#plantfell 01

[punisheye]

Knives' hand around his wrist feels like a brand and Wolfwood can't help the way the muscles in his hand tense up. It's not enough to get him to let go, however, but he makes a mental note of it. He's not stupid enough to not realize Knives could still probably fight back in his own way if he wanted to, but he's not sure just how many of his abilities he has at this point.

"Fine, ya wanna tell him?" Wolfwood can't help his barking laugh right into his face. "Do it. He already knows what sorta company he keeps by havin' me around."

After all, Knives, you were the one who sent Wolfwood off to play babysitter for your brother. So who's really to blame for that?

"This may come as a surprise to you, Punisher," Knives says, he'll drop the Chapel bit for now, but he's not about to call Wolfwood by his name. "I don't have a high tolerance for pain. So, what I want is far from having you "beat the shit out of me", thank you very much." He reaches a hand up to loosely wrap around the human's wrist. Nothing malicious, just a reassurance that he can at least attempt to defend himself if the priest decides to do more than just wrinkle his shirt.

"I didn't have any expectations, I just wanted to greet you. You're the one who turned it into a fight, and I think it's important that Vash knows what sort of company he keeps."

[deadmandraw]

@plantfell || Thread 01.

He must've blacked out. Again. These episodes were becoming more frequent. He should be worried. He knows who the man in the mirror is now, after all. But the man — the Fourteenth — is silent once more.

...His arm hurts.

He blinks, slowly, sucking in a breath as awareness to his new environment rushes in all at once. This was not headquarters. What the hell? Where was he? He doesn't recognize the alley he's woken up in. Then again, he's never been the greatest at identifying where he was at a given moment. The materials... seemed to be a little too sophisticated compared to what he's used to. Like the world in his dreams. Like the Arc. He supposes his unwelcomed roommate must've managed the strength to walk him this far. There's a strange device in his coat pocket. He ignores it, for now. He has other priorities.

He can't stay here.

However, his body seems to be committing mutiny against him. His arm — his Innocence was acting up. Why? He grits his teeth, and actively forces himself not to look at the writhing mass of... he's not sure what Crowned Clown is doing. It scares him. He doesn't want to acknowledge it. But he can't help but catch glimpses of whatever it's doing from the corner of his eye; feathery tendrils reaching skywards, likely clearly visible from outside the alleyway. Like a signal. But who — what — was it trying to call? He grips his shoulder, as if that'll force it back into a more solidified shape, alleviate the discomfort somehow. It doesn't.

Maybe he should call out for help... Except he doesn't even know where he's at, and he doesn't want to bring the wrong kind of attention to himself. It takes a herculean amount of effort to drag his body behind some abandoned boxes and other piles of garbage towards the back of the alley. A poor attempt at hiding, because his Innocence was acting up, and no amount of desperate silent pleas to stop whatever it was doing would work. His body being mostly hidden from view gives him some relief. Barely.

If someone decides to investigate, he wonders if asking nicely will be enough to make them leave him be. He doesn't know what else to do.

[hollowfaith]

「✧」 Skrrch, skkrch...

Gloved fingers brushed against the words on the wall, testing but failing to rub them off the surface. These useless "clues" were surprisingly persistent about sticking around despite offering nothing but a blatant exposure of secrets, i.e.:

Devou̶̻͇͈̯͊̄̀ṟ̴̽̎͒er—

Aurelius paused after hearing something—Ardere calling out to him again? He half-turned to listen better and caught the sound of footfalls. Obvious ones, heading towards him in the maze—was their owner making noise on purpose?

Such manners merited attention, so he dusted off his gloves, straightened out his coat, and was standing perfectly, politely poised in front of the writing by the time a figure rounded the corner of the nearest wall.

"How surprising."

"I was under the impression that this challenge was a solo event."

