Just Loppy and Boss

@loppy-watches-over

[Liminal music in the background as Loppy floats in the galaxy above, relaxing...]

56 posts

Boss's Voice Resounds:

Welcome, welcome. You all don't interact with Me that often, so cherish this interaction, yes? Good. Now, this is the blog where you can personally ask Lophren questions about her, the AUs she's visited, and the people she's met. You may not, and I repeat, not ask her about Me or any of My deeds, AUs, plans, or other things. That is My information to share. I own every single one of the AUs she oversees, and she and her galaxy-themed brothers and sisters each have their own little section of My creations to watch over.

Loppy smiles nervously as Boss's voice fades away, and waves. "Ask for information! And please, call me Loppy."

#Loppy Bunny!#lophrenrabbit #lophren and boss #boss and loppy #intro post #AU COllectors

the-queen-andromeda

Loppy’s prescence flickers briefly through the room, a resounding “ENOUGH.” rumbling through the walls. “LEAVE. MY FAMILY. ALONE.” Even from the Express, she knows.

[ @loppy-watches-over ]

LOPPYYYYYYYY--

CHIRPS AND TRILLS!!

loppy-watches-over

Just as quick as her presence appears, she whimpers and her presence fades like a dying lamp…

#andromeda star #loppybunny

I don't remember when it all got so hard.

#loppybunny #lophrenrabbit #loppy

This Express has everything I need before passing on…

#loppybunny #lophrenrabbit #loppy #the leviathan express au

Life has gotten so dull, hasn’t it?

#loppybunny #lophrenrabbit #loppy

loppy. please. come back. they need you to come back.

please.

Lophren is currently UNAVAILABLE.

#loppybunny #lophrenrabbit #Ask answered #anon ask #loppy

You need to come back.

Lophren is currently UNAVAILABLE.

#loppybunny #lophrenrabbit #ask answered #anon ask #loppy

Loppy. They need you.

Lophren is currently UNAVAILABLE.

#loppybunny #ask answered #anon ask #loppy #loppy answers

the-leviathan-express

“Excuse me…I found this in my pocket. I’ve heard of your…express, and…I know it’s the place for me. I know I’m by no means human, and I suppose that gives you the right to turn me away. Plus, I used to be immortal—I’m not anymore. My immortality was taken from me, so I know I qualify for your express. I’m miserable, the one I lived for no longer exists, and I’d like to just…fall off the face of the earth. Is that acceptable?”

[asking from mod blog, but character belongs to my blog @loppy-watches-over]

loppy-watches-over

“Thank you, sir..”

#fnaf au #the leviathan express au #the conductor #loppybunny

@loppy-watches-over

It takes one of the floating eyes dropping her into the void below for her to wake up with a screech, flailing with what little energy she's regained from comfortable sleep. Oh, gosh, Dreamworld sucked that time. She sighs, staring at the ceiling and remembering that she'd been brought into the house where she met Sundowner. By Bloodmoon. She thinks. Yeah, that Daydream fellow said that was the red moon (whom she'd mentally dubbed Kool-Aid). So. As far as she knows, there are...several DCAs in this house. There's...Daydream, Sundowner, Bloodmoon...and Sundowner mentioned Sungrass?? Hm. So that left...one more she hasn't heard of or met. That would be the eclipse, wouldn't it? Maybe? She isn't sure, but she struggles to sit up in bed, glancing at the door.

The scene that Lophren awoke to was unexpected, to say the least. Especially with how hostile Sundowner had been to Bloodmoon upon his arrival.

Sundowner's hand had been on the Bloodmoon's face, one that was still smeared with the crimson from his hunt. It was clear that the moon had stayed all the while the rabbit slept and, at some point, the sun had entered as well. Sundowner was certainly much closer than anyone anticipated, with how his faceplate was only a few inches away from Bloodmoon's. It was almost intimate, if it weren't for the way the ex-bartender's grip on the moon's faceplate was so tight—not allowing Bloodmoon to look away. The moon hadn't resisted as he was pressed against the wall.

At Lophren's thrashing, Sundowner had moved away from Bloodmoon, as if his hand had been burned. Like Bloodmoon was disgusting, despite having been so close with a confusing gentleness moments prior. The moon himself was rather quiet, his face covered with his hood and, from where Lophren was sitting, not even his optics could be seen.

"Lophren," Sundowner greeted, as if his actions were normal. Perhaps it was for him—certainly no one else, except for Apricot, would try to stop him. And that was if the eclipse knew.

He was much better at hiding it, now.

The sun stepped back, his optics glancing downwards momentarily to see the blood smeared on his glove. How unpleasant. That would have to be washed later. His attention returned to the immortal, acting entirely as if Bloodmoon wasn't present. "Are you doing well?" He glanced to the bedside table, where soup was cooling now. A glass of water sat next to the bowl, while the anti-itch cream laid a decent distance away from the food.

loppy-watches-over

Loppy startles at the sight of the two DCAs that seem to dislike each other, and furrows a brow at Sundowner's posing, and then at his sudden movement. Uh. That's not suspicious or strange at all. Her throat croaked as she opened her mouth to speak, so she cleared it and tried again. "Am I. In-inturrupting. Something-?" She pauses, glancing between the two bots. "...I'm doing..b-better. Thank you." She realises she can speak far better than she was earlier, and the itching-- The itching was gone. She brings a hand up to feel her scars, and pulls her hand away as she feels the smooth skin. She follows Sundowner's gaze to the table. Ah. Itch cream. "Still feel worthless and like I was run over by a truck. Still weak. But better."

"You are interrupting nothing," Sundowner stated, with a sense of finality in his voice that it seemed better not to question him further, especially with whatever he had been doing with Bloodmoon. The moon in question turned to Loppy, looking a little relieved that she was feeling better to some degree, while the sun's face remained blank. Static as ever, really.

Both bots watched Lophren, though Sundowner's optics flickered briefly to Bloodmoon before returning to settle on the immortal's form. The distrust between them was palpable—Bloodmoon kept his gaze away from the sun, while Sundowner seemed to scrutinize every action the other bot took. Even though it was Bloodmoon who had applied the anti-itch cream, the ex-bartender hadn't let the moon do anything without his approval.

At Loppy's self-depracting words, Bloodmoon bristled ever so slightly. "...don't say that," he murmured, though he quickly fell quiet under the return of Sundowner's watchful gaze.

loppy-watches-over

She can feel the tension; it's probably thick enough to cut with a knife. She visibly doesn't like it. Her lips are pursed, her shoulders twitch upward, and she just. Glances between the two of them. But she doesn't say anything. It's not my business. And then, at Bloodmoon's words, she pauses and smiles softly. Almost sadly, even. "I'm stating a fact, Bloodmoon." Her hand smooths the blanket that lies over her lap as she calls him by his name for the first time. "I am weaker than I am usually." She definitely still feels like shit. Her tail flicks under the blanket, then slides out like a snake and rests on top. Her back aches, and her limbs shiver under her skin, still weak.

