Cesar Torres(?)

Still new, just in different way. { NOTHING CESAR OR VIOLET SAYS OR DOES IS ROMANTIC!!! DON'T BE WEIRD!!!!!!!!!! }

[down-thedrain]

im still on break but just so everyones clear i do not support alex and i will not be engaging with tmc anymore. however i will be leaving any tmc content as well as my three tmcblr accounts (@/ctorres74, @/joelhersheysofficial, and @/olive-heathcliffe-bps) undeleted. deleting things (especially things that were/are a fundamental part of my development, as was the case with tmc) makes me extremely anxious and i know i would come to regret it. thanks for your understanding im gonna go back on break now ✌️

[ctorres74]

[ finally made up all my missing work . that fucking sucked ]

[ctorres74]

...You've been out here for hours.

I know.

You're freezing.

I'm fi-i-ine.

,,,I know you have a lot of feelings right now. And... it's hard. With....

...

...I just wanna make it easier for you. Maybe... I could take the body for a little while? Just... enough to...

...You just want the body, do-o-on't you.

...

We'll talk about it.

[ctorres74]

...Oh. It's the a-a-anniversary, isn't it?

[markheathbar-abandoned]

[As you sit only someone peacefully on the porch, you can swear you see a ghostly figure in the distance. She's short with large, curly hair, and a scarf wrapped around her shoulders. It's none other than Mrs. Torres, but... who's that behind her?]

[When she notices you, she turns to the second figure, gesturing them to stay. When the other obliges, she flies right for you, truly smiling for the first time in months. She's so excited, she almost forgets you can't hear her talk, but with little to dampen her enthusiasm, she pulls out her notebook.]

["Mark!! How is your day?"]

[Mark trudges tiredly out of his car. He looks exhausted. His hair is a bit messy, his eyes are hallow, his skin is pale. But, hey... at least he was accepted by some colleges. He'll be rid of this soon. Right?]

[If only he could leave.]

[He stops, flinching at the ghost that approaches quickly, hand absentmindedly gripping the strap of his messenger bag.]

"Oh," [he mutters, blinking.] "M... Ma'am. Hi."

[Oops. Another almost-mom. Oh, well, she'd never know the difference.]

[ctorres74]

[She giggles a bit. As guilty as it makes her feel... she likes when he calls her mom. But she's never going to admit it. Not after last time.]

[She shakes off the thought quickly and moves onto the next line.]

["I have a surprise!!! You have sit down, though!"]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

[He blinks, and they aren't sure what to do because, did she mean here? He glances around before sitting right there, on the cold concrete.]

"What's going on?" [he questions with a tilt of his head.]

[ctorres74]

[She quells her excitement a bit as she flies back off to where she left the other figure. They take much longer to get back, as they seem to be chattering away as they float towards you.]

[The figure seems more than a little disoriented. His whole body's blue, similar to the woman by his side, but even while they float in the air, he's noticably taller. His curls are also much tighter than Camilla's, maybe even more than Cesar's. He's dressed rather plainly, just a simple t-shirt, from what you can see.]

[You recognize him, but it seems he doesn't quite recognize you. At least at first.]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

[Mark blinks at the apparition. Now, he's not stupid—they got accepted to four colleges, and not on luck. But there's... no way this is real. He still wasn't even sure Camilla was real at this point.]

[He shakes their head, as if shaking off the confusion, before sitting on the porch with the ghostly presence.]

[No words are exchanged between the three. No words need to be. Mark is in shock. Camilla seems oddly delighted. And Carlos... Well, they hadn't been around him in so long. He wasn't sure how to read him.]

[ctorres74]

[Carlos... is certainly feeling things. He knows your basic features—the face shape, the eyes, the complexion—but 6 years of this county made even someone as close as his son's best friend seem... more than a little off. Not that he even knows the half of it.]

[After the awkwardness of the silence starts seeping into his skin, he finally offers a hand and a] "Eh... nice to see you again, eh, Mark." [to the younger man. Camilla winces a bit.]

"He cannot hear, mi amor."

"He is deaf?"

[markheathbar-abandoned]

[Mark looked between the two, supposedly conversing in passed whispers his warm, living ears couldn't pick up. So they sit, not quite content in knowing only Camilla will relate information, but not quite wanting to do anything and risk making them both feel guilty.]

[So they sit there, hands bunched up in his stiff jeans, before they murmur,] "Can we go inside? It's, like... a-almost freezing."

