#leck 01

A new world, and yet familiar nightmares lurk in shadows unseen... well, until they move. Grimm wraps his arms around his follower possessively, staring down with a sharp smile.

The Troupe Master was planning on going home for the evening, but somewhere along the way apparently took a very wrong turn. He doesn't much mind taking a longer route and a bit more walking, especially since he seems to be the only one around. A nice and quiet stroll through some back streets.

But something hits him suddenly and violently. That smell.

Grimm hunches over, holding himself as hunger wracks through him. Calm down, he tells himself, taking a few deep breaths. It won't hurt to investigate – maybe he'll get lucky.

He follows the stench of blood, heading down some sketchy looking path. And at the end, he finds a corpse and its killer. Grimm stares down at the still freshly bleeding body, then up at the assassin. Then back, and back again with a rather nonchalant expression.

“LECK!” And here she comes, ready to give this assassin the biggest hug anyone could...either want to avoid or ask for, pick your choice. “I’ve been looking EVERYWHERE for you.” The slight pout doesn’t last long, because now she’s smiling like the idiot that she is!

“O-oh god-! I’m so sorry-! Let me-!”

It’s not even noon, and already one of Wilder’s heels break, causing him to trip. In doing so, he manages to spill his entire smoothie over the clothes of a man he had never met before.

Also, they were standing in the middle of a busy sidewalk, so the incident came with an audience. Wilder wanted to crawl into a hole. Fade out of existence. Find an angel in the next realm over and beg them to perform a miracle that made everyone who had witnessed this event forget him entirely! 

“Fuck. I got this, hold on.” He lifts a finger, not quite pointing at the stranger but above him. Said finger begins to make imaginary strokes, as if trying to write something in the air.

The voice that chimes in right then was unfamiliar, foreign to him, Mithos quickly notes. So it's no surprise that he would be on guard, even with the wound that he had happened to take to his abdomen, and the blow to the head. His vision was certainly not at its best, blurring and spinning, but -- could he really trust this stranger? How was his stance on someone like him? Would he be safe?

"Just go," he says in response, somewhat coldly. If it could get the stranger to leave him, then... well, it was what he wanted. "I don't need your help!"

The enemies were gone. He was fine. He would be okay, he told himself; He just... needed to rest a little. There were normally no bandits or anything of the like around these parts anyway, he had just happened to get unlucky, it would seem.