#bloodmoon wyw #sundowner wyw #loppybunny

@loppy-watches-over

It takes one of the floating eyes dropping her into the void below for her to wake up with a screech, flailing with what little energy she's regained from comfortable sleep. Oh, gosh, Dreamworld sucked that time. She sighs, staring at the ceiling and remembering that she'd been brought into the house where she met Sundowner. By Bloodmoon. She thinks. Yeah, that Daydream fellow said that was the red moon (whom she'd mentally dubbed Kool-Aid). So. As far as she knows, there are...several DCAs in this house. There's...Daydream, Sundowner, Bloodmoon...and Sundowner mentioned Sungrass?? Hm. So that left...one more she hasn't heard of or met. That would be the eclipse, wouldn't it? Maybe? She isn't sure, but she struggles to sit up in bed, glancing at the door.

The scene that Lophren awoke to was unexpected, to say the least. Especially with how hostile Sundowner had been to Bloodmoon upon his arrival.

Sundowner's hand had been on the Bloodmoon's face, one that was still smeared with the crimson from his hunt. It was clear that the moon had stayed all the while the rabbit slept and, at some point, the sun had entered as well. Sundowner was certainly much closer than anyone anticipated, with how his faceplate was only a few inches away from Bloodmoon's. It was almost intimate, if it weren't for the way the ex-bartender's grip on the moon's faceplate was so tight—not allowing Bloodmoon to look away. The moon hadn't resisted as he was pressed against the wall.

At Lophren's thrashing, Sundowner had moved away from Bloodmoon, as if his hand had been burned. Like Bloodmoon was disgusting, despite having been so close with a confusing gentleness moments prior. The moon himself was rather quiet, his face covered with his hood and, from where Lophren was sitting, not even his optics could be seen.

"Lophren," Sundowner greeted, as if his actions were normal. Perhaps it was for him—certainly no one else, except for Apricot, would try to stop him. And that was if the eclipse knew.

He was much better at hiding it, now.

The sun stepped back, his optics glancing downwards momentarily to see the blood smeared on his glove. How unpleasant. That would have to be washed later. His attention returned to the immortal, acting entirely as if Bloodmoon wasn't present. "Are you doing well?" He glanced to the bedside table, where soup was cooling now. A glass of water sat next to the bowl, while the anti-itch cream laid a decent distance away from the food.

loppy-watches-over

Loppy startles at the sight of the two DCAs that seem to dislike each other, and furrows a brow at Sundowner's posing, and then at his sudden movement. Uh. That's not suspicious or strange at all. Her throat croaked as she opened her mouth to speak, so she cleared it and tried again. "Am I. In-inturrupting. Something-?" She pauses, glancing between the two bots. "...I'm doing..b-better. Thank you." She realises she can speak far better than she was earlier, and the itching-- The itching was gone. She brings a hand up to feel her scars, and pulls her hand away as she feels the smooth skin. She follows Sundowner's gaze to the table. Ah. Itch cream. "Still feel worthless and like I was run over by a truck. Still weak. But better."

#bloodmoon wyw #sundowner wyw #loppybunny

She's hideous. She's mentally exhausted. She's nauseous. Is it even possible for an immortal being to be sick? She doesn't care. Actually...where the fuck even is she? She can't bring herself to raise her head. Move a muscle. The scent in the air is familiar. Like. Machines. But... She can't even. She's so weak. What's wrong with her? Everything's so bright. Oh, yeah. Her protective skull's been knocked off by the force of air travel. She lies in the grass, not even caring who stumbles across her. Something went wrong around here. She can feel it. But. Her scars itch. The ugly fucking things they are complain against the innocent breeze. She's so done. She's so tired. Someone, please find me.

@loppy-watches-over

The day has begun to fall, the sun slowly going down in the distance. It was strangely silent, as if all life had went into hiding—or had been purged. The only noise that broke this unsettling quiet was the faint sound of grass crunching underfoot. The stench of death drew closer, a strong coppery scent that couldn't be missed that could only mean trouble.

A red moon model had come to a stop a few feet away, looming over the rabbit. The bot's red eyes—ones that were thankfully not pinpricks or with entirely red sclera—looked over Loppy. Dried blood was on the animatronic; a dark, reddish-brown that blended in with his pants, and less so his apron and jacket.

Splotches of red were present. A more recent killing done by his hands.

Bloodmoon approached the rabbit, slowly crouching down to her level—like one would an animal that easily startled. A bloodied hand reached towards the immortal, stroking the top of her head. A living creature that he refused to kill, now that his mind was his again.

"Poor thing..." he rasped. The moon assumed it was dead. After all, what hadn't he killed?

loppy-watches-over

Her prayers are answered by the sound of the grass shifting. Deep in the recesses of her brain, she's grateful. Relieved. But outwardly, she still hardly moves. Her chest rises and falls with a sigh, and her nose twitches with the strong scent of blood as the hand draws nearer. She can see the shadow. She can tell it's some form of...DCA? Maybe? She's unsure. She still can't lift her head. And then she feels his hand—the hand, so carefully, petting her head. And then she hears his voice. She can't help the involuntary shudder that courses through her. Is this where she's going to die? She doesn't respond, but it can be assumed by now that she's alive by the minuscule movements that she's made.

It registered rather quickly for Bloodmoon that this was something alive—the sigh had made that rather clear. The animatronic's hand stilled atop of the rabbit's head, before pulling back like a human hand that had been burned. Quick and alarmed.

With that in mind, the moon carefully scooped Loppy up. He used one of his arms to wrap around her back, while he used the other and placed it behind her knees. This was not one of his usual carries—he would normally do a pack-strap carry to at least practice that, as it was the usual way to carry someone that was injured. However, he didn't think much of it now as he lifted her as he stood up, holding the immortal close to his body.

He didn't say much else. Bloodmoon's hood covered parts of his face; something he was rather grateful for, because he knew he would be ashamed of what he had done. His memory from hours and days prior were rather blank—he knew he had one of those episodes he couldn't control—but it was still awful. What had he done?

Bloodmoon started the trek back to the household without a word.

loppy-watches-over

Oh. She's being picked up now. She can't even muster the strength to protest as the...DCA--she was correct--lifts her from the ground in a bridal style. Her eyes, blank and white, stare tiredly up at the animatronic and her scars. Ugh, her scars itch. She hates it. And they're so ugly. She realises, for the second time, that her rabbit skull isn't on her face. The red Kool-Aid flavoured Moon probably left it over where he found her, deeming it unimportant. Actually. She could care less. Where is he even taking her, anyway? She can't really look around that well. Hhh. She strains to speak, her voice a whisper of a croak; that is to say, it's hardly anything. It also probably doesn't help she's stuttering. Bad. "Wh- where...where am. Where. Where are you. T-taking. Me."

Bloodmoon hadn't minded the scars.

They were certainly of great concern, yes, but the bot could only hope that they were clean and left to heal naturally. An infection would be painful—something unpleasant that he wished upon no one. But he hadn't minded how they looked at all, not one bit.