[ctorres74]

[Camilla, who seemingly only realized this when Mark pointed it out, ushers both them and her husband into the house. They phase through effortlessly, but it takes you a second to open the door.]

[The two converse a little more, in haunted whispers like those carried by the wind. She eventually pulls out her trusty notepad and hands it off to the other. He's... a little hesitant, but eventually writes out his statement from earlier:]

"It is nice to see you again, Mark."

[markheathbar-abandoned]

[As you sit only someone peacefully on the porch, you can swear you see a ghostly figure in the distance. She's short with large, curly hair, and a scarf wrapped around her shoulders. It's none other than Mrs. Torres, but... who's that behind her?]

[When she notices you, she turns to the second figure, gesturing them to stay. When the other obliges, she flies right for you, truly smiling for the first time in months. She's so excited, she almost forgets you can't hear her talk, but with little to dampen her enthusiasm, she pulls out her notebook.]

["Mark!! How is your day?"]

[Mark trudges tiredly out of his car. He looks exhausted. His hair is a bit messy, his eyes are hallow, his skin is pale. But, hey... at least he was accepted by some colleges. He'll be rid of this soon. Right?]

[If only he could leave.]

[He stops, flinching at the ghost that approaches quickly, hand absentmindedly gripping the strap of his messenger bag.]

"Oh," [he mutters, blinking.] "M... Ma'am. Hi."

[Oops. Another almost-mom. Oh, well, she'd never know the difference.]

[ctorres74]

[She giggles a bit. As guilty as it makes her feel... she likes when he calls her mom. But she's never going to admit it. Not after last time.]

[She shakes off the thought quickly and moves onto the next line.]

["I have a surprise!!! You have sit down, though!"]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

[He blinks, and they aren't sure what to do because, did she mean here? He glances around before sitting right there, on the cold concrete.]

"What's going on?" [he questions with a tilt of his head.]

[ctorres74]

[She quells her excitement a bit as she flies back off to where she left the other figure. They take much longer to get back, as they seem to be chattering away as they float towards you.]

[The figure seems more than a little disoriented. His whole body's blue, similar to the woman by his side, but even while they float in the air, he's noticably taller. His curls are also much tighter than Camilla's, maybe even more than Cesar's. He's dressed rather plainly, just a simple t-shirt, from what you can see.]

[You recognize him, but it seems he doesn't quite recognize you. At least at first.]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

[Mark blinks at the apparition. Now, he's not stupid—they got accepted to four colleges, and not on luck. But there's... no way this is real. He still wasn't even sure Camilla was real at this point.]

[He shakes their head, as if shaking off the confusion, before sitting on the porch with the ghostly presence.]

[No words are exchanged between the three. No words need to be. Mark is in shock. Camilla seems oddly delighted. And Carlos... Well, they hadn't been around him in so long. He wasn't sure how to read him.]

[ctorres74]

[Carlos... is certainly feeling things. He knows your basic features—the face shape, the eyes, the complexion—but 6 years of this county made even someone as close as his son's best friend seem... more than a little off. Not that he even knows the half of it.]

[After the awkwardness of the silence starts seeping into his skin, he finally offers a hand and a] "Eh... nice to see you again, eh, Mark." [to the younger man. Camilla winces a bit.]

"He cannot hear, mi amor."

"He is deaf?"

[markheathbar-abandoned]

[As you sit only someone peacefully on the porch, you can swear you see a ghostly figure in the distance. She's short with large, curly hair, and a scarf wrapped around her shoulders. It's none other than Mrs. Torres, but... who's that behind her?]

[When she notices you, she turns to the second figure, gesturing them to stay. When the other obliges, she flies right for you, truly smiling for the first time in months. She's so excited, she almost forgets you can't hear her talk, but with little to dampen her enthusiasm, she pulls out her notebook.]

["Mark!! How is your day?"]

[Mark trudges tiredly out of his car. He looks exhausted. His hair is a bit messy, his eyes are hallow, his skin is pale. But, hey... at least he was accepted by some colleges. He'll be rid of this soon. Right?]

[If only he could leave.]

[He stops, flinching at the ghost that approaches quickly, hand absentmindedly gripping the strap of his messenger bag.]

"Oh," [he mutters, blinking.] "M... Ma'am. Hi."

[Oops. Another almost-mom. Oh, well, she'd never know the difference.]

[ctorres74]

[She giggles a bit. As guilty as it makes her feel... she likes when he calls her mom. But she's never going to admit it. Not after last time.]

