the guardian of the safe

Voicemail: "Keeper, it's Cris," he whispered into the phone, breath heavy as if in pain. "I can't get through to any other number. I don't know where I am. I'm hurt, I don't know who has me, and I don't know if I am going to make it. I was taken coming out of work. hit over the head and I may have been shot. My arm hurts. I just want you to know that I love you. You are a good friend even if I annoy you. If you could get word to my work that I'm sorry, I'd appreciate it. Good bye, Keeper."

"Home? You’re insane, you won’t be moving for a while, Cris. Don’t be an idiot." He shook his head at him, staring down at Cris’ hand for a few moments before he held it back. "You’re welcome. You didn’t expect me to just be passive after a voicemail like that, did you? That’s enough to give anyone a heart attack, really."

“‘M not an idiot,” Cris grumbled but soon enough his eyes were closed and he was asleep, not hearing the rest of the words Keeper spoke.  At least, it didn’t appear that way as his hand dropped down and he snored lightly almost immediately.  

"Yeah, you're an idiot." Keeper smiled, tucking Cris' hand under the covers as he made sure he was bundled up tight. He'd feel like shit but at least he wasn't dying--that was what counted for now to Keeper. He watched Cris for a moment , making sure he was fine before he stepped away, moving to clean up his flat and get some clothes from The Library for Cris to change into.

Mun only - Are you ... than your muse?

Voicemail: "Keeper, it's Cris," he whispered into the phone, breath heavy as if in pain. "I can't get through to any other number. I don't know where I am. I'm hurt, I don't know who has me, and I don't know if I am going to make it. I was taken coming out of work. hit over the head and I may have been shot. My arm hurts. I just want you to know that I love you. You are a good friend even if I annoy you. If you could get word to my work that I'm sorry, I'd appreciate it. Good bye, Keeper."

Hearing Cris’ voice was a relief for once. It meant he was alive, and Keeper wasn’t fond of the idea of Cris dying. “Cold…?” Keeper leaned in, moving to lift up Cris’ legs so he could put the covers over him. The gesture was familiar, and it was painful to remember the last time he was able to do something like this.

Weakly, Cris pulled the blankets over him, up to his chin and he sighed as he started to relax.  He was safe, he was getting warm and Keeper was here.  That was really all he needed.  “I’ll go home soon,” he said quietly, beginning to drift off once more.  “I just need a little bit of sleep first.”

"Home? You're insane, you won't be moving for a while, Cris. Don't be an idiot." He shook his head at him, staring down at Cris' hand for a few moments before he held it back. "You're welcome. You didn't expect me to just be passive after a voicemail like that, did you? That's enough to give anyone a heart attack, really."

Voicemail: "Keeper, it's Cris," he whispered into the phone, breath heavy as if in pain. "I can't get through to any other number. I don't know where I am. I'm hurt, I don't know who has me, and I don't know if I am going to make it. I was taken coming out of work. hit over the head and I may have been shot. My arm hurts. I just want you to know that I love you. You are a good friend even if I annoy you. If you could get word to my work that I'm sorry, I'd appreciate it. Good bye, Keeper."

He kept Cris close, getting them through the door—and it was breaking a rule. Thankfully, Cris wasn’t awake to see The Safe. He was out cold. All Keeper could do was wait as the door glowed again, leading them to his flat instead as he put Cris onto his bed. He half considered the couch, but he’d need more than a small space like that to rest on.

Hearing Cris' voice was a relief for once. It meant he was alive, and Keeper wasn't fond of the idea of Cris dying. "Cold...?" Keeper leaned in, moving to lift up Cris' legs so he could put the covers over him. The gesture was familiar, and it was painful to remember the last time he was able to do something like this.

Voicemail: "Keeper, it's Cris," he whispered into the phone, breath heavy as if in pain. "I can't get through to any other number. I don't know where I am. I'm hurt, I don't know who has me, and I don't know if I am going to make it. I was taken coming out of work. hit over the head and I may have been shot. My arm hurts. I just want you to know that I love you. You are a good friend even if I annoy you. If you could get word to my work that I'm sorry, I'd appreciate it. Good bye, Keeper."