To him, she was something like a... patient, almost. Not his patient—the idea scared him—but she was someone that should be cared for.

"...to the house. There are others," the red moon answered, his words short. Bloodmoon was not talkative, but he was trying. He simply looked ahead, only walking forward, while he did his best to limit the amount of blood that was smeared onto Loppy.

He could help her if it was physical. He knew what to do, from his time in Alaska. But... would the other animatronics let him in? Even with someone who was injured?

He said nothing else, continuing slowly out of the woods.

loppy-watches-over

A house. Others. Other animatronics? Loppy still doesn't put two and two together. Somehow, she doesn't recognise the trees around her. Maybe it's due to her vision being fucked with by the light. But she definitely recognises the scent. Something about it is familiar. Achingly familiar. Other animatronics. In a house. Familiar scent? She can't seem to fit the puzzle pieces together. Her mind is too addled. She's too far gone right now. "Others?" she rasps, curious. Her bell earrings jingle with each of Bloodmoon's steps. Her tail hangs limply, swinging like a pendulum in time with her antennae. Her arm shudders as she tries to lift it. Please, she mentally begs, let me scratch. They're so itchy...

"The others are like daycare attendants. Similar models."

Bloodmoon continued onward while the sky continued to grow darker from up above above. The sounds of his steps stayed in a consistent rhythm as he passed through the short and tall grasses alike. The sound around them still stayed awfully silent, with his footsteps, and the faintest sound of his fans whirring, being the only noises that could be heard.

His eyes flickered down as he felt the shift of Loppy's weight as she tried to lift her arm. His voice, while soft, was also firm as he quickly cut in with, "Do not scratch." He did not want to say that scratching could only lead to further damage. At least, not right now. The moon simply shifted his grip ever so slightly just to hold her closer to his chest, as if she were something fragile and precious. As if a small breeze could hurt her.

Perhaps, she simply was something to be cherished for him; after all, it had been far too long since he held something that was truly alive.

loppy-watches-over

She's curious about so many things, but oh-- Being curious takes so much energy. She would much rather just lie there in his arms, being soothed by the soothing motions of his steps. Maybe this is where she's going to die. Somewhere quiet and calm, in the arms of a gentle and kind soul. Then she pauses in her own thoughts. An immortal being, dying--ha! She would laugh if she could. And. How did he know her intentions? It's not like her arm lifted too far; it hardly even moved. She must seem desperate. Or pathetic. Either way, when he shifts her, she finds herself comfortable. And slightly facing his chest. His warm, humming chest. She's so tempted to drift off right there, but she wants to see these others that Kool-Aid up there is speaking of. " 's itchy. Ugly," she mumbles, voice cracking under the strain of just a couple of quiet words.

There is a faint rumble in Bloodmoon's throat, as if he were humming only a few notes, before it eased into silence once more.

"It isn't ugly," he murmured after a few beats of silence. "...You aren't ugly. Do not itch it. It will hurt." And the red moon says nothing more again. As the began to settle, something else alive finally disrupted it once more: a bird call that could be heard in the distance. A welcome sound in the midst of all of the hazy horrors that the butcher knew he had caused in his virus-afflicted state.

As much as he wished he could say he would never hurt someone else ever again, he couldn't ever promise it. He could only hope to heal more than he harmed.

The residence was beginning to appear in the distance. He must have gone far in his hunting spree, if it was only now that he was even getting a glimpse of the household. He wanted to call it home, and yet his very presence there, he knew, would cause a stir. Bloodmoon's fingers tightened ever so slightly at just the thought of being separated from this... being. Maybe. Maybe Sungrass could take care of her for him?

The moon wanted to ask how she got hurt. But it would be better for her to rest, at the very least. A bed where she could be comfortable would be beneficial. And for her to perhaps drink any sort of liquid, maybe a warm tea for a dry or sore throat. And food, and perhaps any required medication and—ah.

...it felt nice to want to take care of someone. He didn't want to hurt anyone ever again, despite everything. Despite the damage he caused.

loppy-watches-over

No, but. He doesn't understand. She was so much better-looking before Boss mangled her and left her like this. It doesn't help that she feels like every ounce of strength she's ever had was ripped out of her. It doesn't help that she argued with the inter-dimensional being just recently, and they-- "Sh-shit," she hisses, her head spiking with pain. It hurts to remember. She doesn't want to remember. In fact, if she had the strength, she would've ripped her memories out days ago. Left them in some...unseen dumpster somewhere before dragging herself through air currents and letting them spit her out in unknown locations. When his fingers tighten around her, she senses that something's bothering him. Maybe it's her empathy feebly flickering to life, maybe it's just common sense, but she strains to turn her head to look up at him. She can't see most of his face, and it bothers her a bit. "Are..are you. Are y-you okay-?" The familiar scent just gets stronger as he nears the house; she can smell the cosiness already. It's strange. She can feel the. The. Oh, what's the word? She doesn't know. She's straining too hard to find words in her own head. It's. All so. Exhausting... Her antennae flick once, twice, and she closes her eyes. She doesn't realise how much energy it took to keep them open until they're closed. She can't sleep, though, so she just lets Kool-Aid rock her with his steps. "S'mth'n's wrong wi' me," she mutters, barely understandable.

Bloodmoon paused momentarily as she hissed in pain, looking her over. He was well aware of her state—it was not one that could easily be ignored—but hadn't properly addressed it just yet. After all, doing so out in the open was less than ideal, and he would rather be comfortable before looking over.

He doesn't say anything, however. That will be discussed in due time. Instead, he started to walk once more.

The moon's fingers loosened at her question, as if he became much more aware of how tightly he had been holding onto her. What if his claws hurt her, left a scratch? What if he could hurt her again? A hint of fear seeped into his systems, though he didn't say anything at first.

"I will be," he states, as if it were a fact. Perhaps in due time. But, in truth, he was only answering as calmly as he could as not to stress her out any further. He can't imagine that it would be good for her to start worrying about someone like him and, if the others wanted him to stay out of the house, then he wouldn't be opposed. Well, as awful as that sounded.

The red moon hoped they would let him in before his battery ran low.

His steps continued to be measured, paced and still rhythmic. Despite the crunching of the grass, and the blowing of the wind, he hears her words. While she couldn't see it, he shook his head. "Nothing is wrong with you." His words faltered, before a quiet, "I promise" could be heard from him.

