The way that Pheres's eyes are lit up was less noticeable up above, where the light of the day and the glare of the sun had washed it out to the point of near invisibility. Down here, with only the dimmergrubs high above, it's glaring. He looks like a ghoul.
He sounds like one, too.
"He's not dead," Castor says, slowly, like he's questioning it. He's lapsed back into standard, thank fuck. "So..."
You wait. Sometimes it takes him a moment to think up a plan. But Castor usually comes up with good ones.
"We have to take him back to the hive."
Sometimes he comes up with good ones.
You shakes your head furiously, and you hiss, as low as you can: "No!"
"If he's not dead already," you continue all in a rush, "then he's gonna die, and then he'll turn, and it'll be awful, 'cause not like shit we can do 'gainst a revenant --"
"My god. You're a little angel." You don't know jack about religion, though Castor's tried to teach you, but you know that isn't a compliment just by the way he says it. "He saved you from the drones. We can't just leave him to die."
You don't see why not. Their mom clacks her mandibles, unsure: she can't see Castor, you don't think, but she still really doesn't like when they argue, so you zips it.
(And.. okay, because he does have a point. When someone does something for you, you gotta pay it back: good or bad, that's just a rule!)
(No one ever said it had to be a good pay-back, though. Leaving someone to be eaten by ghouls is still a reward, 'cause they're more likely to end up as a ghost that way, instead of just fading. But. It's a pretty shitty reward for saving your life.)
When you don't say anything else, Castor takes it as agreement and pulls himself together. As he spoke, he materialised more: rattlereeds and a speechwaddle for sound and lips to form them, but now he forces the rest, until he's less of a blur and more of a person, with clothes and horn-stubs and a body all between them.
And, wrapping your telekinesis around him like a shroud, he approaches Pheres.
no subject
The way that Pheres's eyes are lit up was less noticeable up above, where the light of the day and the glare of the sun had washed it out to the point of near invisibility. Down here, with only the dimmergrubs high above, it's glaring. He looks like a ghoul.
He sounds like one, too.
"He's not dead," Castor says, slowly, like he's questioning it. He's lapsed back into standard, thank fuck. "So..."
You wait. Sometimes it takes him a moment to think up a plan. But Castor usually comes up with good ones.
"We have to take him back to the hive."
Sometimes he comes up with good ones.
You shakes your head furiously, and you hiss, as low as you can: "No!"
"If he's not dead already," you continue all in a rush, "then he's gonna die, and then he'll turn, and it'll be awful, 'cause not like shit we can do 'gainst a revenant --"
"My god. You're a little angel." You don't know jack about religion, though Castor's tried to teach you, but you know that isn't a compliment just by the way he says it. "He saved you from the drones. We can't just leave him to die."
You don't see why not. Their mom clacks her mandibles, unsure: she can't see Castor, you don't think, but she still really doesn't like when they argue, so you zips it.
(And.. okay, because he does have a point. When someone does something for you, you gotta pay it back: good or bad, that's just a rule!)
(No one ever said it had to be a good pay-back, though. Leaving someone to be eaten by ghouls is still a reward, 'cause they're more likely to end up as a ghost that way, instead of just fading. But. It's a pretty shitty reward for saving your life.)
When you don't say anything else, Castor takes it as agreement and pulls himself together. As he spoke, he materialised more: rattlereeds and a speechwaddle for sound and lips to form them, but now he forces the rest, until he's less of a blur and more of a person, with clothes and horn-stubs and a body all between them.
And, wrapping your telekinesis around him like a shroud, he approaches Pheres.