@plantfell ໒꒱ — meet in the middle

[wldrose]

@plantfell

Texting The Idiots:

Kugisaki: dont wait up on me Kugisaki: itadori you better not be eating my icecream either >/// i'll kick your ass

Once her text is sent to Fushiguro and Itadori, she's sliding her phine back into her pocket. Her hand clutches around the cellphone, not because she's scared and plans on calling for help when she needs it, but because she needs something to hold while her hand remained in her pocket.

Kugisaki Nobara has heard about the rumors of some Shinigami showing up in the Underside of the Cotes Ward during late hours. SHE wants to see for herself. "Tch, why do I feel like Itadori's been here." He probably has. He's been to so many shady places. Damn, does that mean he may have seen the grim reaper? She'll have to remember to ask him about that.

The orange haired teen slows her steps, pulls her hand out of her pocket and places them on her hips. It takes her a moment for eyes to adjust to the lighting, but who stands in front of her a few feet away is no grim reaper. How disappointing, but wait,

"Vas....h?" NOPE. And not even Stamps, either. Man, the Stars must really love Vash if they're bringing in a third one!

[punisheye]

It's not the first time he's regretted not pulling the goddamn trigger when he had the chance.

Part of him wonders if it would have done any good, anyway, when they'd already rebuilt that man from a fucking stain on the ground. What would a bullet have done? Especially now, knowing just what he is.

Wolfwood knows what Knives is trying to do. Work him up but refuse to retaliate so Wolfwood'll look like the unreasonable one here. Good thing Wolfwood really does not give a fuck about whether or not he's being reasonable. Except just when he's about to lunge again, the other's words fully process.

"My little—"

He blinks.

"Livio? He nearly killed ya?"

Back when he saw him the first time since ending up here, Livio killing anyone seemed like a far-fetched notion, considering how much he sobbed all over him. Why was he even crying to begin with? He doesn't remember. Wolfwood's brows knit together.

"Damn, if only he finished the job!" Because the mad dog comment finally registers and he can't stop the raw fury that flares up in response. Wolfwood grabs the front of Knives' shirt with one hand, because one hand is all he needs. "What, you want me to beat the shit outta ya so you can go tattle on me like a li'l kid?!"

It's hard to tell if the way Knives' jaw tenses is out of fear of the raised hand or frustration over Wolfwood's stupid grin. Either way, the latter floods the plant with an intense feeling of indignation. After everything the priest did in his name, Wolfwood has no right to feel any sense of superiority over him.

"Your little brother nearly killed me when we ran into each other. I have every reason to be cautious of you and your kind," Knives states dismissively, knocking Wolfwood's finger away with the back of his hand.

"I will stop acting familiar with you when you do the same," Knives looks over the man with an unimpressed expression, "I've been nothing but civil so far, and what have you done in return? You've attacked me and threatened to do more harm to me. There is no shame in turning to my brother for help when I'm faced with a mad dog."

[punisheye]

"You'll go cryin' to yer brother 'cus ya talked shit 'n' got hit?"

He's jeering, openly. All little patience he had been clinging onto is stripped away entirely, and with that incessant itch in his brain over forgetting something his patience had been even thinner than usual. Wolfwood can deal with Vash being mad at him for hitting his brother. He doesn't think he's unjustified here. No one could get him to feel bad about it even if they tried. He'll make it up to Vash later if he has to.

Wolfwood is quick to crowd right back into his space again. People are giving them a wide berth. The look on Knives' face turns Wolfwood's scowl into a wide grin, his dark eyes glinting dangerously. It's just barely there, but he can sniff out fear like a predator. It only emboldens him. He raises his hand like he's about to strike him again, but all he does is jab him in the chest with a finger.

"Never," he begins, drawing out the word, "act like ya know me. 'Cus here? Ya don't know the first thing."

His breath is hot against Knives' face.

"Neither of us wanna upset Spikey, but if ya keep talkin'..."