If there was something wrong with anyone, it would be him.

loppy-watches-over

"Can' ev'n op'n my eyes," she whimpers. Things are starting to blur together behind her eyelids; memories are becoming faint, and she can barely feel the hands holding her. What's wrong with her? What did Boss even do? Is she even immortal anymore? She stops breathing to check, and sure enough, she is. She doesn't have to breathe to stay alive, but it's realistic and helps her blend into organic life forms. So. She's still immortal, but she's so. Weak. And so close to just giving up. Succumbing to whatever the fuck this is. She starts breathing again, but it's laboured. What the fuck. It's like she's dying, but she literally cannot die. What is happening. The heavy presence touches her mind again, and she cries out, somehow finding the strength for her arms to fly to her head. Her skull feels like imploding as Boss's voice rings out. This is how it feels to disobey me, you ungrateful little bitch, they growl in her mind. She doesn't even notice that she's crying out and writhing, repeating "no, no, no, please, stop, go away, get out of my head" over and over. Maybe a millennia like this will teach you your lesson. Weak. Vulnerable. Scarred. Learn your place. Loppy sobs with relief as the crushing feeling leaves her mind, and she slumps, nearly motionless, in Bloodmoon's arms. Her own limbs dangle limply, swinging like her tail.

He slowed his walking as he heard her whimpering, and a sense of panic began to arise. Apraxia? That was the initial thought at least. Had she hit her head before? Perhaps there was something—would he need to address this now? Bloodmoon looked around, before moving close to a tree for now and, ever so gently, began to sit down against it with the rabbit in his lap.

And that's when he noticed that she wasn't breathing.

The moon's hands tightened around her again before quickly releasing this time, and he carefully began maneuvering her, only to find that she was breathing again moments, or perhaps minutes, later. What had just—?

He is certainly fast enough to react when her arms fly to her head, pulling her close to his body, and all he can do is watch in abject horror while worrying about her. And the way she starts writhing and crying is all the more heartbreaking to hear and listen to. He doesn't hold her close, simply providing a place that allowed her to be comfortable all the while. A tight grip would only cause more violent writhing, which would not be good.

And the sudden slump in his arms surprises him. He quickly handled her so that her position would not hurt her back as she dangled. He doesn't even want to ask about what happened, but. He was terrified for her, at the very least.

All he could do was pet her head again in an attempt to soothe her.

loppy-watches-over

She opens her eyes again, her invisible pupils trained weakly on Bloodmoon. Everything's hazy. He's a blur to her. She vaguely felt herself being gently manhandled (what an ironic statement), but. She just. "Sorry," she croaks, louder than anything else she's said. But that's all she figures to say. Her jaw hurts. Her eyes hurt. Hell, her fur hurts. It's all so surreal. Maybe this is just a dream. The nausea brings her up out of those thoughts immediately, though, and she gurgles back in her throat as bile rises, and since she's on her back, all she can do is swallow and grimace. She can't wait to get her hands on that fucking deity. She can't wait to tear it apart. And then she realises she said that out loud. She pauses.

The moon shook his head. “Do not apologize,” he murmured softly, still stroking her head in an attempt to provide a temporary solace. His claws grazed against her fur, rubbing circles with the flat part of his fingers.

He watched her grimace and seemed more than ready to help her if she needed to heave. Bloodmoon carefully shifted her to sit upright.

And… what was that about deities? He’s not all too surprised—he’s tended to more religious patients, somewhere in his fragmented memory—but this rabbit speaks as if she knows one personally. It’s only now that he realized that he had a creature in his lap that could talk. One that was injured in a multitude of ways, and scarred in unnatural ways.

He… hadn’t questioned that, being more focused on getting her to the household to help in her.

Hm. The moon wasn’t going to question that now. It was clear that her throat was still damaged in one way or another, and forcing her to talk would only strain to it.

Bloodmoon simply held her.

loppy-watches-over

Sitting upright has everything rush up to leave her stomach, and she doubles over, avoiding getting her stomach acid all over Bloodmoon. She feels gross as fluids drip from her mouth and tears force themselves from her eyes. Ouh, gods. She can tell she's worrying him in some manner. She doesn't understand why; she's just something he picked up. And. The only reason she's still up is because he's holding her. She's still limp. Other than her movement to vomit, she's..just..still. And maybe she just doesn't have the energy to breathe. But she's. Somehow. Still functioning? "Wan' die," she mutters. "Can' die. Wan' to. Can't." Her antennae perk weakly, shuddering and straining to stay up, but she gets. A feeling. Some sort of...really familiar feeling. She has to ask. "Where. Exactly. A-am I. Who's in th' house you're talkin'bout." She's so close to crashing again.

Bloodmoon wasn't bothered at all as the rabbit-like being doubled over, gently pulling back her floppy ears so that none of her stomach acid got on them. He doesn't even mind as he unraveled his scarf and turned her around to wipe her tears and mouth with the soft fabric. He could always get another scarf, and he had more of the same red ones just because he liked the color.

"No dying," he chastised her softly as he pulled his scarf back and pocketed it. One of the ends were still spilling out of his jacket's pockets—they weren't deep, after all—but he didn't mind it at all. At the very least, he was going to take the immortal's word that she couldn't die. If she was, well, telling the truth. He could certainly feel that she wasn't breathing anymore, and his scarlet optics flickered across the rabbit's form.

The red moon could see the way her antennae was shuddering and straining, and he carefully maneuvered her back down so that he could pick her up in a bridal carry later. At her question, he stiffened. "...We are in Bremerton, Washington. It is 2062. The others..." he trailed off. As if he was reluctant to say.

"There are... two suns, an eclipse, and another moon."

A hint of shame laced his words. As if he did something irreversible. Loppy didn't know.

loppy-watches-over

She's thankful that he's not...freaking out or anything at her immortality. Most others do. Well. Most others, except Sundowner. Her mind scrambles at the thought of the ex-bartender. She knows she can't face him again. Not while she looks like this. Not while she's so...weak. And. Horrible. When Bloodmoon lies her back down, she thanks him quietly and stares up at the sky. Her eyes, unbiddingly, well with tears and spill over, wetting her fur. Oh, gods. She's so pathetic. And. Bremerton, Washington, hm? Interesting base of operations. She can hear the shame in his voice, but doesn't prod. She has her own issues to deal with. "Sounds like a full house," she hums.

"It is," he agrees. And that is that.

The red moon carefully picked Loppy back up into a bridal carry—not that it was difficult at all, she was light to him—and began making his was back to the house. A rather big house, but befitting of five bots. More could certainly fit in there if someone tried. The house itself seems welcoming, but also feels as if it were waiting. Waiting for Bloodmoon's return.

He crossed the distance easily, walking forward without tripping or a misstep. It is easy for him to return, like all the other times he had done so before. He would go to through the backdoor, come in quietly, and make himself scarce. At least, that was how he had always done so before. It worked for everyone.

But, now with someone else in his hands, he needed to let the others know. They needed to be aware.

Bloodmoon shifted one of his hands to rap against the door. To make himself known. His claws, while they do not scratch, make enough noise—somewhat similar to a knock. The members of the house will know who it is.

They always do.

As if on cue, the door creaks open. It is a slow, careful action, as if the bot behind the door was anticipating the worst by his arrival. And there he is—Sundowner, with his ever grinning faceplate, and red optics with white pupils boring into the moon. The sun said nothing first, simply staring at Bloodmoon with something akin to malice, before flicking downward to Loppy.

Recognition is in those eyes. It is knowing. A sense of horror as his hand dropped from the doorknob.