[She shakes off the thought quickly and moves onto the next line.]

["I have a surprise!!! You have sit down, though!"]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

[He blinks, and they aren't sure what to do because, did she mean here? He glances around before sitting right there, on the cold concrete.]

"What's going on?" [he questions with a tilt of his head.]

[ctorres74]

[She quells her excitement a bit as she flies back off to where she left the other figure. They take much longer to get back, as they seem to be chattering away as they float towards you.]

[The figure seems more than a little disoriented. His whole body's blue, similar to the woman by his side, but even while they float in the air, he's noticably taller. His curls are also much tighter than Camilla's, maybe even more than Cesar's. He's dressed rather plainly, just a simple t-shirt, from what you can see.]

[You recognize him, but it seems he doesn't quite recognize you. At least at first.]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

[As you sit only someone peacefully on the porch, you can swear you see a ghostly figure in the distance. She's short with large, curly hair, and a scarf wrapped around her shoulders. It's none other than Mrs. Torres, but... who's that behind her?]

[When she notices you, she turns to the second figure, gesturing them to stay. When the other obliges, she flies right for you, truly smiling for the first time in months. She's so excited, she almost forgets you can't hear her talk, but with little to dampen her enthusiasm, she pulls out her notebook.]

["Mark!! How is your day?"]

[Mark trudges tiredly out of his car. He looks exhausted. His hair is a bit messy, his eyes are hallow, his skin is pale. But, hey... at least he was accepted by some colleges. He'll be rid of this soon. Right?]

[If only he could leave.]

[He stops, flinching at the ghost that approaches quickly, hand absentmindedly gripping the strap of his messenger bag.]

"Oh," [he mutters, blinking.] "M... Ma'am. Hi."

[Oops. Another almost-mom. Oh, well, she'd never know the difference.]

[ctorres74]

[She giggles a bit. As guilty as it makes her feel... she likes when he calls her mom. But she's never going to admit it. Not after last time.]

[She shakes off the thought quickly and moves onto the next line.]

["I have a surprise!!! You have sit down, though!"]

[ctorres74]

torres parents, are you immigrants? really admire your bilingualism. wish that was me...

. . .

We are!! I live here for longer than my wife, so my English is pretty good.

Me... am working :(

[ctorres74]

why dont you go find mark? i bet hes warm

He's not home home home. I don't think. And... he's avo-o-oiding me.

[ctorres74]

"Cesar?" [comes the soft voice from behind the bedroom door. It's followed by four knocks.] "Are you in there? Are you alright?" [They hadn't been out in a while... At least, not that Abby saw. And, admittedly, she'd grown worried.]

[Nothing but a whine, high-pitched and crackling, is sent back from the door. He's not trapped— they could easily appear behind her in the blink of an eye— but he's not coming out. Or moving. Or saying a word.]

[...The door is unlocked, you know.]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

[She sighs, nervously swaying on her feet. It isn't long before the pained noises get to her, and she tries the handle.]

[Slowly, slowly, she opens the door.]

[ctorres74]

[It doesn't seem like they're there, at first. Just a massive pile of likely dirty sheets.]

[But the pite trembles violently. Something shifts, and one of the blankets slips off the side. And suddenly, a skinless, bloody hand juts out from nowhere to pull the blanket back in closer.]

[That's him, alright.]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

[She sighs, as if in annoyance, and approaches the pile of blankets and sheets. She sits on the chilled floor besides them, and gently pats the top of the pile.]

"Cesar, dear," [she murmurs,] "come on out. It's okay. I've made you warm tea, alright? It'll help you."

[She isn't sure what's wrong... but it's as if she can feel another's presence.]

[ctorres74]

[The pile says nothing in return, completely unmoving. Then, after a long, uncomfortable, cold moment,]

"Waaarm...."

[Their voice is small and hollow. He doesn't reach out at all, but even from within the pile, they seem to relax for just a second before tensing right back up again.]

[He's uncharacteristically quiet.]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

"No, come on. You don't get to mope in your pile of blankets any longer. You're going to come downstairs."

[Does she care?]

[As she speaks, she stands up—with her comes two of his blankets. She stands, waiting for their reaction.]

[ctorres74]

[The pile whimpers and struggles, forcing four new hands to worm their way out of the safety of the sheets. They all extend much longer than they should to force the two blankets out of Abagail's hands.]

