Hinnom is sobbing, Marduk is yelling, and Riccin is staring, and you are still entirely too drunk to try and decipher the look they're giving you.

Your clawtips are gold, brighter than the yellowed keratin of the nail proper, and you'll feel bad about the scratches running across Riccin's face later: right now, you've got to make sure that you and Hinnom don't die.

Fear keeps you steady as you dart over to the little yellowblood. You're moving as fast as you can, one stub in front of the other, but it feels like you're going entirely too slow. You're not sure if the rushing sound in your soundsacks is the buzz of drones approaching, or just the sound of the blood racing in your veins.

Maybe it's both.

"Shh, sh, it's alright," you croon, dropping hard to your knees in front of the little maroonblood - no, yellow, because the tears streaking down their face are as sallow as the blood on your claws. Hinnom's lusus is twining around their neck, and.. you doesn't know anything about insects, so you can only hope the way it's looking at you is friendly. "I've got it, it's okay, shh. You're psychic, aren't you? Can you think of a place in the city?"

"Somewhere that's - haah - safe?"