one misplaced paper.

Something wet starts to soak into the page and you quickly move it, getting some of the liquid on you. It doesn't take long for you to recognize the smell of alcohol, and moving a folder out of the way lets you see the turned over flask. You set it up right, finding it mostly emptied already. As you try to make sure its not soaking into something else important, a the picture frame on the corner of the table comes to view. You choke when you recognize the picture, grabbing it to look closer.

Even though she's younger, you can still recognize your mother right away. And of course, you recognize baby you in her arms, blonde hair a mess as it always was. You start to think that your mother had sent him the picture at some point, but the burns in the bottom corner raise your fearful suspicions even more.

"This is from the apartment..."

You wouldn't be feeling so scared if this wasn't the first time you had something taken from where you lived.

The door slowly swings open and you look up, scared now that you've been caught. "Hello, Delilah?" Dr. Risso calls out, shuffling into the room. He adjusts his glasses as he looks over the desk, squinting to look past the piles surrounding you.

"Um, hello." you say in defeat, frame still in hand.

"My assistant has been looking for you, you know."

"Ah y-yeah, sorry about that. I just um..." you look at the picture in your lap now. "I'm just a little scared, that's all."

"I know, I can be a scary man." Dr. Risso refuses to step forward in the room, choosing to observe it instead. "I promise though, I am a good doctor. Camilla is scary than me." His voice is still monotone, but you can't help but smile a bit.

"She doesn't look like the scary type, is she really?"

"Oh yes. When she gets mad, she even scares me. Though with you, I am sure she will be very nice to." You smile at him, but it falls when you look back down at the frame. Dr. Risso stays where he is, choosing to continue to talk from across the room. "About this man, Crockett-"

"I don't know too much about him, to be honest. He's helped me out though, and he says he knew my mom. But that's all I can really tell you about him." You could hear his voice raise for a question as you look back at the desk, seeing if there is anything else you may recognize.

"Ah, but you can answer this question for me still?" he says, making you look over.

"I can try."

"Do you trust him? This, Ace Crockett?"
He's gone through a lot of trouble he didn't have to for us, that makes him better than... others we've met when we needed help.
I see no reason not to trust him. He has done nothing to help us, and has gone above and beyond to aid us.
My question is if there's a reason not to trust him.
"He's been nicer than a lot of people I've met since all, this started," you say while placing the picture back where it belongs. "Unless there's something you know that I don't."

Dr. Rizzo oops shakes his head. "I assume you knew he used to be part of the uh, the police?"

You nod, "Yeah, I think I heard that. Is it a problem?"

"Right right, your grandfather wanted you raised different. Still, I do not think he would have ever imagined allowing anyone like him in here." Dr. Rizzo chuckles, but you only feel lost.

"What do you mean?" you ask. "Is it cause he used to be a cop or whatever?" He might be a bit strange, but you haven't really felt uneasy around him. You're scared now that Rizzo might tell you otherwise, and try to brace for the answer.

"Yes, it is because he is a cop. But I'm not sure if it is something I should be explaining to you. It may be best left up to your grandmother," he says. There must have been an obvious look of defeat on your face, as he adds, "Though it might be just part of my old ways, I did not wish to scare you. He does seem like a good man, but I still have to stay wary, it is just how I've always been."

"..okay." You don't say that you understand, cause you really don't, but he's not going to give you the answers. That's something you're going to have to get from your grandmother later, when she's able. "Do I have to go with you right now?"

"It would be easier, and Camilla can finally stop trying to look for you." Dr. Rizzo nods, compelling you to get up and get it over with. The man walks slow, his back bent over with age and years of work but you don't mind. Anything to stall for time and you take the time to ask some questions.

"This place looks really empty," you start, making sure not to walk ahead of him. "But a lot of the doors in the hall are locked, is there anything in them?"

"Most of them, yes. There are probably a few that can be opened though, we just need to go through and see what all is here," Dr. Rizzo coughs. "This has not been used for quite some time now, so I am sure not even your grandmother remembers everything that is here."

"What about people? Are there any others I haven't met yet?"

"People? That is a bit harder. Generally, you will only see Camilla and me around. Crockett tends to come and go, and I imagine your friend will be hanging around for a while. Occasionally we will have someone unusual come by, such as that cop woman. A low profile is good for us right now, so not too many unnecessary people drop by." Down the hall, the pair of you turn a corner and met up with a distraught Camilla.
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"I was so worried! I thought you went and got lost!" she exclaims, blushing when she realizes how loud she was being. You apologize for making her look everywhere and she goes on to explain how everything is ready for the examination. It sounds like the basic ones you've had before, but things have changed. Even with Camilla talking you through the process you just have to tune it out and try not to think about being touched.


Sitting on the table makes you feel on display, moving around awkwardly while listening to the crinkle of the gown. You were allowed to keep your underclothes on, a small luxury if you could even call it that. Camilla stays right by your side, leaving only to fetch something for Dr. Rizzo.

"I know it might be a bit early to say this, but Delilah seems healthy doesn't she?" Camilla asks, waiting by as a stethoscope travels against your back.

"Breathe in," Dr. Rizzo instructs, pulling away any time you start to shake. "You are doing good, we are almost done." He motions for his niece to grab him the next item, writing down whatever information he could get from listening just now. "I have not noticed anything with her yet, no. And you have not been feeling any pain, is that correct?"

"No sir." you shake your head.

"It may take some time before we find the problem. But if you are not feeling ill then we are not on a time limit yet." A needle finds its way to Dr. Rizzo's hand and he eyes you carefully. "Now, I know that your friend Lawrence has a problem with this, what about you?"