Wol—

In the moment between the priest deciding to throw a punch and it making contact, there's little time for Knives to do more than brace himself for the impact, and cry out in the space shared with his brother. It's a panicked call without a target, cut off as quickly as it's made. Stopped only, because Knives has enough pride to not want to immediately run to his brother for help.

He stumbles back from the force of the blow, and his hand quickly finds it's way up to the spot now radiating with pain. "I haven't given you any reasons to hit me," Knives snaps, his expression and tone a mixture of anger, indignation and a small seasoning of fear. "Hit me again, and I'm not above involving Vash. I didn't misrepresent the facts, and you know it. That's why you're angry. Don't take it out on me."

[punisheye]

Wolfwood tries, he really does.

For all of like, one minute, sure, but there was a real effort put in, really.

Sorry, Spikey.

It all happens within a second: he reels his arm back and then swings his fist forward, his hips and knee turning with the movement, thumb tucked over his fingers, arm straight and steady, a proper punch as he drives his fist into the side of Knives' face with a distinct crack.

It's probably one of the most satisfying things he's done in a long time.

A few people shout in alarm around them, scurrying away, and Wolfwood takes a step back, shaking his hand out and flexing his fingers. He doesn't make any other moves to strike because, honestly, a punch is all he needs to make his point.

"Hope to God ya give me another reason ta hit ya, I swear." Wolfwood drags his tongue over his teeth. "You ain't ever gonna call me yers or anyone's pet again. Got it?"

There's some effort put into not making it obvious that Knives notices Wolfwood's little tells and that he enjoys how easy it is to get under his skin. There's some effort, but it's not enough to stop his smirk from widening just so. It is, however, enough to ignore the other part of him that fears what the priest might do when he reaches his breaking point.

"I am fully aware that my brother and I aren't attached to the hip," Knives snorts softly, then he makes a great show of looking around for someone before settling his gaze back down on Wolfwood. "I don't see him here now, do you? We're just two people with a mutual acquaintance, that's as far as Vash's involvement extends."

"And three," Knives' smirk grows more as he leans in to purr into Wolfwood's ear, "You were my pet first. I'll call you the name I gave you, Chapel."

[punisheye]

"Probably 'cus he didn't think it was any of yer damn business," he shoots back without missing a beat. Every single wall around his heart is thrown up solely so the brother's words can't get to him. He's not about to have him trying to make him think Vash doesn't care, not after everything that's happened.

Everything that's happened...

Including...?

He blinks a few times. Notes that Knives didn't pick up on the innuendo and stores that little detail away for later. He doesn't know how yet, but he thinks he could use that surprising cluelessness to his advantage at some point.

"Whatever. Didja approach me just ta patronize me? What is it, huh?" Wolfwood's lips curl back into a snarl. "Ya got nothin' better to do?"

"I bet you did," Knives snorts, "My brother is nothing, if not brimming with enthusiasm and you're an idiot. I don't envy anyone who had to witness that chaos."

Ignoring the fact that Knives completely misses Wolfwood's meaning, it's odd to listen to the priest talk about his reunions. Before Knives wouldn't think twice about that sort of thing. Being with others isn't something he has ever been a fan of, and yet… How many times was this now that his mind wandered to Elendira and Legato? They were inconsequential. Insignificant insects he gathered up on a whim, and, in Legato's case, explicitly abused to maintain a distance between them.

It's a new kind of loneliness Knives didn't think he was capable of feeling.

"I only asked, because Vash didn't mention it. Must not have been important enough for him to tell me," Knives shrugs, channeling his discomfort into being a bitch, as always.

[punisheye]

Right now, Wolfwood has no plans to attack Knives or even make any sort of attempt to start conflict. For Vash's sake, mostly, and also so no passersby get caught in it. But he does think about it, admittedly. Walking over and grabbing Knives by the back of the head and driving his knee up into his face. It'd be so fucking satisfying. But he won't. Maybe he'll find a gym somewhere later with a punching bag and let it all out there.