[With the blankets back in their rightful spot, the hands retreat. A low hiss comes from the bundle, but not much more. Of course Abby wouldn't choose to care. What else did he expect?]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

"Cesar," [she responds in a warning tone,] "Cesar Augustus Torres, get up right now," [she finishes. She doesn't sound like she's joking. But would she actually make Cesar get up, should they say no?]

[Or... hiss "no".]

[Because... truthfully, she knows something is wrong. Like... someone else has come, but... she's yet to have seen even Camilla. Were they still mad at each other? Abby had figured they made up. It was all so much...]

[ctorres74]

[He doesn't give a verbal response. All that happens is that their whines increase, like an opera number horribly fractured and out of tune.]

[Amidst the "chorus", you can faintly hear a voice calling for help. A voice that wants you close, no matter what actions and words say.]

[A voice of a child, who just wants his mom.]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

[Abby sighs, as if tired of this, but really, she isn't.]

[She sits, besides the pile again. This time, she strokes the blankets, as if a crying baby's little cheek.] "Cesar, dear... It's okay. It's just... cold? A little chilly," [she continues. She isn't sure what to say, what she should say. But she wants Cesar to, at least, go back to just leaving the room.]

[ctorres74]

[The pathetic whimpers slow down for the time, feeling a sense of comfort in being... cared for. Is that what this is? Or is it mere pity? He doesn't quite know. They've lost the ability to tell the difference.]

[Fingers work to create a tiny opening in the sheets, just small enough for a red glow, not soft nor harsh, to peek its way outside. They stare up at Abagail.]

"...What are you doing?"

[markheathbar-abandoned]

[Abagail stares back for a moment, though she doesn't falter on her movements. Then she looks away, not quite sure what to say in response.]

"I'm not doing anything," [she finally answers, though it's very clear she is in fact doing something, the way her hand strokes the blankets.]

[ctorres74]

"I don't wa... have the energy to tell you off," [the monster growls, but it's weak and broken and longs for warmth. They do not want to beg, especially not for her, but perhaps she might be the only one who still cares. Who still sees him as Cesar.]

[...Taking her arm with a muscly paw, he notices that she's warm.]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

[She hums, playing indifferent, but she isn't really. She holds their hand, skinless and probably gross to anyone who wasn't a mother.]

"That's okay. You can fight me on it later. What if we compromise. I get the tea, you drink it up here. Is that fair?"

[ctorres74]

[They hold on, silent and still. Too tight to leave. He seems to be conflicted.]

[And then that conflict is swept away in the river of consciousness as their mangled form claws his way out of their fitted grave. He wraps several more disgusting arms around her and pulls her in for the tightest hug he can do... without crushing her skeleton, of course. They hold her so very close to his chest, his entire body aching from the chill, desperate for some reprieve.]

[The whimpers don't stop. In fact, they get worse.]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

[She lets out a little squeak as she's pulled down to the huddle of soft sheets. But she doesn't try to get up, not at least for a moment.]

[And after what she decides is a long enough time, and then a little longer, she tries to pull away.]

[ctorres74]

[Cesar only grips her harder in distress. Their eye is large and worried—he doesn't know if she'll come back after this. But she has to. She has to because she's so warm and she sees him as a person—he didn't even know they wanted that!! And a part of him doesn't but a part of him does, and it's all so terribly painful and empty and cold and—

[...]

[He's crying.]

[ctorres74]

"Cesar?" [comes the soft voice from behind the bedroom door. It's followed by four knocks.] "Are you in there? Are you alright?" [They hadn't been out in a while... At least, not that Abby saw. And, admittedly, she'd grown worried.]

[Nothing but a whine, high-pitched and crackling, is sent back from the door. He's not trapped— they could easily appear behind her in the blink of an eye— but he's not coming out. Or moving. Or saying a word.]

[...The door is unlocked, you know.]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

[She sighs, nervously swaying on her feet. It isn't long before the pained noises get to her, and she tries the handle.]

[Slowly, slowly, she opens the door.]

[ctorres74]

[It doesn't seem like they're there, at first. Just a massive pile of likely dirty sheets.]

[But the pite trembles violently. Something shifts, and one of the blankets slips off the side. And suddenly, a skinless, bloody hand juts out from nowhere to pull the blanket back in closer.]

[That's him, alright.]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

[She sighs, as if in annoyance, and approaches the pile of blankets and sheets. She sits on the chilled floor besides them, and gently pats the top of the pile.]

"Cesar, dear," [she murmurs,] "come on out. It's okay. I've made you warm tea, alright? It'll help you."