"No, I'm fine. Wait, is it a shot?" you ask, noticing that the syringe is empty.
"Not this time. I'm going to draw some blood so we can get it tested," Dr. Rizzo explains as he motions for your arm. You watch as he finds the spot he needs to use, disinfecting the area of skin. "Can you handle that?"

"I think so, yeah." you nod, letting him continue. It hurts when the needle pierces and you start to feel a bit light headed. You dare a peek, feeling sicker when you see just how dark your blood really is. It seems to have taken both Dr. Rizzo and Camilla by surprise, the doctor almost pulling out too early.

"It 's so dark..." she remarks. "Is her iron that high?"

"I do not think so. Her heartbeat was normal, and her skin looks fine. We will keep a watch though..." Dr. Rizzo trails off, and as the almost black fluid fills the plastic a terrible smell wafts up. It's not much, just a slight hint, but that's all it takes to make you gag.

"Hm?" Camilla notices you first, Dr. Rizzo busy with applying pressure to where the needle once was. "You're looking a little sick now, are you alright?"

"She just had blood drawn."

"Yes, but look at her," says Camilla as she motions at your face, "I don't think it's just from this."

The hand over your nose has begun to shake as you try to keep the rest of your body still. You can recognize that smell now, the putrid odor that comes off your vile looking blood. The same smell that's came off of sick people, others that you've encountered that all shared the same condition.

You never thought the smell of street rot would be coming from you.

"Delilah, is there something wrong?" Dr. Rizzo asks and you know there's no way out of this without an answer.

You can go ahead and tell them your blood has a weird scent to it, but you don't have to mention street rot. It's scary enough to know your mother is in the hospital for it, so it might just be safer if you don't mention a smell at all...
Tell em
Just mention it smells. Wrong, even. Don't have to mention the rest.
>Hobo Loli got an STD
Oh poor, poor child.
We need to tell them, the faster we get treatment the better.
No one said that.
I don't know man, it seems pretty conclusive to me.
Unless it has something to do with her Not!Vampirism, which would explain how her mom got it.
Eithet way, it looks like bad times ahead for our young protagonist.
"Can you smell it?" you ask, all too reluctant to look at the vial in Dr. Rizzo's hand.

"Nothing unusual, no," he says with a shake of his head. "What is it? This?"

You nod, swallowing hard. Everything feels dizzy now, though you're sure it's from fear. With a dry mouth you try to answer, "I can smell it, my blood. It smells r-... bad."

"Bad? How bad? How long has it been like this?" Dr. Rizzo tries to ask questions faster than you can answer them, Camilla looking on worried. "Is it different from others-"

"Slow down, give her a chance to answer!" Camilla interrupts, a gentle hand on your shoulder. The doctor nods but doesn't take his eyes off of you, peering at you from over his glasses.

"I'm sorry, but this could be helpful. We are looking at her problem blind right now, so please Delilah, continue." Dr. Rizzo attempts to sound softer, but you still squirm under the spotlight like this. The thought of your mother being kept in the hospital comes up, and you regret saying anything at all.

"I'm pretty sure it's only been like this recently. It just smells wrong, like I'm um, sick..." you really don't want to say what it smells like, but as Dr. Rizzo starts writing you know he's going to push it further.

"Sick? Like how sick? Have you smelt it on other people?"

"K-Kinda, yeah. With other people it smells like their blood is uh, spoiled I guess-"

"Spoiled? That's odd, I could not smell anything like that just now..." Dr. Rizzo thinks it over as he jots down notes, allowing you a brief moment of silence to collect your thoughts. "And those other people, were they sick too?" You nod, already guessing what the next question is. "How do you know they were sick? What kind of sickness?" You find it hard to breathe, your head spinning wildly. It's not an answer you want to say, not ever. It'd be so much easier if you could just ignore it, but that won't help you get better. Your silence is already telling enough, but neither of them are prepared for the answer you're going to give.

"St...Street rot..."

"Street rot?" Dr. Rizzo repeats back, confused.

"Dio mio..." With a gasp, Camilla removes her hand from you. The two share a brief conversation, you recognizing it as Italian but nothing else from it.

"Ah, that is what they call it here. Delilah, how long has it been like this again? Be honest with me right now."
Your whole body begins to shake more, and you're sure that you've been doomed to a hospital bed now.

"A-At least a month..."

"A month? That might be good news then..." Camilla sighs, though she still looks at you with concern.

"What? Why is that good news?" you ask.

Dr. Rizzo rises up from his chair, off to put the vial of blood away. "Because, if you really had the ah, street rot, for this long, than I really do not think you would be able to sit here right now. You might be sick, but I doubt it is that."

"But doesn't her mother have-" Camilla starts to say, quickly shutting herself up when she sees that it's a sensitive topic.

"Denise did show up positive for it yes, but I have seen grown, healthy men die from this within weeks. Does Delilah look sickly to you?"

"Not really, no..." she answers, looking you over.

"The color may just be something that we can take care of here," he explains, "And the smell may just be in her head. We will keep an eye out of course, but if please be careful in the meantime. If you cut yourself, do not let anyone else touch it. Call for me or Camilla, just to be safe."

"You think I'm crazy..." you mutter, taking back the clothes that are handed back to you.

"Not crazy, there are several answers to what could be wrong. We just need to find the correct one."

It doesn't help you feel better, but the worst of it is over for now. Allowed to leave, you kindly decline Camilla's offer to walk you to your room. Instead you take to just walking the halls alone again. Far off you can hear the sound of a one sided conversation echoing in the hall. Crockett must have came back while you were busy, now talking on a phone somewhere.