"I was tryin' to be polite," he drawls. "Since yer stuck here with me."

Deliberate choice of wording there. Wolfwood snorts.

Wolfwood is coiled like a serpent prepared to strike. He doesn't, however, and remains standing his ground with his broad shoulders squared. The muscle in his jaw jumps when Knives mentions Livio and Vash.

"Yeah, I have." There had been a lot of crying. When he thinks about it, that nagging feeling is even more incessant, tugging at his brain. Why had it been so emotionally charged again? Sure, he died, but their reactions had been so... "'Course I wanted to see my little brother. Me an' Spikey definitely made enthusiastic contact. What's it to ya?"

There's a moment after the initial shock of seeing Wolfwood where anxiety starts to settle in the pit of Knives' stomach. Memories of his first meeting with Razlo sending a phantom pain through the back of his head. The Stars still felt no inclination towards giving him anything to defend himself with, and he isn't optimistic that Wolfwood has anything less than superior strength based on everyone else he knew.

Knives brushes off the anxiety by focusing on the fact that he can feel Vash. Distantly, but close enough to call for help if the priest decides to go a route similar to the Double Fang. As pathetic as it is, it's all Knives has.

"Odd way of saying unfortunate," Knives returns, closing the gap between them to about a foot or two. Comfortably distant, but close enough for the plant to stand with a casual air of superiority and have it make any impact at all. "Have you made contact with Double Fang and Vash yet…?"

It's courteous with an undertone of Knives turning his nose up at the other man, and far more polite than Wolfwood's likely expecting. A calculated effort on Knives' part to keep peace with his brother. If they get into any fights, it's going to be Wolfwood's fault. Any prodding on his part merely circumstantial, of course.

[punisheye]

All things considered, despite the perpetual scowl, Wolfwood is in a pretty decent mood, even with that incessant itch in his brain. He doesn't know how to bring it up with Vash yet, because he thinks it does involve him, somehow. That's something he can remember, at least. Vash being there at his side as the world around him dimmed. Maybe he would know something...

Still, he's been kind of caught up in the euphoria of being able to see him again in the first place that he isn't putting too much thought into that little issue right now.

Wolfwood is peering into a shop window, squinting, thinking about how he needs to get more new clothes, when he feels eyes on him. A lot of people keep looking at him and he just ignores it. At least until he hears a name in an all-too familiar voice that makes his whole body freeze up. That itch in his brain intensifies.

He rises up to his full height and turns to look at him — Knives — and visibly grimaces. He had heard that Knives was here but he had been kind of hoping he wouldn't run into him again.

Being called 'Chapel' still makes him feel a little sick.

"Fancy seein' you here," he says drily, but he's already mentally mapping out an escape route if things get ugly since he knows damn well what Knives is like in a foul mood. He doesn't know what those Stars took from Knives, what he might still have, and he really does not want to find out.

For the first time in a while, Knives is in a fairly positive mood. He's well-rested and he has a spring in his step as he wanders the city streets. It's easier to thank the recent developments in his relationship with Vash, the little steps towards reconciliation they've made, than to acknowledge the nagging feeling lingering at the edges of his thoughts.

As he walks, Knives thinks he catches sight of a familiar silhouette, brushes it off, then quickly does a double take and stops in his tracks to just stare; his expression gradually growing to resemble something between disgust and and anger. Well, there goes his good mood.

"Chapel!?"

@punisheye

[deadmandraw]

Terrible bedside manners are, somehow, more comforting than the softness of more practiced concern. Wow. Wonder what that says about him— that he actually prefers coldness over warmth right now? Someone chokes on a laugh, at the thought. He's not sure if it was him or the other guy or the one behind his churning gut and piercing headache. It was probably him.

"I... guess you can say they've been getting worse, as of late."

He closes his eyes for a moment. If only the very act of existing didn't hurt so much. "First time I've woken up somewhere different, though, I ought to say."