[She isn't sure what's wrong... but it's as if she can feel another's presence.]

[ctorres74]

[The pile says nothing in return, completely unmoving. Then, after a long, uncomfortable, cold moment,]

"Waaarm...."

[Their voice is small and hollow. He doesn't reach out at all, but even from within the pile, they seem to relax for just a second before tensing right back up again.]

[He's uncharacteristically quiet.]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

"No, come on. You don't get to mope in your pile of blankets any longer. You're going to come downstairs."

[Does she care?]

[As she speaks, she stands up—with her comes two of his blankets. She stands, waiting for their reaction.]

[ctorres74]

[The pile whimpers and struggles, forcing four new hands to worm their way out of the safety of the sheets. They all extend much longer than they should to force the two blankets out of Abagail's hands.]

[With the blankets back in their rightful spot, the hands retreat. A low hiss comes from the bundle, but not much more. Of course Abby wouldn't choose to care. What else did he expect?]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

"Cesar," [she responds in a warning tone,] "Cesar Augustus Torres, get up right now," [she finishes. She doesn't sound like she's joking. But would she actually make Cesar get up, should they say no?]

[Or... hiss "no".]

[Because... truthfully, she knows something is wrong. Like... someone else has come, but... she's yet to have seen even Camilla. Were they still mad at each other? Abby had figured they made up. It was all so much...]

[ctorres74]

[He doesn't give a verbal response. All that happens is that their whines increase, like an opera number horribly fractured and out of tune.]

[Amidst the "chorus", you can faintly hear a voice calling for help. A voice that wants you close, no matter what actions and words say.]

[A voice of a child, who just wants his mom.]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

[Abby sighs, as if tired of this, but really, she isn't.]

[She sits, besides the pile again. This time, she strokes the blankets, as if a crying baby's little cheek.] "Cesar, dear... It's okay. It's just... cold? A little chilly," [she continues. She isn't sure what to say, what she should say. But she wants Cesar to, at least, go back to just leaving the room.]

[ctorres74]

[The pathetic whimpers slow down for the time, feeling a sense of comfort in being... cared for. Is that what this is? Or is it mere pity? He doesn't quite know. They've lost the ability to tell the difference.]

[Fingers work to create a tiny opening in the sheets, just small enough for a red glow, not soft nor harsh, to peek its way outside. They stare up at Abagail.]

"...What are you doing?"

[markheathbar-abandoned]

[Abagail stares back for a moment, though she doesn't falter on her movements. Then she looks away, not quite sure what to say in response.]

"I'm not doing anything," [she finally answers, though it's very clear she is in fact doing something, the way her hand strokes the blankets.]

[ctorres74]

"I don't wa... have the energy to tell you off," [the monster growls, but it's weak and broken and longs for warmth. They do not want to beg, especially not for her, but perhaps she might be the only one who still cares. Who still sees him as Cesar.]

[...Taking her arm with a muscly paw, he notices that she's warm.]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

[She hums, playing indifferent, but she isn't really. She holds their hand, skinless and probably gross to anyone who wasn't a mother.]

"That's okay. You can fight me on it later. What if we compromise. I get the tea, you drink it up here. Is that fair?"

[ctorres74]

[They hold on, silent and still. Too tight to leave. He seems to be conflicted.]

[And then that conflict is swept away in the river of consciousness as their mangled form claws his way out of their fitted grave. He wraps several more disgusting arms around her and pulls her in for the tightest hug he can do... without crushing her skeleton, of course. They hold her so very close to his chest, his entire body aching from the chill, desperate for some reprieve.]

[The whimpers don't stop. In fact, they get worse.]

[ctorres74]

"Cesar?" [comes the soft voice from behind the bedroom door. It's followed by four knocks.] "Are you in there? Are you alright?" [They hadn't been out in a while... At least, not that Abby saw. And, admittedly, she'd grown worried.]

[Nothing but a whine, high-pitched and crackling, is sent back from the door. He's not trapped— they could easily appear behind her in the blink of an eye— but he's not coming out. Or moving. Or saying a word.]

[...The door is unlocked, you know.]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

[She sighs, nervously swaying on her feet. It isn't long before the pained noises get to her, and she tries the handle.]

[Slowly, slowly, she opens the door.]

[ctorres74]

[It doesn't seem like they're there, at first. Just a massive pile of likely dirty sheets.]

[But the pite trembles violently. Something shifts, and one of the blankets slips off the side. And suddenly, a skinless, bloody hand juts out from nowhere to pull the blanket back in closer.]