You could go talk to him, or go visit your grandmother for a bit. Then again, you feel worn out from the exam. It might be better if you just go check on Lawrence, or even go lay down for a while.
Let's go say hi to grandma, see if maybe she's well enough to talk about gramps.
Well thay a relief let see what granny is up too since law is sleep
Trying to put the past house out of mind, you wander to where your grandmother is immobile. Since you've arrived here, you haven't really gotten to speak to her much. As you approach her open door it's easy to remember why that is. You stand by the opening, watching as your grandmother sleeps. She's upright against a few pillows, having nodded off in the middle of her sewing project at hand. You consider leaving her be, but come over to retrieve the fabric. While keeping an eye out for the needle you set it to the side, hearing your grandmother rustle awake.

"Hm, Camilla?" she asks groggily, turning over to look at you. "Oh, hello Delilah. It's nice to see you. Did you come to visit me?"

You nod. "For a little bit, if that's okay." Despite her age, your grandmother had always looked healthy. But right now, you see her as a sick old woman laying in bed and it breaks your heart. Even if she had remained cold to you as she had been in the past few years, seeing a once proud woman in this state is a hard sight to take in.

"I'm a little tired from my medicine, but I'll do my best to stay awake." She sits up, trying to appear proper with hands folded on top of her. The rubber tubing that trails from the drip and into her wrists make you shudder, as you don't even want to imagine being in the same position as her. You try to look around her room instead, trying to think that you're both back at home safe. The room is made up of the same thick, cold and dark walls as yours, but the small touches your grandmother has around helps make it feel less like some sort of prison cell.

You take a seat beside her, careful not to disrupt any possible medical equipment at hand.

"If it's okay, I kinda wanted to know a little more about grandpa..." you say, making sure to speak clearly enough for her to hear. "I know you don't want to tell me, but I don't like being lost like this. I don't understand what's happening half the time, and if... if you could at least tell me what this place was..." She shifts around, an uncomfortable look on her face, and you start to worry that you've already started to push it.

"I guess I do owe you that much, don't I?" she sighs. "He really didn't want you to know, but I suppose it's for the best, with how things are now. He never wanted it this way but..." The thought must pain her, but your grandmother continues before you can try to put a stop to it. "I suppose you can't really plan ahead for something like this, can you?"

"You can just tell me what you want." You feel scared to look at her, keeping your focus on her hands instead. Her long and thin fingers were such a contrast to your grandfather's, though at this point you can barely remember how they were.
"There's probably too much that I could tell you right now, and most of it wouldn't make sense or matter. But where I should start..." your grandmother pauses, resting her eyes. "...do you remember the story he used to tell you? About when he first came to America, and how we met and got married?"

"Yes, I love that story."

She gives a grim smile now, and you start to feel uneasy. "I'm afraid that's what most of that was, a silly story he'd tell you. Not all of it of course, but some of those nicer bits... He did come here without a penny to his name, and my parents did not like him coming around. He left for a while, came back with money. There were the odd end jobs he did, but that's certainly not how he built himself up, and he didn't come here alone."

Your eyebrows raise in surprise, "Did he come down here with his family?"

"Not the kind you're thinking of. Your grandfather was born into poverty back in Italy, and found his place in a small time, ah well I suppose gang isn't the wrong word. One of the reasons they came down here in the first place was to help smuggle in medicine. Not for the sake of bringing it in to people who were in need of it- They could sell it for much more than it was worth in a black market deal, he wouldn't tell me much more but I'm sure there was more than just medicine being sold." your grandmother has to stop to catch her breath again, leaving you to have the wonder tale he told you shatter.

"So...this um, this place?" you ask, scared for answers to any of the next questions you have. "This was grandpa's place, right?"

Your grandmother nods, continuing. "A safe house, since his line of work was starting to more less friends than enemies. He also used it as a storage for anything he needed kept secret. When he decided that he wanted out, he got rid of most that was here. The house remained though, since quitting doesn't mean you're safe," her voice starts to crack. "And in the end he still wasn't safe. They told you it was a car accident, but your grandfather was shot. We think it might have been one of his old partners but I didn't continue the search too far."
"What? Why?" This is hard for you, and it is for your grandmother too.

"When he first saw his granddaughter, he wanted to separate himself completely from that life. He had already done enough damage to have it follow him years later, but he didn't want you to experience it. I was worried that if I investigated his death too far, then I'd be opening up a door he wanted to keep close. I did what I could to at least make sure the rest of us were safe, but I believe this is what he would have wanted..." she lets out a mournful sigh, fingers running over the wedding band she still wears. "Though that has gone for nothing now. Leaving that old life behind completely isn't easy in the slightest. You were bound to find out sooner or later."

"I'm sorry you had to tell me," you apologize quietly. "I...I don't think I would have been scared of him though, if I knew all that. I still loved grandpa a lot."

"He would be so glad to hear that, I promise." She smiles but doesn't look in your direction, leaving you to fiddle with your fingers nervously. Her heart must feel heavy now, but you don't know the words to say that could lighten her burden.

"Delilah..." your grandmother interrupts the silence for you, sounding in a daze. You look up, a little scared to speak.

"Y-yes ma'am?"

She continues looking off, taking her time to respond.

"I know it was terrible, terrible for you out there. I can't take that away, ever. But what exactly happened after you left my house that day? What did I put you through?"

Your voice seizes up in your throat, both at the memories and the thought of exposing your grandmother through the torture.

Do you want to tell her the nitty-gritty of it all, or should you try to keep in a good mood and just talk about the time you spent with the group?
Let's just... gloss over the worst of it. It's not something we'll forget, but grandma almost keeled over last time.
You decide to keep the burden to yourself.