Even though he knows that the young man is not a plant. It's hard not to feel something about the way the tendrils move and the feeling of it brushing against him. Not a plant, but something alive and beyond human. Knives can tell that much. It's almost tempting to try reaching out to it like he can with his sisters, but he at least has the presence of mind to know that has more chances of going horribly wrong than it does being worthwhile.

"Do you have a history of blacking out in strange places, or is this a new development?" Knives asks, with all of the bedside manner of a rock. It's clear he's annoyed, despite the situation being entirely avoidable by accepting the young man's request for him to leave.

"Mm… Let me clarify, actually. Did you experience blackouts prior to arriving in this city?"

[deadmandraw]

Well. It's not like he's in any condition to struggle against someone so insistent. Allen can't help but resign himself to this situation. At least the man isn't trying to kill him or something. Small mercies. The bar is absolutely on the ground. It probably always has been, now that he thinks about it. He doesn't want to think about it.

The feathery tendrils sprouting from his arm seem to almost reach towards Knives instead of the heavens, when he gets closer. They brush against him, and for a brief moment there's a flicker of -- something, from it. The suggestion of a separate being, of the arm's own sentience; it expresses the impression of something equal parts desperation, protectiveness, confusion, and fear.

"Ugh," is all Allen can say at first. The taste of black blood still heavy on his tongue. He truly doesn't have the strength to protest much further. He's a bit heavier than his slight frame would suggest, though; all wiry, compact muscle and the mass of whatever his left arm actually is. He can't bring himself to quite look at the man directly, as he goes to pick him up. It takes him a beat to process he's being asked another question.

"I... don't know. I just... woke up here?"

Confusion answers Knives' question just as well as anything else. It's clear that the young man is not a plant, and that should be where the interaction ends. Some random stranger in the garbage isn't his problem and if he dies here he'll just respawn at home. It should be, and yet Knives makes no move to leave. He just stares.

Something about the young man's appearance is just familiar enough to worm it's way into Knives' cracked and scarred heart. No, he's not going to get attached, but he can at least make sure the poor thing doesn't have to die alone surrounded by trash.

"Do you live nearby?" Knives asks, pointedly ignoring the weak protests. He crouches down to forcefully try and loop one of the man's arms around his neck; intending for his next step to be hefting him back on to his feet.

[hollowfaith]

「✧」 That's a shame, Aurelius thought, even as he readied himself to politely refuse the handshake. Though the stranger wears his arrogance with a charming sort of carelessness, it is still pride at its core, a trait he has too well in himself to share nicely with another. Hearing that the man never saw Ardere gave them even less excuse to stick together. He could consider his intel a work of pure charity instead of a loss, though it was a shame that—

The name gave him pause.

Inside his mind the dots connect, eyes visibly brighten as the sight of dark hair and blue eyes harken to blue and gold he'd met somewhere else. The stiff formality and pretense of cheer fell away from the angel's features, giving way to a natural warmth that eased out a genuine smile. Subconsciously or not, he'd defaulted to his attitude when speaking to Klaus.

"Is that so? Then forgive me for my impudence."

"Aurelius Vane-Tempest, though you may also call me as you wish. I've had the fortune of meeting your man and hear him speak highly of you."

He paused, and then in an unusual display of frankness, admitted his thoughts.

"I'm afraid I've developed a habit of dismissing others in this island. The majority do seem primed to...disappoint."

As the conversation continues, Knives continues to be just as put off by the other man. There's something about the way he "defers to his judgement" based on his "confidence on the subject" that rubs him the wrong way. It feels dismissive for the sake of changing the subject rather than well-meaning or a compliment. It's exactly the sort of thing Knives would say, and he shares the other man's interest in completing the task over any misgivings he might have, but that doesn't mean he has to like being spoken to that way.