[That's him, alright.]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

[She sighs, as if in annoyance, and approaches the pile of blankets and sheets. She sits on the chilled floor besides them, and gently pats the top of the pile.]

"Cesar, dear," [she murmurs,] "come on out. It's okay. I've made you warm tea, alright? It'll help you."

[She isn't sure what's wrong... but it's as if she can feel another's presence.]

[ctorres74]

[The pile says nothing in return, completely unmoving. Then, after a long, uncomfortable, cold moment,]

"Waaarm...."

[Their voice is small and hollow. He doesn't reach out at all, but even from within the pile, they seem to relax for just a second before tensing right back up again.]

[He's uncharacteristically quiet.]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

"No, come on. You don't get to mope in your pile of blankets any longer. You're going to come downstairs."

[Does she care?]

[As she speaks, she stands up—with her comes two of his blankets. She stands, waiting for their reaction.]

[ctorres74]

[The pile whimpers and struggles, forcing four new hands to worm their way out of the safety of the sheets. They all extend much longer than they should to force the two blankets out of Abagail's hands.]

[With the blankets back in their rightful spot, the hands retreat. A low hiss comes from the bundle, but not much more. Of course Abby wouldn't choose to care. What else did he expect?]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

"Cesar," [she responds in a warning tone,] "Cesar Augustus Torres, get up right now," [she finishes. She doesn't sound like she's joking. But would she actually make Cesar get up, should they say no?]

[Or... hiss "no".]

[Because... truthfully, she knows something is wrong. Like... someone else has come, but... she's yet to have seen even Camilla. Were they still mad at each other? Abby had figured they made up. It was all so much...]

[ctorres74]

[He doesn't give a verbal response. All that happens is that their whines increase, like an opera number horribly fractured and out of tune.]

[Amidst the "chorus", you can faintly hear a voice calling for help. A voice that wants you close, no matter what actions and words say.]

[A voice of a child, who just wants his mom.]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

[Abby sighs, as if tired of this, but really, she isn't.]

[She sits, besides the pile again. This time, she strokes the blankets, as if a crying baby's little cheek.] "Cesar, dear... It's okay. It's just... cold? A little chilly," [she continues. She isn't sure what to say, what she should say. But she wants Cesar to, at least, go back to just leaving the room.]

[ctorres74]

[The pathetic whimpers slow down for the time, feeling a sense of comfort in being... cared for. Is that what this is? Or is it mere pity? He doesn't quite know. They've lost the ability to tell the difference.]

[Fingers work to create a tiny opening in the sheets, just small enough for a red glow, not soft nor harsh, to peek its way outside. They stare up at Abagail.]

"...What are you doing?"

[markheathbar-abandoned]

[Abagail stares back for a moment, though she doesn't falter on her movements. Then she looks away, not quite sure what to say in response.]

"I'm not doing anything," [she finally answers, though it's very clear she is in fact doing something, the way her hand strokes the blankets.]

[ctorres74]

"I don't wa... have the energy to tell you off," [the monster growls, but it's weak and broken and longs for warmth. They do not want to beg, especially not for her, but perhaps she might be the only one who still cares. Who still sees him as Cesar.]

[...Taking her arm with a muscly paw, he notices that she's warm.]

[ctorres74]

"Cesar?" [comes the soft voice from behind the bedroom door. It's followed by four knocks.] "Are you in there? Are you alright?" [They hadn't been out in a while... At least, not that Abby saw. And, admittedly, she'd grown worried.]

[Nothing but a whine, high-pitched and crackling, is sent back from the door. He's not trapped— they could easily appear behind her in the blink of an eye— but he's not coming out. Or moving. Or saying a word.]

[...The door is unlocked, you know.]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

[She sighs, nervously swaying on her feet. It isn't long before the pained noises get to her, and she tries the handle.]

[Slowly, slowly, she opens the door.]

[ctorres74]

[It doesn't seem like they're there, at first. Just a massive pile of likely dirty sheets.]

[But the pite trembles violently. Something shifts, and one of the blankets slips off the side. And suddenly, a skinless, bloody hand juts out from nowhere to pull the blanket back in closer.]

[That's him, alright.]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

[She sighs, as if in annoyance, and approaches the pile of blankets and sheets. She sits on the chilled floor besides them, and gently pats the top of the pile.]

"Cesar, dear," [she murmurs,] "come on out. It's okay. I've made you warm tea, alright? It'll help you."