"It wasn't all bad," you say while trying to convince yourself that it doesn't count as a lie, "I got lucky, really lucky, and found some nice people to help me get through it. They let me stay, even though there wasn't really anything I could do to help out, and even though I ended up bringing trouble for them." Your heart feels heavy now, weighing down on your chest. "It was tough, but they managed somehow. Like during Christmas, it's not like they had a lot to work with or anything but somehow they all managed to get together and have a dinner together like a um, well like a family I guess. It was nice, even if things kept going wrong..."

"One of those people that helped you, he's a man in jail right now. Is that right?" your grandmother continues looking off in the distance, hardly able to keep her eyes open. When she finally does look back in your direction it's obvious that you're going to need to let her rest soon.

"Yes, a man name John Boseman. He um," you stop, deciding not to share the fact that you both had gone through similar trauma. "... He taught me how to defend myself, with a knife and a, with a gun too." You immediately brace for your grandmother's concern over you handling something so dangerous, expecting some sort of scolding one way or another. She remains surprisingly calm but you can only guess if it's from being sedated or not.

"A gun..." she repeats back hoarsely. "I suppose... it would be for the best."

"What would-" you start to ask, but can see her head start to nod down. You just pretend that you didn't say anything at all, reaching out and touching her hand. "Do you need anything right now?"

She nods "If it's not a bother... could you please call Camilla here? Let her know, it's not an emergency. I know how she...likes to worry." Your grandmother is just keeping herself awake right now so you don't waste any time, rushing out to the hallway. You keep from calling out, scared by how loud your voice might echo in such a big place. It becomes worrying when you can't seem to locate her, scared about what you should do instead. You consider going back to where she had been with Dr. Rizzo, as much as you'd hate to see that room again so soon, but you nearly run past Camilla as she steps out from a room.

"Ah, you- Need you!" you turn on heel, nearly tripping over yourself as she closes the door to Lawrence's room.

"Is there something wrong?" she asks. You can't help but notice her empty hands, and look towards the door she just came through.
You push out any terrible thoughts that may come up and point to where you came from "Grandma needs you, she-" Camilla is quick to jog down the hall, leaving you behind as you try to tell her that it's not a matter of an emergency. She arrives before you do of course, at your grandmother's bedside before you even get to the door. You're both relieved when your grandmother looks up at her and says "Ms. Camilla, I'm afraid I need to ask you for a favor."

Debating whether or not you should step in, footsteps approach from behind and you find a rather distraught Crockett walking out. You call out to him giving a quick wave as you move towards him.

"Oh, hey there kiddo." he says with a smile, a heavy box in his arms.

"You need any help with that?" you ask, pointing at the old cardboard.

Crockett gives a short chuckle "Wanna carry it for me?"

"Uh, I think if I tried then it would never move from this spot." Through the open hole handles on the sides, you can see that someone had absolutely stuffed with papers. "Is there something else I could do?"

"Sure, grab the keys from my coat pocket," he turns to show you which one. From inside you pull out a ring of keys, way too many for you to figure out which belongs where. Crockett shakes his head "Wrong ones, car keys." You replace the ring and pull out a much smaller, manageable set of keys. "Alright, if you could just get the doors opened for me now that would be great." You nod, following behind closely as he leads you over to what is you assumed is the garage here.

"So, you been doing okay since we got here?" he asks, waiting for you to open the way.

"I haven't done much, but I guess so yeah."

"This place isn't exactly something you'd expect to call home really, but it's safe. Once everything gets a bit more figured out, I'm pretty sure you'll be somewhere less ah, industrial looking."

"You mean like a boarding school..." you mumble, spotting his poor crappy car parked among much nicer ones.

"Hey, that's not official yet. Don't think about it too hard, you won't be sent till you're ready- Yeah, that key with the tape around it."

You manage to get the trunk open, finding it even more crowded that his seat upfront had been.

"Ooh shit, here lemme uh, try making some room..." The box drops to the floor with a loud thud as Crockett attempts to reorganize trash and junk that doesn't even really need to be in there. "So we're supposed to go visit your mom soon."

You nod. "I remember."

"Right right, getting that planned out. And Lawrence mentioned visiting some woman, the one who owns that theater place? Mathews or Faraway... Oh, I think her name was Sharron. He was planning on meeting up with her."

You wince at hearing his name, biting at your lip painfully.

"I don't know what exactly is going on with that," Crockett continues unbeknownst to your discomfort. "But was that a trip you were planning going along with too?
Maybe, but it might not be safe. Would be terrible if there's a repeat of the incident at the Talbot house.
"I don't know..." you kick at the ground idly as Crockett manages to stuff the box into the trunk, only for him to have to work on getting it to shut. "But I don't really want to bring trouble there too..."

"Still shaken up from before, yeah. Should've thought about that sorry-" he grunts as the cover slams down and latching shut. "Really can't blame you. Hell, I'm impressed that you'd go with me to the hospital so soon. Don't think you have to do it though, if you're worried. I promise to keep you safe, but there's nothing wrong with wanting to stay in for a while longer. Doubt you've really gotten the proper time to just sit down and catch your breath from all this." Crockett sits back against his car now, arms crossed in front of him.

"I think I can handle going to the hospital. You're going too, right?"