At least the feather the man produces helps to warm Knives up to the idea of working with him. When the plant takes it and looks it over, it does very much look like the feathers of his own beast. It doesn't quite endear Knives to the man, but it does prove that he has some actual use. The only thing worse than having to work with some haughty human is having to work with one who serves no purpose, after all.

"It does appear to be one of mine," Knives hums, idly twirling the feather between his pointer finger and thumb.

He can't say he's seen any signs of the man's monster, but he does find the description intriguing. He imagines something like a bat shape with two wings sprouting from an eyeball "torso", and wonders what about this man would result in his monster having such an appearance. Maybe his new companion isn't all that he seems, or maybe such a creature is a common sight in the universe he comes from. Either option is equally possible in Spirale. Though, that never seems to stop Knives from making the assumption that every humanoid he meets is as human as they appear.

"No, I can't say that I can return the favor and say I've seen any signs of your creature," He continues, pocketing the father as he speaks. Then, he holds out his hand and introduces himself, "Millions Knives, but you may simply call me Knives."

[hollowfaith]

「✧」 How...authoritative of him. But it didn't quite reach the level of challenge, so Aurelius let it pass, content to keep the peace.

"Indeed, I've been forced to swallow more lessons from them than I'd rightly stomach on a sane day."

"Considering your confidence on the subject, I defer to your judgment on the matter."

Besides, the main goal was to catch their rogue little beasts. Although he had no interest in teamwork for such a trifling task, the angel was open to companionship—and it'd be less hassle to travel together where he couldn't confuse footsteps with the flutter of Ardere's wings.

"So your creature is feathered as well? I see." From his pockets, Aurelius pulled out a small, straight feather and waved it in his hand. "I had picked this up thinking it came from mine, but the size was smaller than I remembered. I suppose it's for you, then."

Like an olive branch, he offered the item as a sign of goodwill. Nothing about the stranger's simple way of dressing suggested any threat, but the aura of absolution around him was hard to miss. Why tip the scales away from you when you could win its favor instead?

"It was from somewhere northwest of here. You wouldn't have happened to see a winged eyeball during your travels, would you?"

Completing a maze seemed like one of the simpler tasks given out by the Stars for their newest game. Simple and not outwardly demeaning like whatever the challenge in Sunset Circuit was supposed to be. He couldn't have anticipated how uncomfortable the "clues" would make him. These days even what he might have considered a success in the past is almost certainly a failure and now he has more failures than successes. Though, the scales are slowly shifting.

Lost in his own thoughts, he doesn't pay much mind to how much noise he's making or any noises other than the occasional chirps from his Spiramonster somewhere further into the maze. Not that paying attention would have eased him into what he would see when rounding the next corner.

A man, well-dressed in comparison to Knives' more casual hoodie and white jeans and sneakers. Combined with the air of superiority, it's almost immediately grating. And, no, Knives won't be examining why or how it might relate to his own personality.

"You must be new, if you think the Stars abide by anything other than what will amuse them most," Knives returns, clasping his hands behind his back. "I don't suppose you've seen a small feathery thing about the size of chicken, have you?"

[deadmandraw]

Well, Allen was frankly in too much pain to do much of anything at the moment. So, when a man enters the alleyway and gets too close to be comfortable, there's not much else for him to do but try to bury himself further into the piles of rubbish. It's not the most pleasant thing, but he's suffered worse. Lips tightly pressed together in a grimace, he can only stare back with an open look of unease and trepidation. Why was he looking at him like that?

Of course, instead of mercifully deciding to turn around and pretend he didn't see anything, he starts talking. It takes him a moment to process what the man had said. He blinks, and struggles against both the feeling of his Innocence humming uncomfortably and his insides turning themselves inside out.

The most he manages to croak out is a confused, "What?" Before something inside of him decides to shift. For a brief instant, there is an uncomfortable pressure in the air around the boy, as he doubles over in pain and coughs up a black substance. His arm bristles, some of the feathers sharpening into blades instinctively, before relaxing again.

