#cameron-allen

Jasper threw up by the dumpster, yeah that bread was at least two weeks old but he wasn’t about to go and knock down the gas station nearby but he needed to eat. Already at his limit he’ll have to think of how to rob the place without getting caught again as he curled up in the shadow of the garbage as he wiped the bile from his mouth then curled up trying to think and keep himself hidden when gentle mews made themselves heard, he opened up a bit and let a few cats make themselves at home on his lap trying to keep him warm in the winter’s chill when he sat up quickly.

“No besitos!! no besitos! ay!”

@cameron-allen

‘Cripes, I hope these aren’t the same giblets we become when we explode,’ Scout thought for perhaps the 100th time.

It was hard to tell.  The food regulation around Tuefort was discount podunk to say the least.  It continued to astonish him that it tasted about the same as the rations back at the base.

‘And Heavy wonders how I stay thin,’ he thought, eying the contents of his red and white bucket.  His stomach voiced its rejection, like a... reverse growl.

She crosses her arms and scoffs at him, looking at the man in disgust. “Go hit on someone desperate.” She turns to walk...

The fact that Dr. Allen seemed fairly convinced that she wasn’t sociopathic or psychopathic seemed enough to get Freya’s grandparents off her back.  At least with the whole treating her like a ticking time bomb.  She would still catch them at times talking in hushed tones or looking at her with an intense amount of pity.  

Which was perhaps the main reason that she agreed to start going to more regular meetings.  It was a chance to get away from those looks.  As if she didn’t get it enough at school. Of course, the people at school didn’t know necessarily that her father was Sherlock Holmes, or that sociopathy had ever been a possible explanation.  They merely chose to call her that because that was what they thought was the easiest solution to why she was what she was... whatever that was.  And, yeah, Freya couldn’t help but wonder, now that she was more or less in therapy, what her official diagnosis would be.  If for no other reason to tell someone what she really was and yell at them to do their research.