#bunnysniper

Henry shrugged.

henry has an irrational fear of being taken into custody for a murder he didn’t commit. cos at least when he kills people, they probably deserved it. but taking the blame for the death of innocent people while the real killer goes free? that would be horrifying.

15. Is your character preoccupied with money or material possession? Why or why not?

lolnope. just. he could not care less. maybe it’s cos of his programming or whatever, but it’s just not on his radar to be concerned with that stuff. he’s more worried about making sure he doesn’t fucking massacre things on a regular basis.

20. In what ways does your character compare themselves to others? Do they do this for the sake of self-validation, or self-criticism?

oh gods henry is constantly comparing himself to others for all sorts of reasons. the most common one is cos he’s trying to figure out if he’s behaving like a normal human being or not (usually, he’s not). but there’s also a fair amount of, like, mild envy involved? he kind of resents how easy it is for most people to just...do shit. like to be around people, to go shopping, to live.

41. Does your character feel that they deserve to have what they want, whether it be material or abstract, or do they feel they must earn it first?

He wasn’t supposed to be this way.

Years before--how many years, exactly?--Avery had promised to let him live his life without interference. A creature like Avery wasn’t meant to stay in contact with a human anyway.

Right?

So why did the edges of his mind burn so painfully?

Why was he tugged, unwillingly and ashamedly, toward the part of the world where Terrence was?

Watching, carefully holding back even as the dark red blood spilled across his vision. He was doing what humans do. They fight. They die. They pass their world on to the next generation.

And every time a knife or a bullet or a goddamn trap snagged on his consciousness, Avery willed the infections away. Was it his place to help one single human this way? Avery feared the coming retribution, but it was worth it if he could give Terrence one more good day of life.

Light. Light? Sound. High-pitched keening. Fluorescent lights?

Henry blinked, and the room came into focus. Terrence was staring down at him, obviously concerned. It took him a few seconds to put together the sounds he was making, but--oh. I was unconscious? How did that happen?

He raised his hands in the universal gesture for “I don’t fucking know, man,” and tried to sit up. His vision scrambled, and he laid back down with an irritated sigh. Had someone hit him with an EMP? Fuck, he was so tired.

One more try, and he managed to sit up. His head swam with static, but he managed to stay upright this time. A moment to get his bearings, and Henry fumbled for his notepad and a pen.

---

It always surprised Henry just how comfortable Terrence felt in public. He supposed it shouldn’t be surprising though, given that the guy was from this town and knew it like the back of his own damn hand. Maybe it was just because Henry himself couldn’t shake the feeling of paranoia whenever he went out among people.

Terrence caught him staring, and he signed an apology. By now, that particular gesture should have been familiar; Henry apologized a lot. He dug out a notepad and continued in writing