āWell I suppose I should start labeling my thingsālest a two year old wander in and get confused.ā he snarks but without much kick to it. Honestly he doesnāt really care that there was someone in his makeshift hideout snooping through his things. Because really, no one posed much of a threat to him.
Bloom watches dully as the stack of crates topples over, it collides with the ground and bursts open, an avalanche of his insidious seeds following.
āSure you did.āĀ he remarks dryly, the very epitome of apathetic, he even sighs.Ā
Crawling from his perch and growing to a monstrous size as he went to meet the floor more easily, now at least clocking out around twelve feet tall, at least. Moving closer to reach one of the undamaged boxes among the mound of seeds.Ā
āIf you meant to be a nuisance, than youāve done a fabulous job.ā He lifts and places the crate elsewhere with surprisingly little effort before casting what youād assume would be a glance in her direction, hard to tell with the flower and all,Ā āNot sure youāll like what I do with nuisances though.ā
Well, she DOES aim to please. Fiendish flinger of knives, and things most toxic she may be, but one must always do their best to satisfy those silly little expectations in the work and character they put forward⦠Even if the situation in question is more than a tadĀ āunexpectedā.
Thatās what she tells herself. That, and that itās not at allĀ āuncoolā to be startled by giant man-plantā¦Things. Itās not as if encounters like this are listed in the assassinās job manual, after all; and with concern steadily flaring in her chest, River takes another tentative step back for each foot he stretches. Just how big was this guy, twelve feet? Thirteen? Could he continue to grow more?
She isnāt given the luxury to ruminate much on that thought though. Poor thing, itās so hard to afford much attention to creepy seeds strewn across the floor like marbles, when thereās a guy filling the room like some kind of Hell-tree. Her back-slip onto the floor is as unceremonious as the box sheād knocked-over.
āEhmā¦ā Stupid mistake. River you idiot. Fingers twitch near one of the pockets on her utility belt, āWell I certainly hope itās that you toss them a broom to sweep-up their little accident⦠It definitely occurs to me that Iām at the wrong warehouse, now.ā
Thatās probably the worst sting so far.