Cʏʙʟɪɴɢs

A hand came up and brushed her hair up out of her face.

     In his defense, he had never met nor seen a single person on Dust with her shade...      Everyone either wore it long, or not at all, and the differences  in  the  color  wasn’t      something you’d notice unless you sat and started at someone’s head.

♥: Your muse crying about something 

Triangle wasn’t Chell’s concern. He was a machine whose only roll was to act as a tool of knowledge and a weapon of Lar’s protection. His safety only mattered during battles that required a partner or when a question needed to be answered. Her care for him went as far as what was required for she and her human to survive. 

Chell had no idea what a “chariot” was nor why a golden one would be taking corpses anywhere, but she glanced at the staircase at the end of his sentence as if there might be some massive shiny object worthy of body-toting that she may have missed earlier. There wasn’t one, so she went with Tri’s strange metaphor being some brand of sarcasm that she wasn’t yet familiar with. The term was memorized for later questioning but deemed unimportant. She wasn’t dead and would be going upstairs via chariot no time soon. 

Then came what was instantly read as a lie. 

It couldn’t be just water. It was never just water. 

The Lady untangled herself from Lariat…noticing for the first time with a sharp bark-like hiss that she, too, had an IV in her wrist. Chell sent a warning glare to Triangle with all the fury of a provoked dragon, fists balled and teeth grit, bared, ready to bite open metal. 

Still, his claim was worth looking into. She stood up on the couch and, careful not to trample Lar on her way over, pulled the bag previously connected to herself down from its ring. She tore a hole in the top with her teeth and stuck a finger in, sniffing and finally licking the liquid contents. 

It was just water. 

The entire bag was empty seconds later, gulped down ravenously by the Lady. More than a few scraps of plastic were accidentally swallowed in her rush to further tear the bag apart. It was crumpled immediately afterward as Chell stood on the armrest of the couch, panting and licking water off her chin and cheeks and enjoying the couple drops that fell on her shoulders and the sides of her neck. 

The moment passed. She dropped the bag and returned to Lar, settled onto her knees with the intention of curling around her again. But she paused, glanced to Triangle. Emotionless and tired. 

And gave him a nod. 

Then she collapsed to tightly hold Lariat, bodies entwined. Her face, cooled from the water, pressed against her friend’s warm throat and felt her pulse. Her fingertips sunk into the back of Lar’s shirt like claws in prey. 

     If there was one quality Triangle prided himself  in,  it  was  his  honesty.  Sure,  a  fib      here or there was fine... but he’d certainly never lead someone  on  so  cruelly  as  to      drug their water... such behavior was better suited  to  scoundrels,  not  kindly  robots      without vendettas. Lar definitely wasn’t one to hide things either-- she left  everything      out in the open, laid bare to the world... while he kept a few skeletons in the closet, as      it were.

     All the repression, all the fighting... for years... and it had still managed to rear it’s ugly      head at the most opportune moment; that side he wished would burn out in its own rage.      It was instinct; fragmented coding gone haywire. He was a fool to  think  he  could  ever      hope to control it. He’d seen Lar’s blood, felt the very color hijack  over  his  sight--  his      directive. It wasn’t protect and flee, then... only kill kill K I L L.

     How terrifying, to realize you lacked over half of your being.

     ...however, the woman saw him. She wasn’t terrified. She saw him at his absolute worst,      and been entirely unafraid-- for her safety, at least. Lar had been both their imperatives.

     More surprising, he’d apparently managed to  do  something  right in  her  eyes.  Worth      recognition. A nod. It’d been more than she’d bother to give him so  far,  besides  steely      indifference. This stranger, not even a  week  known,  had...  seemingly  accepted  him.      She wasn’t running for the hills with Lariat in tow, or threatening him with  blunt  objects.      She was comfortable enough to lay there, wrapped up in the recovering form of his best      friend.

     He didn’t know what to say.

     Well, actually, he had an idea... but would it be sufficient?

          “...thank you, f-for yesterday. If you hadn’t been there when I... snapped--             Lar might not be here right now. I would’ve kept on fighting, and by then...             it might’ve been too late for her.

            And... I’m sorry you had to see that. If it had to be anybody, I guess I’m             glad you were the one who did. I don’t... want Lariat to see me that way.             Not ever. If I can help it. I’m not 100% okay... I don’t think I ever was. A             part of me is missing. It’d be fair to say I’m... broken.

The sounds of machinery moving behind her made her curl tighter around Lar, both hands fists behind her back and full of fabric. She made a low rumbling sound with what spit she was able to gather, her mouth the taste of sand and twice as dry. It took a sharp intake at the end of her growl to prevent a bought of coughing. 

Blue glowing was never good but she knew better than to assume Tri was somebody else. Still, it was deeply uncomfortable for her to be in such atmosphere. Metal walls, blue lights. If it weren’t for the wide open door and Lar’s warm body she would’ve torn the place down by now. Or so she told herself. Every joint still ached and burned upon movement. Nothing she couldn’t work past in an emergency but not without consequence. 

Without rolling over, she turned her head around far enough to look at Triangle. Glaring at him, of course; he was the only one around but without clear memory of the evening before, she had no proof that he was the one to do this to her. She raised one sore arm up to the duo of hanging bags and then to her bandage, lips drawing back in a deathly serious threat. More accusing than questioning but intending to draw an answer. She ended her “sentence” with a light snarl and pulling Lar a little bit closer. 

     Ah, there was the frightful woman he’d come to know. Back to her  old  self.      Would she of died, had he not administered the IV  fluids?  What  a  terrible      thought... and bothersome. Burying a body was dreadful-- had to make sure      all the critters didn’t come and dig it up. Well, if you cared enough.  If  Lariat      managed to kill someone she usually left them to rot... though,  in  the  case      of bandits, he couldn’t say they didn’t deserve it.

     Following her stiff motions, coupled with a hostile demeanor in regards to the      IV pole and drip bag... it seemed she wasn’t fond  of  the  medical  equipment.      Or, perhaps the needle? Lariat used to be a squick when it came to them  too,      but as time went on she eventually got over it. There  were  worse  injuries  to      have inflicted than a little prick in a vein. If  she  could’ve  gone  without  them,      she definitely would... but, it was an efficient  way  to  resupply  the  body  with      liquids. Dumping it wasn’t an option.