"You’re not dying." He sighed, moving his hand to place it on top of Cris’ stomach. He had to heal some of him before he moved him to the door. And thankfully he was good at this. His hand let off a light glow, and it was warm to anyone receiving it.

He kept Cris close, getting them through the door--and it was breaking a rule. Thankfully, Cris wasn't awake to see The Safe. He was out cold. All Keeper could do was wait as the door glowed again, leading them to his flat instead as he put Cris onto his bed. He half considered the couch, but he'd need more than a small space like that to rest on.

Voicemail: "Keeper, it's Cris," he whispered into the phone, breath heavy as if in pain. "I can't get through to any other number. I don't know where I am. I'm hurt, I don't know who has me, and I don't know if I am going to make it. I was taken coming out of work. hit over the head and I may have been shot. My arm hurts. I just want you to know that I love you. You are a good friend even if I annoy you. If you could get word to my work that I'm sorry, I'd appreciate it. Good bye, Keeper."

The silence was unnerving to Keeper, but hearing Cris’ cough made it a bit easier to him. It was better for him to be there—he was the one that healed, after all. He just hoped it wasn’t too late to heal Cris. If he was too late—

The comment was one of the last things Cris would have expected someone to say in this situation and he glared mockingly at Keeper even while he struggled to maintain consciousness.  ”I’m dying.  Don’t be a prat,” he rasped, body trembling from cold and pain.  

"You're not dying." He sighed, moving his hand to place it on top of Cris' stomach. He had to heal some of him before he moved him to the door. And thankfully he was good at this. His hand let off a light glow, and it was warm to anyone receiving it.

"... H... Hello ? I... Is there anybody here ?" Trifin called shyly. She had no idea of where she was or even how she had ended up here in the first place but there was one thing she was certain of : she was lost. And being blind, she couldn't even take a look around. All she could do was hope that someone would have the good idea to answer and help her.

Yes, she knew she was in France, it was where she had grown up after all but she didn’t know in which street she was and she didn’t have the single idea of how to go back home. 

"... H... Hello ? I... Is there anybody here ?" Trifin called shyly. She had no idea of where she was or even how she had ended up here in the first place but there was one thing she was certain of : she was lost. And being blind, she couldn't even take a look around. All she could do was hope that someone would have the good idea to answer and help her.

The girl jumped a little upon hearing an unfamiliar voice and almost dropped her white cane in the process. Turning on her heels to face the man,she tilted her head, keeping her eyes shut since there was no need for her to open them. It was pretty easy to guess how scared she was and judging by her scars, her bleached skin and her general damaged and fragile appearance, she seemed to have pretty good reasons to be frightened and wary of the world and its inhabitants. Shaking lightly, she scratched nervously the scars on her neck and answered in a quiet whisper, almost like a child who would have just been caught misbehaving :

Voicemail: "Keeper, it's Cris," he whispered into the phone, breath heavy as if in pain. "I can't get through to any other number. I don't know where I am. I'm hurt, I don't know who has me, and I don't know if I am going to make it. I was taken coming out of work. hit over the head and I may have been shot. My arm hurts. I just want you to know that I love you. You are a good friend even if I annoy you. If you could get word to my work that I'm sorry, I'd appreciate it. Good bye, Keeper."

His arm was throbbing but the headache kept him from turning his head to look to see what had happened.  In and out of conciousness, Cris laid on the wet floor, the cold soaking into the very marrow of his bones.  He always knew this job would be the death of him but he had hoped for something a bit more spectacular than freezing to death on a cement floor.  

The silence was unnerving to Keeper, but hearing Cris' cough made it a bit easier to him. It was better for him to be there--he was the one that healed, after all. He just hoped it wasn't too late to heal Cris. If he was too late--