No, the last few minutes of the game was filled with a certain fear and misery that keyed so exquisitely to the Eye. Or at least, the type of manifestation this Bastard holds in him. It was a meal and a half, full of the voyeuristic appetizer tray of the bravery through adversity, the sick twisted enjoyment that Blanks hoped were noticed, or the mortal fear and outrage. It had been incredible.
... actually, he was surprised that Wisp WAS hungry. Enough that instead of denying him, his eyebrows simply raise.
He waves to a few of them setting on the counter. They weren't quite as nicely shaped as the others. They would do for Wisp.
Wisp will not feel grateful to the Bastard. He will not, he refuses, he won't do it. But. He is hungry, and he devours at least one of the lumpy ones sitting out before he remembers that Bastard and Fawn haven't had anything yet.
"Aren't - aren't you hungry?" he asks uncertainly.
Well that's rude. Martin colours a bit, mentally comparing the two of them - and looking down at his ghost-pale hands with some dismay. Sure, he and the Bastard are both lighter-toned than Fawn, but Wisp's pallor seems unhealthy, doesn't it? "M - maybe," he says, reluctant to concede the point but unable to argue it. "I'll save this one for Fawn. Just in case."
Changing only takes so long. Fawn is reluctant to once again put himself under the scrutiny of his team mates - something about the way they looked at him, bent over their baking practically cheek to cheek... What had been in their memories? Why had their eyes searched him so thoroughly? It certainly wasn't his prepossessing features. Fawn could just barely hear them speaking, but even pressed against his door he couldn't make out any words. Damn.
Hiding in his room would be absurd and uninformative. After plucking at his ill-fitting clothes with restless frustration, he exits, chin tipped defiantly high.
Wisp flushes instantly, trying (and failing) to keep a squeak out of his voice. He won't even argue with the emphasis because that would be conceding defeat.
"We - we made scones," he says rather helplessly. "Bastard remembered how to do it."
Your Fawn. Fawn gives Bastard a narrow-eyed scowl that promptly transfers to Wisp when he speaks.
There's a hesitation, as Fawn glances between the two men and the scones. Remembers walking in to the two of them chatting so nicely. Who knows what could really be in those scones?
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... actually, he was surprised that Wisp WAS hungry. Enough that instead of denying him, his eyebrows simply raise.
He waves to a few of them setting on the counter. They weren't quite as nicely shaped as the others. They would do for Wisp.
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"Aren't - aren't you hungry?" he asks uncertainly.
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Hiding in his room would be absurd and uninformative. After plucking at his ill-fitting clothes with restless frustration, he exits, chin tipped defiantly high.
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"Hungry?" That, at least, was directed right at the poor man.
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"We - we made scones," he says rather helplessly. "Bastard remembered how to do it."
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There's a hesitation, as Fawn glances between the two men and the scones. Remembers walking in to the two of them chatting so nicely. Who knows what could really be in those scones?
"I'm not hungry," he says shortly.