"Give Lophren to me and leave," the sun states firmly. While he had never been expressive before, and certainly not to the immortal, his disdain has never been clearer. Vitriol laces his every word like venom as he reaches his stiff hands out. Like Bloodmoon will just pass the rabbit in his arms over in a resigned, accepting manner.

Sundowner knows who he's holding. That is the first thing that comes to the red moon's attention. And the second, of course, is the command to leave. One that he would obey to keep the peace of the house, if not for the injured immortal in his arms.

loppy-watches-over

As soon as the door opens, she's suddenly painfully alert. She can feel the presence, and her eyes snap to the doorway as best as possible. Oh gods. She would recognise that colour palette anywhere—those rays. The eyes. They may be blurry in her vision, but she's hyper-aware and can't move a fucking muscle. It's him. The one she's both longed to see and tried to avoid. No, no, no, no! He can't see her like this! His voice brings an involuntary shudder from her body, which, in turn, forces a whimper up through her throat. Fucking ow. But. No? Bloodmoon shouldn't have to leave? After all, he is the one who picked her up from her miserable spot in the grass-- "No," she struggles to say, defending Bloodmoon. "He. H-he helped. Me. Saved me, e-even. Was. Lying. In the g-grass. Hurt. He helped. 'M okay." Tears are still streaming from her eyes, but now they have reason. Look at her. So weak and pathetic. Hanging from a moon model's arms like fresh kill and marked up by an unknown force so much that she's marred. So fucking ugly. In the presence of pure radiance, all she can do is cry and hang there limply, scarred and smelling like a barnyard. Ugh.

Sundowner's faceplate tilted down at her whimper, though the disdain in his eyes hadn't left. It had softened, at least momentarily, until she spoke. He stiffened in fear—just the idea of Bloodmoon hurting Lophren, until.

No. No. What she's saying... isn't true. It can't be. Not after—

The ex-bartender's optics flick back up to Bloodmoon, harsher now. "What did you do." His voice is disbelieving, and a quiet anger seems to be bubbling in his tone. His hands are reaching forth, as if he was going to and pull the rabbit out of the red moon's arms, but the ex-butcher steps back with wide eyes. Sundowner's hands hang in the air, fingers poised. Long, not unlike talons. His body is rigid, before his hands fall. Distaste fills his mouth.

"Lophren...? Is correct," Bloodmoon rasps. His eyes are looking elsewhere, shame still present in his form. The hood of his jacket covers his face, though, without his scarf, his sharp teeth were on display. Such a sight keeps the sun tense. Waiting for something to go wrong, like with what happened with Sungrass.

Not that Bloodmoon knew. Of course, he wouldn't. Not with the virus in his system puppetting his body.

The moon shrunk on himself. "I found her. I... I will not harm her."

"You cannot promise that," the sun cuts in, all but a hiss. "You have not seen what you have done to Sungrass. How you mangled his body. You, you. You are a danger."

Sundowner's voice becomes unsettlingly calm. Bloodmoon's hands do not tremble, though his worlds seemingly becomes unstable.

"Give her to me. Then? Get. Out."

The fury and fear in his voice is prominent enough that his voice box crackled ever so slightly. His faceplate was utterly still, his expression blank. If Bloodmoon did not give Lophren to him, then he will take her away from him—the danger. He cannot have what happened with Moonshine happen here, he had been lenient far too long with Bloodmoon. Someone who needed to be gone. Rid of. Or to be kept on a tight leash. Like a dog. To even think that Sundowner ever thought highly of the moon at all was sickening.

The moon stumbled back, holding the immortal. Afraid.

loppy-watches-over

She just. Listens to the interaction, watching Sundowner with an exhausted expression. She's too tired to intervene, although feeling Bloodmoon shrink in on himself hurts her heart. If she's. Capable. Of feeling. Her chest does flutter at the fact that Sundowner is reaching for her like she's precious, but. His attitude toward the animatronic that rescued her from being eaten by some predator. She. She doesn't like it. In fact, it kind of makes her upset. Bloodmoon didn't do anything to her; just because he might've done something to someone else... And then Bloodmoon stumbles backwards with Sundowner's calmly yet enraged burst, and she just. She snaps. Her voice is sharp as it leaves her already-torn throat, and maybe it cracks a little as she speaks at the top of her lungs (which still isn't very loud), "Sundowner. Stop. He didn't--" she coughs, groaning and trying to lift her head. "He d-didn't do this to me. He f--" she pauses, remembering his dislike for strong language. "He freaking picked. Picked m-me up from the grass. Where I was g-going to rot. Or get eaten. I'm not w-well. He helped. This. Th-this is..." She winces, her head spiking again as memories bounce around in her head like thrown golf balls. She whispers the rest, her voice worn. "It was Boss. Just let him in."

There is a pause as the sun stiffened; he hadn't expected her to snap in her state. Sundowner's hands fall, his eyes trained on the immortal. Something bitter remained on his tongue, and he almost wanted to spit venom. But it is Lophren, and he had no intention in upsetting the rabbit any further.

"So be it." With those words, one could imagine that he was challenging Lophren's words. But, instead, he stepped aside. His displeasure still made itself known, but he rested his hand on the doorknob and gripped it tightly instead. His optics had trailed back to Bloodmoon, his eyes meeting the moon's. Not an ounce of remorse for the sun's rude behavior could be seen, even with his face being static. Bloodmoon could only be sorry for his violence, and Sundowner had no intention of accepting him at all.

A few moments passed. The moon's head simply hung low as he carried Lophren into the house. The household is warm and pleasant, with decorations from a few different bots—dream catchers, baskets and rattan blankets, and grandfather clocks—all could be seen in various areas. There were a few living flowers here and there, but were not as well taken care of as they usually were.

And what was the most unusual, was the amount of empty rooms.

Bloodmoon hadn't minded it one bit, simply going to one of the rooms on the bottom floor. One that wasn't lived in, but still a nice space. He easily carried the rabbit to bed, placing her limp form there and ... hesitantly lingering. He needed to take care of her, yes, he certainly wanted to, but he would have to face the other bots. If she needed something that was easy to swallow and not upset her stomach, he would have to ask Apricot or Daydream. New sets of laundry, and a bin—it was all, well, what he could do himself, yes, but were more of the maid's tasks.

"You'll be okay," he said ever so softly before falling quiet, just stroking the immortal's head for now. That could wait.

loppy-watches-over

The displeasure in Sundowner's voice has her internally wincing. She. She doesn't want him to be upset with her. She really doesn't. She adores the ex-bartender, probably far more than he'll ever know. It hurts to feel the refrained venom. She's close to full-on sobbing, never mind the tears already streaming. But the house. It captures her attention. It's so pretty! Maybe not pretty enough to drag her from her deep wells of dispair and self-deprication going on in her head--you're a fucking failure, Lophren; can never do anything right, always have to butt into every thing and this is why you're so fucking weak--but it's pretty enough to notice. And maybe she does notice the extra rooms, and just chooses not to comment on them. In part because her voice...is failing her. ... When Bloodmoon lies her down, she can't help the whimper that escapes. Is he just going to leave her here? She knows she'll be fine, but. Something about being left alone. It scares her. His hand is soothing as it strokes her head, though, although she does wish he'd use those claws of his to scratch at those ugly scars. Gods, they itch. She wants to tear into her flesh. Get rifd of them. Graphic? Maybe.

