✦

night bloom

A metal hand appears briefly, the ring's owner, but Sonic knew that before it appeared. Between its fingers, delicately held, was a small sample of flowers; yellow snap dragons bundled with baby's breath, held together with twine. He tucks these gingerly into the hedgehog's quills — then withdrawing completely, vanishing without a word.

🫖 — Doc

Send 🫖 for your muse to sit my muse down for tea like they didn’t just stab someone.

It had been painfully necessary, actually, and Fin wouldn't hear anything to the contrary. Actions had consequences, and when that pest put his hand on Doc's back like he was allowed to touch what was Fin's, the echidna saw red.

The blood on his metal hands smeared shiny and metallic over the dusky gold, dulling it and making a sharp contrast to its usual shine. Gold irises shifted from his hands to Doc's face from beneath the cover of Fin's half-lidded eyes, his expression unreadable.

The sharp, expensive, intricate wooden pin he'd had in his quills that day to hold them up in a bun was still clutched in his left hand. Blood stretched up most of it, making it almost unrecognizable from its twin still desperately trying to keep Fin's quills in place. They were a haphazard mess, now, half hanging at odd lengths and rumpled. He'd need a good brushing for this.

Fin let himself be led away, back to their veranda, to the ornate metal and glass table awaiting them. He felt a shaking hand on the small of his back— barely touching it likely for fear of causing him pain—helping to guide him into the padded chair he always sat in.

Two kettles of tea rested on small, heat-proof pads on the glass tabletop, steaming and unaware of the horror scene they were to witness now. Before Doc could even move to his side of the table, Fin had dropped the veritable wooden stake on it and lifted the first kettle with a whir of his prosthetics. After pouring Doc's cup of tea first, he finally offered him one of those warm, gentle smiles that he knew Doc adored on his face.

“Please, love, sit. We're not too far off schedule for tea, and it's still hot. You always make it just the right temperature. It's impressive; not too hot, but it still steeps perfectly every time. Your labors of love know no bounds.” Thanks to his natural tone, the compliment came out chipper and cheerful, if not a little gravelly.

Setting the kettle down on its pot holder, he reached for the kettle with his own special tea inside. He preferred to steep it in the kettle because he felt it was more evenly distributed. Making it in batches made it easier for him to access his habit whenever he wanted it, too.

After pouring his own tea into the pretty fluted cup, he also set that kettle aside. Glancing back up at Doc and his silence, Fin sighed, brows drawing down and lips forming a thin line. For a moment, he looked lost in thought, as if he were working on one of his Sudoku puzzles and couldn't figure out where he'd gone wrong.

Reaching out over the small round table, he took the other's trembling hands in his and smoothed his thumbs—and that rabbit's blood—over the other's knuckles. Tenderness flowed from him like a physical presence, and his lips drew back up into a smile that didn't quite meet his eyes.

But that rabbit was dead now. And the look on his lover's face, the man responsible, could only be described as vaguely irritated - instead focused on his beloved wooden quill pin and how filthy with blood it had gotten.

Another glance downwards. The scent of blood, the sight of a corpse was making the priest ill. He guides Fin to their veranda, away from death itself. Doc expects regret or sorrow to show in Fin's face, but they never come. Instead he is placated with sweet words, kind nothings, things Fin knows Doc loves to hear.

He wants to believe his words, so he does. Fin would never hurt him, he knew that, even as a body lay barely concealed in their garden.

Doc's hands tremble more than usual, attempting to pick up his tea to sip, but it's too great and ultimately he gives up. He can't help it. He isn't even sure he's processing what had just happened. The way Fin looks and speaks to him, so tender and kind, it almost makes him want to believe he had just had a violent daydream, like he'd walk back into the garden and nothing would be out of place.

But he knew that wasn't true. The blood over his scarred hands was the only thing that kept him tethered to reality.

The nerve of it all.

The doors to the lab opened with a hiss, and beyond its threshold, all movement ceased, every occupant stopping to gawk at the unannounced visitor. He paid them no mind, his gaze zeroing in on the short echidna, who seemed to shrink further at their meeting gaze. Every word spoken by the lesser minds was likewise ignored as he advanced to grab Finitevus' arm.

The doctor's grip was firm, but not painful, not that it much mattered for the inorganic limb as Finitevus was dragged along like a recalcitrant child. Eggman's focus was absolute, his mind a whirlwind of fury and disbelief. A flower? Of all the idiotic, sentimental... He couldn't even finish the thought; it was too infuriating.

Once inside Finitevus' office, Eggman released him, marching towards the botanist's desk. He turned, his red eyes blazing with a cold fire, and fixed Finitevus with a glare that could melt steel.

         Finitevus's face was burning by the time they retire to his office, shame and exasperation swirling together. Even behind closed doors, he shakes slightly, still able to feel the eyes of his peers on his person. The soft glow of light in the corner of his eye catches his attention, knowing who it was before he fully saw her.

         Sage. The little program Ivo had become so attached to, that he insisted on referring to as daughter. A frown is pointed her way, his hands smoothing out his uniform. He was fairly certain she hated Finitevus and his general presence. He'd catch her staring at him all the time with that unreadable gaze.

         He wants to scream at Ivo, for manhandling him first and foremost, in front of everyone, in front of his colleagues — but any protest dies in his throat as he sees the look Ivo gives him. Finitevus winces further as what he had feared the most is realized. The flowers, Sonic, the outing. Of course Ivo knew about everything. Why wouldn't he? It was foolish to think Finitevus could keep secrets behind these walls.

         Alright, fine. Ivo wanted an explanation, he could give him one. He just needed to explain his reasoning. Surely Ivo would understand.

𝐑𝐄𝐅  for Finitevus' appearance!  This is his Empire uniform.  Black metal for his cybernetic arms and legs with a dull gold cosmetic for the joints.

         He'd be the first to admit he may have gone too far this time. This wasn't even Ivo's world anymore.

         His eyes had flit down to his own uniform, a stark white lab coat with an unconventional palette, but unmistakably Empire. A frown. He supposed his counterpart would find it strange. 'Allied' was generous on the alternate's part — more like indebted and entirely owned — but this Finitevus didn't need the details. He didn't need to know anything at all.

         "... Right."

         Regardless, Finitevus is far too curious to allow himself to be wary by their invitation, throwing caution to the wind to step inside.