"Yep. Need to try to talk to Denise again, at least if she's willing and able. She's, from what I've been told, apparently been getting better-"

"Except now she's got street rot," you say it much more bluntly and bitter than you mean, hands coming up immediately to cover your mouth far too late. The hurt on Crockett's face is plain for you to see, a sad and troubled look scrunching up his face. Hugging yourself and looking to the side, you try to offer an apology. "I didn't mean to say it like... I'm just, I'm scared for her. She's sick, grandma has to have surgery, and even Lawrence has to recover... I'm scared that more is going to go wrong and someone is going to d-"

Your teeth dig deep into your bottom lip, hurting badly but keeping you from saying the dreaded word.

"I understand how you feel," Crockett says as his fingers travel over his mustache, slightly distracted in thought. "I promise, you're not alone in that." He looks back up at you, trying to offer a comforting smile. You briefly remember the conversation you had with Dr. Rizzo earlier, but your answer remains the same. You don't really feel scared around him, aside from the piece of fear you keep around regardless. As much as you try to tell yourself this is good company, the fact remains that you're alone with a man much stronger than you and a small part of you will always hold that doubt.
"Do you know how bad Mom is?" you take a few slow steps back, feeling bad for appearing so anxious.

"She looked fine last time I saw her, but it's been a bit. It can work fast, but if she was already in the hospital than I'm sure they have means to stave off the worst of it."

"But not a cure..." you did it again, being much too blunt for the conversation. But you can't apologize as your eyes start to burn and become blurry. You try to hide it away from Crockett, attempting to clear them with your sleeve as you turn around. "Is it um, do you think this is going to turn out o-okay? All of this?"

"Well we managed to get you here safely, and your boyfriend is mostly in piece- not that he can't recover easily from that," his face starts to warm back up with a smile, letting out a short chuckle as you make a face at the word boyfriend. "Your grandmother has some good doctors looking at her, she's a strong woman. She has to be to have been married to your gramps y'know, not just anyone can roll with that life. And Denise..." It takes him longer to find the silver lining here, his grin fading just for a bit. "Well, trust me when I say that she's been through plenty of rough patches before, and she came through every time. This? This is no different, she'll get through it too."

You want to believe that it will be okay, so you accept what Crockett says with a nod. "I keep forgetting you knew her too. I didn't mean to make this all weird."

"Hey now, you're fine. It's a scary situation, and honestly I don't know a lot of people who could get through it this far. Despite everything the world has thrown, you're here. You're allowed to act scared sometimes, y'know? Can't go making guys like me look weak with your nerves of steel." It's hard to to tell what exactly puts the short grin on your face but you can't help but feel a little more lifted up.

"Sorry, do you need to head out? Am I holding you up?" you ask, tossing the keys back to him.

"Soon, but I can give you about, oh..." with an exaggerated gesture Crockett looks at the watch on his right wrist, barely taking the time to look at it before answering. "I wanna say four and a half minutes, but for you I'll bump that up to five."

Not really long enough to get out all your questions, you think of some that come up immediately. You kind of want to ask about where he got the picture on his desk, or maybe more about when he knew your mom years ago. Of course you're pretty curious about what he's doing right now, but as other questions begin to pop up you remember you only have a little bit of time to talk to Crockett.
Spill the spaghetti

Ask everything very fast.
I got nothing, this is perfect. Might be nice to hear about mom when she was younger and stuff, but that's if we can get our spaghetti under control.
"Just five?" you smile, Crockett nodding as he taps his watch. The grin just manages to stay on your face as you ask "On your desk, that's a picture of me and Mom, right?"

"Ah, you saw that huh?" he says, sounding embarrassed to be caught red-handed. "Hope it didn't creep you out too much. I've visited the apartment, only after the fire happened though. Tried looking through to see if there was anything that could've been helpful and I just couldn't leave behind such a nice photo. Course if you're wanting it then I should probably give it back."

"No no, you can hold on to it. It's probably safer on your desk anyways," you say. "I wasn't trying to be snoopy in your stuff either, I just didn't expect to see something like that here. I'm actually glad you saved it... All the pictures of me that grandma had are um, are gone. H-... Someone took them."

"Ah, yeah. I saw what happened, I've been over to Mrs. Esposito's place a few times," Crockett grimaces. "I'm afraid the fire took its toll on a lot of the ones at your mother's. Except for that one, the dresser managed to save that photo."

"I think that's the dresser Grandma gave her when they got married." It's a little thought that doesn't really matter, but remembering it somehow makes you feel a bit better. At least something survived.

"Well, I'm glad. I missed taking pictures with my best friend."

"Best friend?" you draw out the words, taking a moment to let it click together. "Mom's your best friend?"

"You sound surprised."

"Well yeah she just, uh..." you still have a hard time imagining your mother hanging out with Crockett, much less being that close of a friend. "It's weird to think that she had, like, friends like that."

"Oh yeah," he chuckles, "I've got plenty of stories of us causing trouble. Bit of a wild streak between us, y'know?"

"No I don't know! You have to tell me!" your curiosity demands as you start trying to guess what possible stories he has. "Did you two ever like get caught doing something bad? Wait does that mean you two did illegal stuff? Or is it not that kind of trouble?"

"That's a lot of questions for someone who used up all their time." he walks to the front door, all the while you keep trying to cram in all the questions you can and hope you get some kind of answer back.

""Wait, you have to tell me something before you go! You can't just say something like that and then leave! Did you guys break into places or something? Or did you guys shoplift or, wait were you guys ever caught by the cops? Were you ever arrested? You're not making it up right?"

"Write these questions down!" Crockett steps into his front seat, the engine kicking to life shortly. "You can ask me when I get back later."

"Yeah but I need to know now! Will you at least answer one more question?" you peer in over the cracked down window, mustering up the saddest face that you can.
"Alright kiddo, but you've only got one question so use it wisely."