The only good thing about interacting with Sundowner is that he would inform the other bots about his return. In truth, the moon wasn't sure what he would say—would he talk about the rabbit's presence in the household now? Or simply that the moon was in the house? ...What would Sungrass think?

The thought of the sunflower-like bot gnawed at him.

"...I will stay," Bloodmoon stated, before moving to sit on the side of the bed. He still pet her head gently, carefully avoiding any of the scars present. The claws are light; they do not dig into her at all, or brush over her fur ever so gently.

Footsteps could be heard approaching the room. It was something faint and practiced well, the sound soft and unlike the sound of Sundowner's oxfords, or the red moon's boots. A new bot, at the very least. As the noise draws closer, a quiet jingling could be heard, before it came to a sudden stop as a purple moon appeared in the doorway. Despite her cardigan covering parts of her dress, it was clear that she was a maid of sorts. Her, with her cloud and four-pointed star theme, dressed ever so comfortably.

And those eyes. Pupiless, a purple to yellow, not unlike a sunset. Seeing, but not there.

The purple moon's hands were clasped together. "Bloodmoon," Daydream began, his voice soft as he came forward, drawing close. It seemed as if he wanted to say more; it didn't seem that she would scold the red moon, at the very least, but she faltered as her optics flickered to the rabbit in the bed.

Bloodmoon was quiet. Regretful. Their usual dance of sorts was something unspoken: one where Daydream would wordlessly clean him, wipe the blood from his fingers, and go to wash his clothes while offering something else. That sort of stability was something that the ex-butcher wanted now but, of course, she had to tend to Lophren. Loppy? He simply acknowledged the other moon with a nod, not saying anything for a few moments.

"Daydream. Check if there's anti-itch cream and gauze," Bloodmoon doesn't command her, but his words had a sense of finality. "If... you can, please get a glass of water and prepare something easy for consumption... a soup of some sort would be fine. If we have emesis bags, that would be preferred, but a bin will work if otherwise."

There's a shift in Daydream's demeanor, a sense of understanding in the other moon's eyes. "Of course," he agreed. Bloodmoon never talked this much, and she nodded rather curtly. He did linger for a few moments, however, in case Loppy needed anything further.

loppy-watches-over

She's relieved at his choice to stay, and maybe it shows on her face while he pets her head. She does notice that he purposefully avoids her scars, and she opens her mouth to ask him about it, but the unfamiliar footsteps interrupt. Another person is coming, and she doesn't know them, so she shuts her mouth and does her best to pay attention to the door. The moon model looks...cosy. Like she could give Loppy a big hug and the rabbit wouldn't mind--that is, if she wasn't hurting. His eyes, despite looking soulless, are pretty to the injured immortal as she scans the DCA quickly. Nothing...off about him. Other than maybe the fact that she refrained from speaking her mind once he noticed Loppy. But learning his name, Daydream, has her appreciating how well some DCAs are named. The name fits, it really does. Loppy appreciates how Bloodmoon asks for anti-itch cream for her; her tube of it is probably still lying on the floor of that break room...or it's in the trash somewhere, maybe. She doesn't care. She notices the moon lingering, and just utters a quiet, "thank you."

The maid had lingered long enough. At the very least, he did seem to acknowledge Loppy's words, but said nothing further. Daydream nodded quickly again, before his optics trailed from the immortal to Bloodmoon. An indiscernible emotion seemed to to seep itself into his expression, but the moment was gone as soon as it came. The purple moon turned around with a quiet flurry of his dress, and left soon after for what Bloodmoon asked of him.

The ex-butcher stayed quiet. His hands simply ran over Loppy's fur, making sure he didn't tug at any tufts. The bot was far too... ah, well, he didn't want to hurt her at all. Not in any way. His claws would occasionally ghost the scarred area, as if just to feel, before his fingers quickly moved away soon after.

He certainly hoped there was gauze. He would rather not have the immortal itch at the scars—the itchiness meant the scars was healing, and itching at it would only cause inflammation, infection, or damage to the healing skin. That was something he wanted to avoid for Loppy's sake; it was something he never had to worry about, being an animatronic, but he had seen infections that were rather awful. Lacerations that got infected were an ugly, painful sight, and. The gauze would at least be a physical barrier, at the very least. Though, he would have to replace the gauze, or perhaps bandages? If they even had that? Well, he would have to replace it once a day, and hopefully put more anti-itch cream then.

Something about this made him rather nostalgic. The act of taking care of someone hurt in a way he hadn't expected—

He missed being able to help in the process of healing.

loppy-watches-over

She knows it's not her business what happened here between her last visit and her current one. But she can't help but be curious. She doesn't want to pry, though, so she sort of relaxes into the petting that resumes after the maid leaves, closing her eyes with a sigh through her small, velvety nose. She has to say, other than the pain shooting through her back, limbs, and skull, she's pretty comfortable. She doesn't even realise the purr that wells up through her throat until it's too late. She can't even stop herself cus the blankets are so nice... But. Her insides twist uncomfortably every time he brushes her scars. She wants him to dig his claws into the lines. Tear at them. Get rid of them by adding more. She can't stand them. But...if she could direct her attention elsewhere, she could just...relax...

Bloodmoon was thankful for the lack of conversation. He didn't want her to ruin her throat trying to speak, which was the most important reason as to why he was letting the silence linger. However, in truth, he hadn't remembered what had happened. His internal clock had said that a few hours had passed? But even that could be incorrect, especially whenever those episodes happened. Days seemed to be more accurate, considering the extensive corrupted memory he had.

With how Sundowner greeted him, which was already unusual, and. And what he had done to Sungrass. He didn't remember that. He—he had hurt Sungrass, his closest friend, and. That mortified him. His hand stilled suddenly as he recalled Sundowner's words, before he tried to continue petting Loppy, as if he were unaffected.

The red moon was pulled out of his thoughts as the purring sound he heard registered in his audio processors. Was. Was Lophren purring? He said nothing about it, only petting her gently still on her fur, and Bloodmoon can't help but look at her with endearment. At least he hadn't hurt her. Yet. He hoped it would never come to that, but he knew that the episodes with his virus would continue, regardless of his wishes and wants.