[She isn't sure what's wrong... but it's as if she can feel another's presence.]

[ctorres74]

[The pile says nothing in return, completely unmoving. Then, after a long, uncomfortable, cold moment,]

"Waaarm...."

[Their voice is small and hollow. He doesn't reach out at all, but even from within the pile, they seem to relax for just a second before tensing right back up again.]

[He's uncharacteristically quiet.]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

"No, come on. You don't get to mope in your pile of blankets any longer. You're going to come downstairs."

[Does she care?]

[As she speaks, she stands up—with her comes two of his blankets. She stands, waiting for their reaction.]

[ctorres74]

[The pile whimpers and struggles, forcing four new hands to worm their way out of the safety of the sheets. They all extend much longer than they should to force the two blankets out of Abagail's hands.]

[With the blankets back in their rightful spot, the hands retreat. A low hiss comes from the bundle, but not much more. Of course Abby wouldn't choose to care. What else did he expect?]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

"Cesar," [she responds in a warning tone,] "Cesar Augustus Torres, get up right now," [she finishes. She doesn't sound like she's joking. But would she actually make Cesar get up, should they say no?]

[Or... hiss "no".]

[Because... truthfully, she knows something is wrong. Like... someone else has come, but... she's yet to have seen even Camilla. Were they still mad at each other? Abby had figured they made up. It was all so much...]

[ctorres74]

[He doesn't give a verbal response. All that happens is that their whines increase, like an opera number horribly fractured and out of tune.]

[Amidst the "chorus", you can faintly hear a voice calling for help. A voice that wants you close, no matter what actions and words say.]

[A voice of a child, who just wants his mom.]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

[Abby sighs, as if tired of this, but really, she isn't.]

[She sits, besides the pile again. This time, she strokes the blankets, as if a crying baby's little cheek.] "Cesar, dear... It's okay. It's just... cold? A little chilly," [she continues. She isn't sure what to say, what she should say. But she wants Cesar to, at least, go back to just leaving the room.]

[ctorres74]

[The pathetic whimpers slow down for the time, feeling a sense of comfort in being... cared for. Is that what this is? Or is it mere pity? He doesn't quite know. They've lost the ability to tell the difference.]

[Fingers work to create a tiny opening in the sheets, just small enough for a red glow, not soft nor harsh, to peek its way outside. They stare up at Abagail.]

"...What are you doing?"

[ctorres74]

"Cesar?" [comes the soft voice from behind the bedroom door. It's followed by four knocks.] "Are you in there? Are you alright?" [They hadn't been out in a while... At least, not that Abby saw. And, admittedly, she'd grown worried.]

[Nothing but a whine, high-pitched and crackling, is sent back from the door. He's not trapped— they could easily appear behind her in the blink of an eye— but he's not coming out. Or moving. Or saying a word.]

[...The door is unlocked, you know.]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

[She sighs, nervously swaying on her feet. It isn't long before the pained noises get to her, and she tries the handle.]

[Slowly, slowly, she opens the door.]

[ctorres74]

[It doesn't seem like they're there, at first. Just a massive pile of likely dirty sheets.]

[But the pite trembles violently. Something shifts, and one of the blankets slips off the side. And suddenly, a skinless, bloody hand juts out from nowhere to pull the blanket back in closer.]

[That's him, alright.]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

[She sighs, as if in annoyance, and approaches the pile of blankets and sheets. She sits on the chilled floor besides them, and gently pats the top of the pile.]

"Cesar, dear," [she murmurs,] "come on out. It's okay. I've made you warm tea, alright? It'll help you."

[She isn't sure what's wrong... but it's as if she can feel another's presence.]

[ctorres74]

[The pile says nothing in return, completely unmoving. Then, after a long, uncomfortable, cold moment,]

"Waaarm...."

[Their voice is small and hollow. He doesn't reach out at all, but even from within the pile, they seem to relax for just a second before tensing right back up again.]

[He's uncharacteristically quiet.]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

"No, come on. You don't get to mope in your pile of blankets any longer. You're going to come downstairs."

[Does she care?]

[As she speaks, she stands up—with her comes two of his blankets. She stands, waiting for their reaction.]

[ctorres74]

[The pile whimpers and struggles, forcing four new hands to worm their way out of the safety of the sheets. They all extend much longer than they should to force the two blankets out of Abagail's hands.]