Your heart beats quicker as you try to think of the best way to use your question. As you try to think of what you want the answer to the most, your eyes scan over the interior of his car. "Jeez, it is always so dirty in here?"

"Hey, Denise used to ask me that question all the time too!" A wider grin cracks across his face. "And you know what? Same answer as always, yep." He waves you off, officially marking his departure for now. With no other way to stop him, you wave back and watch as the beat-up car pulls itself outside of the garage and away to whatever business Crockett has to attend to. With nothing better to do, you walk back inside and begin to wander the halls again.

You arrive to Lawrence's door, ready to go in and waste time by his side but find yourself no longer alone in the hallway as you grab the handle. A full ring of keys hangs heavily from Camilla's hand as they clink together with each step, a flashlight grasped in the other. She stops at one of the doors when you wave, catching her attention before she can unlock the door before her. "Hello Ms. Delilah," she greets. "And what are you up to at the moment?"

"I really don't have anything to do right now," you admit to her. "So I was just going to check on Lawrence and um, I guess try to figure out what to do."

"Ah, I am so sorry about that!" Camilla quickly apologizes. "It must be awfully boring right now. If we had a bit more time we could have made sure you were not going to be stuck just walking the halls like this, but everything has been such short notice."

You shake your head "I don't think I could really ask for a whole lot more than this. Was my grandma okay though?"

"Oh, yes she's fine. And it is actually a good thing I ran into you, the favor she asked requires you." Camilla motions you over.

"Shouldn't I check on him first?" you ask, pointing back to where Lawrence is as you hesitantly come up. She shakes her head with a smile, looking through for the correct key.

"He was fine when I looked in earlier, it would be for the best if you just let him sleep for now." The door swings open and a rush of cold and dusty air sends a shiver down your spine. It's too dark for you too see the inside clearly yet, but there seems to be plenty of shelves lined against the walls. Compared to Crockett's office, this already looks much better organized. As Camilla feels for a switch that doesn't work anymore you can take a good guess that this room had fallen to disuse, and start to wonder how long it's been since someone stepped inside.
"Oh dear, we will have to use the flashlight. You can wait outside if you like, it should only take me a little bit." It takes a few tries for the flashlight to turn on, the plastic worn down and dented in some areas already and looking much older than any you've used before. If what you heard earlier about your grandfather is all true it would make sense for the place to still have supplies stocked up from when it was actually needed. Though the idea of what else might be hidden away behind the doors makes you feel cautious to explore.

You step in behind her. "It's fine, I can help you look for...?" Camilla answers your question with just a sweep of the light. Crates and boxes next to a table catch your eye, but the guns lined up neatly keep your attention. Seeing so many in one spot is a bit overwhelming, but the woman in front of you scans over them like they aren't a big deal.

"Hm, might have to dig around a bit," she says to herself, "I need to find one that's the right size for you."

"What do you mean right size for me?" you ask as Camilla picks up and inspects what looks to be some kind of harness.

"Hmm..." Camilla hums to herself for a moment, "Your grandmother wants to make sure you'll always have a way to protect yourself, even in the worse case scenario. We are going to find you a weapon in here, then I shall make sure you know how to use it properly."

"So wait, you mean you're going to give me a gun?" You'd become used to others carrying one, the idea of carrying your own around seems baffling. "I'm just a... just a little girl though. Are you sure I can carry around something like that?"

"I can't force you to carry one around Ms. Delilah, especially if you're scared. But it could prove useful in an emergency, and you have gone through some training already, haven't you?" Camilla turns around holding up what you can now see is a holster, an empty spot where a gun would go. You swallow hard and nod.

"Yeah, I have kinda..."

"Well, in the end it's your choice. Do you think you can handle a gun? It's okay if you don't think so, we can work up to it. I'm sure I can find you something else to carry instead."
"I have handled worse things."
Maybe. John taught us some of the fundamentals, like stance, grip, and recoil. It should be fine, John knows his stuff.
"Maybe," you mutter, "I've handled worse things... There was this guy, John. He taught me some stuff so that's all I know but he used to be a soldier, so I think it was all right."

"That is good, we don't have to spend forever teaching you everything from the beginning. We can make sure you remember everything and work on keeping your skills up. Practice is always good, you know?" Camilla begins to hand over some of the holsters, making you hold them as she continues her search. "Today, we'll at least find you something to use, and I'll show you have to wear those."

"Why do I need so many? Do they break easy?" you look over one of the ones in your hand. It reminds you of a belt, but the empty holder attached tells you otherwise.

"No no, I could never imagine one of these breaking, not unless you were trying to. You need more than one usually, since you want to keep it concealed. Can't really the same holster with dress and pants, or if you need one for a different gun size. Afraid that I'm only being giving you one for now, though we can see about giving you your own small collection later on if you like-" Camilla almost excited about this, moving on to investigate inside a safe with a gleeful step. You look at the holsters in your arms once more. Police wear these. someone like Crockett wears these- a little girl like you doesn't wear something like this.

You look away from the holsters finally, watching as Camilla leaves the safe dissatisfied. There's a gun in her hand, heavy and intimidating. She places it on the table with a heavy thud, searching elsewhere in the room. She ignore the guns on the wall, some that you swear are taller than you. "A dress? How do you hide a gun when you're in a dress? You don't like, put it in your b-... bra or something, do you?"

There's a quick snort from her as Camilla tries to hide her laugh, shaking her head quickly. "You probably wouldn't be able to draw it out too well in there. Then again, I have done that before myself," she stops her search, redirecting the light onto herself. Pulling her dress taut, you see an outline around her thigh and quickly understand how one carried a gun around in a dress. The gun vanishes beneath the shape of the dress once more when she lets go and she kneels down next to another safe. This one appears locked, the clinking sound of the dial going through as she attempts to open it.