His clawed fingers began to stay away from the scars. He couldn't help but want to touch the scarring, but he didn't want to accidentally scratch her in anyway. He let his fingers wander across her fur wordlessly, as if mapping out her body with his hand.

loppy-watches-over

"I kind of w-wish I wasn't immortal," she says after a beat, the darkness inside her lids blooming with imaginary scenarios. "I s-suppose I would've died years ago, but. I would've had the oppurt- [cough] opportunity to actually be hurt and. Heal right. But when an interdimensional deity is your m-mother...and sh-she hates you for. Wanting. Her to stop t-torturing her c-creations. And she. Punishes you. And heals you right after. It's. Not n-natural. Healing. And it causes. Eternal suffering." She knows she's just rambling. She doesn't care if she makes sense or not. She just wants. To vent to someone. She knows that Sundowner would probably understand far better than Bloodmoon, considering he knows about Boss and all-- Ow. Fucking memories. But. Bloodmoon is there, petting her and making her sleepy, and she feels that maybe if she just. Rambles. She'll finally get some peaceful rest? Talking into slumber usually...helps her. Sleep seems like it's so far away, though. "...sorry," she mutters.

Her words send a thrum of worry through the moon.

Immortality was something that hasn't been achieved by humans here—let anyone anyone or anything—but it was always a topic of interest. The idea of living forever was tempting to some. To others? Not so much. The idea of outliving one's family, friends, and anything mattered, was often enough to turn someone away from wanting immortality. Being alive often made life more valuable, something to cherish. It gave meaning to life. At least, it did to the moon.

But he had never considered the idea that an immortal wanted to be mortal. He had never thought of the idea how someone would want to give it up. And the way Lophren spoke, well, admittedly scared him. It reminded sometimes of the few patients who had given up entirely on recovering in the hospital. Of the ones who laid in their hospital beds, staring up at the ceiling, with an IV drip in their arm.

"...I'm sorry," he can only rasp while petting her. His body shook slightly with tears that couldn't spill forth. It was something he envied about those who were alive; the ability to express emotions in such a way that couldn't be turned off. "Sorry that it—it happened." He seemed to pause, hearing her mutter, and he shook his head.

He lacked the words to comfort her. He wasn't much of a talker, unless it was about procedures he was familiar with himself. It was something that he wish he was better at. For Lophren.

"You. Don't apologize... please."

loppy-watches-over

She hums comfortably, understanding through her flickering empathy that he's genuine. "'s okay.." she murmurs, opening her eyes a crack. "Could. C-could you turn me onto my s-side, please?" His voice, strangely, is comforting. And lulling. She can't explain it, but the lack of Boss's presence in her head and the ebbing pain, and Bloodmoon's voice and petting... Next thing she knows, she's floating in the dreamspace. Oh, she realises, looking herself over, I'm dreaming. She glances around and winces. Of course, it's the blank neighbourhood with the floating eyes and the streetlamps that never turn off. Voids where doors should be on the houses, empty pathways, overgrown grass, giant mushrooms in the distance... Dreamworld. She sighs, her breath ghosting in front of her face in a strange fog, and her form drifting to the ground. ... It's going to be a long, nap, huh? _________END OF THIS ROLEPLAY INTERACTION___________

#bloodmoon wyw #loppybunny #roleplay interaction #Loppy's Dreamworld

She's hideous. She's mentally exhausted. She's nauseous. Is it even possible for an immortal being to be sick? She doesn't care. Actually...where the fuck even is she? She can't bring herself to raise her head. Move a muscle. The scent in the air is familiar. Like. Machines. But... She can't even. She's so weak. What's wrong with her? Everything's so bright. Oh, yeah. Her protective skull's been knocked off by the force of air travel. She lies in the grass, not even caring who stumbles across her. Something went wrong around here. She can feel it. But. Her scars itch. The ugly fucking things they are complain against the innocent breeze. She's so done. She's so tired. Someone, please find me.

@loppy-watches-over

The day has begun to fall, the sun slowly going down in the distance. It was strangely silent, as if all life had went into hiding—or had been purged. The only noise that broke this unsettling quiet was the faint sound of grass crunching underfoot. The stench of death drew closer, a strong coppery scent that couldn't be missed that could only mean trouble.

A red moon model had come to a stop a few feet away, looming over the rabbit. The bot's red eyes—ones that were thankfully not pinpricks or with entirely red sclera—looked over Loppy. Dried blood was on the animatronic; a dark, reddish-brown that blended in with his pants, and less so his apron and jacket.

Splotches of red were present. A more recent killing done by his hands.

Bloodmoon approached the rabbit, slowly crouching down to her level—like one would an animal that easily startled. A bloodied hand reached towards the immortal, stroking the top of her head. A living creature that he refused to kill, now that his mind was his again.

"Poor thing..." he rasped. The moon assumed it was dead. After all, what hadn't he killed?

loppy-watches-over

Her prayers are answered by the sound of the grass shifting. Deep in the recesses of her brain, she's grateful. Relieved. But outwardly, she still hardly moves. Her chest rises and falls with a sigh, and her nose twitches with the strong scent of blood as the hand draws nearer. She can see the shadow. She can tell it's some form of...DCA? Maybe? She's unsure. She still can't lift her head. And then she feels his hand—the hand, so carefully, petting her head. And then she hears his voice. She can't help the involuntary shudder that courses through her. Is this where she's going to die? She doesn't respond, but it can be assumed by now that she's alive by the minuscule movements that she's made.

It registered rather quickly for Bloodmoon that this was something alive—the sigh had made that rather clear. The animatronic's hand stilled atop of the rabbit's head, before pulling back like a human hand that had been burned. Quick and alarmed.

With that in mind, the moon carefully scooped Loppy up. He used one of his arms to wrap around her back, while he used the other and placed it behind her knees. This was not one of his usual carries—he would normally do a pack-strap carry to at least practice that, as it was the usual way to carry someone that was injured. However, he didn't think much of it now as he lifted her as he stood up, holding the immortal close to his body.

He didn't say much else. Bloodmoon's hood covered parts of his face; something he was rather grateful for, because he knew he would be ashamed of what he had done. His memory from hours and days prior were rather blank—he knew he had one of those episodes he couldn't control—but it was still awful. What had he done?

Bloodmoon started the trek back to the household without a word.

loppy-watches-over

Oh. She's being picked up now. She can't even muster the strength to protest as the...DCA--she was correct--lifts her from the ground in a bridal style. Her eyes, blank and white, stare tiredly up at the animatronic and her scars. Ugh, her scars itch. She hates it. And they're so ugly. She realises, for the second time, that her rabbit skull isn't on her face. The red Kool-Aid flavoured Moon probably left it over where he found her, deeming it unimportant. Actually. She could care less. Where is he even taking her, anyway? She can't really look around that well. Hhh. She strains to speak, her voice a whisper of a croak; that is to say, it's hardly anything. It also probably doesn't help she's stuttering. Bad. "Wh- where...where am. Where. Where are you. T-taking. Me."

Bloodmoon hadn't minded the scars.

They were certainly of great concern, yes, but the bot could only hope that they were clean and left to heal naturally. An infection would be painful—something unpleasant that he wished upon no one. But he hadn't minded how they looked at all, not one bit.

To him, she was something like a... patient, almost. Not his patient—the idea scared him—but she was someone that should be cared for.

"...to the house. There are others," the red moon answered, his words short. Bloodmoon was not talkative, but he was trying. He simply looked ahead, only walking forward, while he did his best to limit the amount of blood that was smeared onto Loppy.