[With the blankets back in their rightful spot, the hands retreat. A low hiss comes from the bundle, but not much more. Of course Abby wouldn't choose to care. What else did he expect?]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

"Cesar," [she responds in a warning tone,] "Cesar Augustus Torres, get up right now," [she finishes. She doesn't sound like she's joking. But would she actually make Cesar get up, should they say no?]

[Or... hiss "no".]

[Because... truthfully, she knows something is wrong. Like... someone else has come, but... she's yet to have seen even Camilla. Were they still mad at each other? Abby had figured they made up. It was all so much...]

[ctorres74]

[He doesn't give a verbal response. All that happens is that their whines increase, like an opera number horribly fractured and out of tune.]

[Amidst the "chorus", you can faintly hear a voice calling for help. A voice that wants you close, no matter what actions and words say.]

[A voice of a child, who just wants his mom.]

[ctorres74]

"Cesar?" [comes the soft voice from behind the bedroom door. It's followed by four knocks.] "Are you in there? Are you alright?" [They hadn't been out in a while... At least, not that Abby saw. And, admittedly, she'd grown worried.]

[Nothing but a whine, high-pitched and crackling, is sent back from the door. He's not trapped— they could easily appear behind her in the blink of an eye— but he's not coming out. Or moving. Or saying a word.]

[...The door is unlocked, you know.]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

[She sighs, nervously swaying on her feet. It isn't long before the pained noises get to her, and she tries the handle.]

[Slowly, slowly, she opens the door.]

[ctorres74]

[It doesn't seem like they're there, at first. Just a massive pile of likely dirty sheets.]

[But the pite trembles violently. Something shifts, and one of the blankets slips off the side. And suddenly, a skinless, bloody hand juts out from nowhere to pull the blanket back in closer.]

[That's him, alright.]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

[She sighs, as if in annoyance, and approaches the pile of blankets and sheets. She sits on the chilled floor besides them, and gently pats the top of the pile.]

"Cesar, dear," [she murmurs,] "come on out. It's okay. I've made you warm tea, alright? It'll help you."

[She isn't sure what's wrong... but it's as if she can feel another's presence.]

[ctorres74]

[The pile says nothing in return, completely unmoving. Then, after a long, uncomfortable, cold moment,]

"Waaarm...."

[Their voice is small and hollow. He doesn't reach out at all, but even from within the pile, they seem to relax for just a second before tensing right back up again.]

[He's uncharacteristically quiet.]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

"No, come on. You don't get to mope in your pile of blankets any longer. You're going to come downstairs."

[Does she care?]

[As she speaks, she stands up—with her comes two of his blankets. She stands, waiting for their reaction.]

[ctorres74]

[The pile whimpers and struggles, forcing four new hands to worm their way out of the safety of the sheets. They all extend much longer than they should to force the two blankets out of Abagail's hands.]

[With the blankets back in their rightful spot, the hands retreat. A low hiss comes from the bundle, but not much more. Of course Abby wouldn't choose to care. What else did he expect?]

[ctorres74]

"Cesar?" [comes the soft voice from behind the bedroom door. It's followed by four knocks.] "Are you in there? Are you alright?" [They hadn't been out in a while... At least, not that Abby saw. And, admittedly, she'd grown worried.]

[Nothing but a whine, high-pitched and crackling, is sent back from the door. He's not trapped— they could easily appear behind her in the blink of an eye— but he's not coming out. Or moving. Or saying a word.]

[...The door is unlocked, you know.]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

[She sighs, nervously swaying on her feet. It isn't long before the pained noises get to her, and she tries the handle.]

[Slowly, slowly, she opens the door.]

[ctorres74]

[It doesn't seem like they're there, at first. Just a massive pile of likely dirty sheets.]

[But the pite trembles violently. Something shifts, and one of the blankets slips off the side. And suddenly, a skinless, bloody hand juts out from nowhere to pull the blanket back in closer.]

[That's him, alright.]

[markheathbar-abandoned]

[She sighs, as if in annoyance, and approaches the pile of blankets and sheets. She sits on the chilled floor besides them, and gently pats the top of the pile.]

"Cesar, dear," [she murmurs,] "come on out. It's okay. I've made you warm tea, alright? It'll help you."

[She isn't sure what's wrong... but it's as if she can feel another's presence.]

[ctorres74]

[The pile says nothing in return, completely unmoving. Then, after a long, uncomfortable, cold moment,]

"Waaarm...."

[Their voice is small and hollow. He doesn't reach out at all, but even from within the pile, they seem to relax for just a second before tensing right back up again.]

[He's uncharacteristically quiet.]