"You've carried a gun in your um, bra before?" You try to imagine how that could work, but between Camilla and yourself it's easy to see she would have an easier time hiding it. "I feel like if I tried that then all everyone would see the gun before my ch-chest."

"Not really my favorite place, but it was an emergency. You don't really get to prepare during a ah, what's called... hostage situation."
You can't help but gasp quietly "You've been held hostage?"

"Hmm, almost..." When the safe door fails to open Camilla mutters something hard to hear under her breath, thinking about what code to try next. "I was working at the hospital when a small group of, well I guess you would call them thugs here, came in trying to hold some of the nurses and patients hostage. They thought they could get a ransom, but they didn't realize that we most of our people came from the streets. When they realized they couldn't get the money they wanted, they thought they could rob us of medicine and take a few of the children to keep trying to coerce something from us. They decided I needed to come along with, and I only had enough time to grab a gun and shove it down my top. When they were moving us I took the chance to shoot at the men taking us. It gave us the chance to hide till the police shot the rest down. They were not very smart men, and none of them left alive. Of course that's one of the reasons why I had to move to America afterward."

"Cause you k-...shot someone?"

"Yes. Even though it was self defence, the rest of their gang did not appreciate me killing him. They blamed me for their plan going wrong, and I was going to end up waking with my throat slit. So I ran away, and started helping my uncle here-" Camilla lets out a happy squeal as the safe door opens and she eagerly looks inside. It doesn't take long before she's standing before you, something small and silver glinting in her hand. "It's the perfect size for you, look!"

The gun gets handed over, much lighter and compact than you thought it would be. By the flashlight you can see that it's smaller than most guns you've seen before, silver and shiny.
"It's a Colt pistol, you should be able to handle that without hurting your hands too much. You still need to be careful with it though, it's still a gun and even for it's size it will get the job done!" Camilla crosses her arms, proud for having found it. "Now, unless you have something else to do, I suggest we at least make sure you know how to use this one. You're going out with Ace soon, to meet your mother? It would be best to practice now, to make sure you are ready."

You don't feel in any position to argue otherwise, so you just nod in agreement. Thankfully Camilla holds on to the gun as she finds protective gear, letting you follow a few short steps behind. She makes you bundle up, informing you that part of the lesson is going to take place outside. "While we still have okay light." she explained, having apologized for making you march out into the cold. You follow her orders, mostly wordless as the wind nips at your face. Snow crunches under your shoes as she takes out out and away from the house, letting you see the fence that circles the land but little else. You had been wanting windows inside, but out here still feels lonely.


A few meters separate you and a short dirt wall, the house back in the distance. The wind no longer bites your ears as the earmuffs protect from the chill, deafening most of the world. A pair of safety glasses rest on your nose, keeping any stray snowflakes out of your eyes as you watch Camilla set up the targets. Nothing more than some sheets of paper that she had made her own target marks on, they're the best she had at hand. A bullet hole already rests in the middle of one, the test shot she had done to show you how to work the gun. During the quick process you find out that it's fairly different from the gun John had showed you, throwing you off upon discovering it uses a magazine. You feel dumb for not knowing how to use it, but Camilla promises to teach you how to reload once you're back inside.

For now, you feel her stare on your back. She wants to see how well you can actually aim, and it's absolutely nerve wracking. The first two shots miss their target, mostly due to you trying to figure out how exactly to hold and aim the Colt. You take a deep breath in an attempt to calm down, looking at how close the second bullet had come to landing on the paper.

There's three shots left as you take aim again, praying that you'll any sort of talent for this...
>Roll 1d100, best of three
Rolled 9 (1d100)

Rolled 97 (1d100)

Rolled 82 (1d100)

Aim with your eye, Del, not with your hand. Remember the face of your father.
The next shot barely hits the paper, you were so distracted by the thought of doing well in front of Camilla. You near drop the gun too as your face heats up in embarrassment. Hoping that she isn't judging too harshly you ready for the next shot go over each step in your head. Readjust your grip, slow down, and aim. You try not to panic when you feel the gun go off this time, instead keeping your sights on the target in front.

The new indent that smokes out of the center dot feels shocking, a feat that couldn't have came from you. But the cheering from behind lets you know that even Camilla is impressed by it, even if you know it's nothing more than a fluke. With just one more bullet left to go, you take aim and just know that you're both going to leave here disappointed.

Camilla is hardly able to keep in her excitement as another smoldering hole rests next to the last. You look amazed at the gun, unsure how you managed to get two shots in a row like that. The praise she gives you as she collects the target all blend together as you consider what having this gun means. Knowing how to use it was one thing, carrying around a knife didn't seem as daunting, yet the idea of concealing a gun wherever you go still seems inconceivable.

Such a dangerous weapon, and you're being trusted to carry it.

You gasp as Camilla pulls you out of though, gently pushing you back towards the house. "Alright, quick!" she smiles, "It's freezing out here! I will make us something to warm up, then we can finish the lesson today. I still can not believe how well you did!"

"I missed the first three shots though." It's embarrassing to have her praise you for something that feels like an accident.

"And once you figured out how the gun felt to use, you managed to get it no? In no time, even you could be the best sharpshooter around." With how happy Camilla is, you don't have the heart to tell her that's not really what you want. Even just carrying the emptied gun back to the house feels like too much power, especially after everything you'd done to hurt people before. It's a fear you'll keep to yourself for now, even if it's a heavy one.


