#11 scribbles

*It’s a cold, dark night. 11 wakes up on his back in the Witchwoods, far from home. And he is aching all over, completely lost, soaked with rain…

*Mason Pritchard walks behind 11 as he walks home, and sees something fall out of his jacket pocket. He rushes to pick it up, and begins to call after the man.*

*Luckily for him, or at least for now- no one seems to be in the hallway. 17 vaguely notices him pass, but is too enthralled in his show to want to pull away his attention from it. He doesn’t see his new horrible, monstrous form.*

*Like the dumbass Jason was, he decided to mess with another one of the Paul clones. He’s only ever messed with 17, so he tried to find someone who he could possibly hurt a bit more.*

“Do you understand what’s happening with Richie? And.. and Twenz, and.. stuff?

*There’s something in the living room- huge and monstrous with pitch black metallic armour covering its whole body- fangs and spikes and claws and wings and horns, terrifying glowing white eyes set in a cruel, bestial muzzle.

*17 excitedly walks up to 11, holding something behind his back. He gave him a wide smile.*

[17 sits on the couch with a blanket wrapped around him, doodling onto his hands. His doodles were always good, his art on the other hand- was not. Not that he showed any art he’d attempted to anyone, though.