Ah. So it was the 14th's fault that his body was committing mutiny against him. Figures.

"Please. Just — go away," He manages after a moment, using the back of his other hand to roughly wipe the substance from his mouth. He stares at it. Mumbles something under his breath, too quiet and slurred together to be intelligible. Probably something along the lines of 'oh, that's not good.'

Eventually, his gaze flicks back up to the man. Confused as to why he's still there.

It's rare to find Knives simply wandering around the city streets. A bad habit that's carried over from his universe and the days where mingling among the "maggots" that infest the cities of No Man's Lands made him nauseous. These days, Humans still make him uncomfortable, but nowhere near the degree that they used to. Working at Club Euphoria has helped, as has the general strides he's been making towards becoming a better person.

There's also the fact that Knives isn't wandering aimlessly, but with purpose. As August fast approaches, so too does Legato's birthday. A birthday that he's woefully under prepared for. He hasn't even found a gift yet, but he's hoping to change that today. Hoping being the operative word. He knows there's a few things his partner has shown an interest in lately, but Knives hasn't bought a present before and he feels a bit of pressure to get it right.

Legato would probably be happy with a blank sheet of paper or a blade of grass, as long as it comes from Knives. Which means he has to be extra sure that it's a truly good gift. The perfect gift.

That's Knives' plan, at least. Then he notices something reaching out from an alleyway a little ways ahead of him. It doesn't feel like a plant, but it's shape is reminiscent of their feathers. Reaching out doesn't yield the familiar feeling of his siblings, but neither does reaching out to the younger Vash.

Knives tries to think rationally about it. The chance that it's another plant is incredibly low, given what he knows about their universes. Plus, there's nothing particularly unique about having feathers or angelic features in the grand scheme of the universe, but… It doesn't stop his heart from skipping a beat. Nor does it stop him from speeding up as soon as he decides to investigate the source of the feathery tendrils.

In the alley, there's no obvious sign of the tendrils source, but it's not hard to follow them until he finds it. Though, the closer Knives gets, his pace begins to slow. Despite the growing apprehension, he doesn't stop until he's standing over a young man; somewhere in his mid to late teens, if going by human standards.

Looking at the young man among the rubbish, it does almost look like an independent plant losing control of it's gate. The tendrils even seem to be originating from the young man's arm, just like his and Vash's Angel Arms. Unlike a plant, however, there's no pressure to the young man's presence. His clothing also doesn't look like anything that might come from his or the other universe. It's more akin to the older eras of Earth fashion, but not quite.

Knives realizes after a few moments that he should probably say something, instead of leering at the young man like a researcher discovering a rare bug. Maybe something reassuring or some offer of help. Something to calm the clearly distressed young man.

"Are you a plant?" Knives asks.

Well, there was no line of people ready to claim Knives had good bedside manners and it seems that the young man wouldn't be the first. Oh well, at least Knives is trying to help. Probably.

[wldrose]

"..." Kugisaki's of course immediately thinking about her friends. her found family. Itadori and Fushiguro were known as someone who just went into things head first. Fushiguro even moreso and he didn't even seem like the kind of guy who would!

They both were known to be the kind who would get scarred, bloodied, and bruised, but....

"I wouldn't like it. I would wanna protect them." She admits. She isn't above admitting something like that, "But there's only so much I can do. If it's something they believe is right, I don't think I could keep getting in the way, I guess. I would just have to find a way to support them and make sure they're being safe so that they don't get scarred and bruised, but can still do the things they feel they need to. I DON'T KNOW. You're asking a KID HARD shit---Who the hell am I to get in their way ANYWAY?"

"I'm not his keeper, but that doesn't mean I can't try to protect him," Knives scoffs. "If you had a loved one who had a history of playing with things that left them scarred and bruised, would you just stand idly by and let them or would you do something about it?"