It feels much warmer back inside, small heaters plugged into to the rooms in an attempt to put heat in. After showing off the target to Dr. Rizzo, much to your humiliation, Camilla has you sit in the main room as she makes you something warm to drink. The Colt rests on the glass of the coffee table as you more than happy enough to finally let it go. Learning how to reload and clean it and whatever else she wants to show you doesn't sound so bad though. If anything, it'll be something to do.
Camilla emerges from the kitchen with two mugs in hand, her grin still not fading. "I'm so sorry about the wait, but while the water was heating up I couldn't help but show your grandmother the results too, she wanted to tell you well done!" She takes a seat next to you on the couch, legs folding elegantly below her as she passes a cup over to you. "I did not have the right ingredients for hot chocolate, so I tried to make the coffee sweet enough for you." You thank her for it, taking a sip and letting the still partially bitter drink warm your chest.

The lesson goes by rather easy. You're taught how to load the magazine, with Camilla showing you how to put the bullets into the clip and then into the gun. Even doing that feels too hard for you, as it takes several tries before you can even manage to get it to stay in properly. She's calm and patient with you the entire time, if just a bit zealous about teaching. Just as she's helped you attach a holster that goes inside the belt, the doctor calls to her. Even if it's in Italian you can tell that it's urgent as she jumps up immediately, apologizing for cutting the lesson short.

"We can continue this later!" she says as she starts to walk away, "Go ahead and keep everything in your room, you've been doing very well so far." As soon as she rounds the corner you're left all alone again, the eerie silence broken up only by the heater nearby.

The heat makes you feel tired, and now you have free time to go and take a nap. It's not like there's much else you can do right now, unless you want to go hang around Lawrence again or if you want to try exploring around again.
A nap seems good, what with hearing about grandpa and learning what recoil feels like.
You take the holsters and gun with as you trudge back to your room. There's a little bit of soreness lingering in your hands from earlier but by morning you'll probably have forgotten about it. The room that has decidedly been made yours feels far too drab and sterile. The thick walls dwarf what little there is inside, the four post bed looking inviting only by how exhausted you feel. Camilla had explained that the bed was left over from years ago, along with the wide dresser and vanity shoved against the wall near by. The blankets and sheets are clean though, letting you sink into them after shoving away the gun into a drawer.

The new rabbit toy your grandmother had made finds its way into your arms while you barely remember to kick off your shoes as you burrow into the pillows. The lamp off to the corner keeps the room filled with a low light, but you easily block it out as you hide away into the bed. You try to focus on falling asleep, but you can't help but think of your grandfather and the type of man he really was. The idea of the wonderful man you looked up to being like the bad guy in movies doesn't seem possible, but you can't ignore it.

Your grandfather was some sort of mobster and you're benefitting from the work he did.


There's little you can remember from your dream aside from the sound of gunfire, yet you nearly fall out of bed in a panic. Your heart races as you either try to run or fight back- you're not sure which to be honest. But when you take a moment to calm down, it's obvious that you woke up just as alone as when you went to sleep. Locating the rabbit, you tuck it under your arm as you try to get the beating in your chest under control. Your body feels stiff, like you slept for longer than a nap, and you try to shake away the grogginess as you leave to the hallway.

The ominous silence is something that feels like you'll never be used to, making it feel even more important for you to find someone right now. You head to Lawrence's room, planning on staying with him in there till morning. It's shocking when you find his bed empty and in a panic you rush off to try and find anyone else. It's a relief and a surprise to find him instead of Camilla in the kitchen instead, making him stop midbite as you run through the door.

"Oh, here you are." You feel flustered from how you came in here, though Lawrence just gives you a quick wave. "Should uh," you try to compose yourself better now, reaching up to flatten the bedhead you'd acquired, "Should you be out of bed so soon? You just laid down." He gives you a funny look at this, pointing back to the clock up on the wall. You start to think that you only slept for a few short hours, but come to realize that it's almost eight in the morning.
"O-Oh. Guess I slept through the night..." You feel embarrassed about letting the time slip past you so easily, but don't get to dwell on it too long as a note gets passed over to you. The handwriting is almost impossible to read, straggly and none of the words staying on the lines. Lawrence twirls the pen around in his left hand, letting you know why it's such a mess right now.

Crockett asleep couch

Camilla out

"On the couch? I wonder when he got back here..."

Lawrence shrugs, returning to his food. You decide to look through the fridge for food yourself, even if you aren't particularly hungry. An orange catches your attention and you take back to the table, taking a seat next to Lawrence. You feel a little silly carrying your toy around like this, but he doesn't seem to mind it sitting on the kitchen table. "It doesn't hurt, does it?" you ask, working on the peel. He shakes his head, pausing his oatmeal once more for another note. It's a struggle for him to write it like this, forcing the shorthand to become even shorter.

Not supposed to use right

Will heal faster if rest

Good luck reading these

"It's fine, I can manage. Sorta, but at least I was already reading your bad handwriting from before." you try to tease him, unsure of what's taking it too far or not. If he hadn't gotten shot because of you it might be a different matter, and you'd be more willing to ask if he'll be able to use his right arm fully again. You're fine with eating in silence for now, happy enough to not be alone in this big empty place. Eventually another note gets passed over to you, even if it takes you a few tries to read it.

youve got blonde sticking out

"Hm? Oh you mean my roots?" you reach up to touch your part, wishing you had a mirror now to see them. "I hope it doesn't look too bad..." He shakes his head, though you suspect he would have said no regardless. He manages to scribble out another note over to you

think you'll grow out? or keep it short+dark?
Probably let it grow, its purpose was to disguise us but that failed.

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