He could help her if it was physical. He knew what to do, from his time in Alaska. But... would the other animatronics let him in? Even with someone who was injured?

He said nothing else, continuing slowly out of the woods.

loppy-watches-over

A house. Others. Other animatronics? Loppy still doesn't put two and two together. Somehow, she doesn't recognise the trees around her. Maybe it's due to her vision being fucked with by the light. But she definitely recognises the scent. Something about it is familiar. Achingly familiar. Other animatronics. In a house. Familiar scent? She can't seem to fit the puzzle pieces together. Her mind is too addled. She's too far gone right now. "Others?" she rasps, curious. Her bell earrings jingle with each of Bloodmoon's steps. Her tail hangs limply, swinging like a pendulum in time with her antennae. Her arm shudders as she tries to lift it. Please, she mentally begs, let me scratch. They're so itchy...

"The others are like daycare attendants. Similar models."

Bloodmoon continued onward while the sky continued to grow darker from up above above. The sounds of his steps stayed in a consistent rhythm as he passed through the short and tall grasses alike. The sound around them still stayed awfully silent, with his footsteps, and the faintest sound of his fans whirring, being the only noises that could be heard.

His eyes flickered down as he felt the shift of Loppy's weight as she tried to lift her arm. His voice, while soft, was also firm as he quickly cut in with, "Do not scratch." He did not want to say that scratching could only lead to further damage. At least, not right now. The moon simply shifted his grip ever so slightly just to hold her closer to his chest, as if she were something fragile and precious. As if a small breeze could hurt her.

Perhaps, she simply was something to be cherished for him; after all, it had been far too long since he held something that was truly alive.

loppy-watches-over

She's curious about so many things, but oh-- Being curious takes so much energy. She would much rather just lie there in his arms, being soothed by the soothing motions of his steps. Maybe this is where she's going to die. Somewhere quiet and calm, in the arms of a gentle and kind soul. Then she pauses in her own thoughts. An immortal being, dying--ha! She would laugh if she could. And. How did he know her intentions? It's not like her arm lifted too far; it hardly even moved. She must seem desperate. Or pathetic. Either way, when he shifts her, she finds herself comfortable. And slightly facing his chest. His warm, humming chest. She's so tempted to drift off right there, but she wants to see these others that Kool-Aid up there is speaking of. " 's itchy. Ugly," she mumbles, voice cracking under the strain of just a couple of quiet words.

There is a faint rumble in Bloodmoon's throat, as if he were humming only a few notes, before it eased into silence once more.

"It isn't ugly," he murmured after a few beats of silence. "...You aren't ugly. Do not itch it. It will hurt." And the red moon says nothing more again. As the began to settle, something else alive finally disrupted it once more: a bird call that could be heard in the distance. A welcome sound in the midst of all of the hazy horrors that the butcher knew he had caused in his virus-afflicted state.

As much as he wished he could say he would never hurt someone else ever again, he couldn't ever promise it. He could only hope to heal more than he harmed.

The residence was beginning to appear in the distance. He must have gone far in his hunting spree, if it was only now that he was even getting a glimpse of the household. He wanted to call it home, and yet his very presence there, he knew, would cause a stir. Bloodmoon's fingers tightened ever so slightly at just the thought of being separated from this... being. Maybe. Maybe Sungrass could take care of her for him?

The moon wanted to ask how she got hurt. But it would be better for her to rest, at the very least. A bed where she could be comfortable would be beneficial. And for her to perhaps drink any sort of liquid, maybe a warm tea for a dry or sore throat. And food, and perhaps any required medication and—ah.

...it felt nice to want to take care of someone. He didn't want to hurt anyone ever again, despite everything. Despite the damage he caused.

loppy-watches-over

No, but. He doesn't understand. She was so much better-looking before Boss mangled her and left her like this. It doesn't help that she feels like every ounce of strength she's ever had was ripped out of her. It doesn't help that she argued with the inter-dimensional being just recently, and they-- "Sh-shit," she hisses, her head spiking with pain. It hurts to remember. She doesn't want to remember. In fact, if she had the strength, she would've ripped her memories out days ago. Left them in some...unseen dumpster somewhere before dragging herself through air currents and letting them spit her out in unknown locations. When his fingers tighten around her, she senses that something's bothering him. Maybe it's her empathy feebly flickering to life, maybe it's just common sense, but she strains to turn her head to look up at him. She can't see most of his face, and it bothers her a bit. "Are..are you. Are y-you okay-?" The familiar scent just gets stronger as he nears the house; she can smell the cosiness already. It's strange. She can feel the. The. Oh, what's the word? She doesn't know. She's straining too hard to find words in her own head. It's. All so. Exhausting... Her antennae flick once, twice, and she closes her eyes. She doesn't realise how much energy it took to keep them open until they're closed. She can't sleep, though, so she just lets Kool-Aid rock her with his steps. "S'mth'n's wrong wi' me," she mutters, barely understandable.

Bloodmoon paused momentarily as she hissed in pain, looking her over. He was well aware of her state—it was not one that could easily be ignored—but hadn't properly addressed it just yet. After all, doing so out in the open was less than ideal, and he would rather be comfortable before looking over.

He doesn't say anything, however. That will be discussed in due time. Instead, he started to walk once more.

The moon's fingers loosened at her question, as if he became much more aware of how tightly he had been holding onto her. What if his claws hurt her, left a scratch? What if he could hurt her again? A hint of fear seeped into his systems, though he didn't say anything at first.

"I will be," he states, as if it were a fact. Perhaps in due time. But, in truth, he was only answering as calmly as he could as not to stress her out any further. He can't imagine that it would be good for her to start worrying about someone like him and, if the others wanted him to stay out of the house, then he wouldn't be opposed. Well, as awful as that sounded.

The red moon hoped they would let him in before his battery ran low.

His steps continued to be measured, paced and still rhythmic. Despite the crunching of the grass, and the blowing of the wind, he hears her words. While she couldn't see it, he shook his head. "Nothing is wrong with you." His words faltered, before a quiet, "I promise" could be heard from him.

If there was something wrong with anyone, it would be him.

loppy-watches-over

"Can' ev'n op'n my eyes," she whimpers. Things are starting to blur together behind her eyelids; memories are becoming faint, and she can barely feel the hands holding her. What's wrong with her? What did Boss even do? Is she even immortal anymore? She stops breathing to check, and sure enough, she is. She doesn't have to breathe to stay alive, but it's realistic and helps her blend into organic life forms. So. She's still immortal, but she's so. Weak. And so close to just giving up. Succumbing to whatever the fuck this is. She starts breathing again, but it's laboured. What the fuck. It's like she's dying, but she literally cannot die. What is happening. The heavy presence touches her mind again, and she cries out, somehow finding the strength for her arms to fly to her head. Her skull feels like imploding as Boss's voice rings out. This is how it feels to disobey me, you ungrateful little bitch, they growl in her mind. She doesn't even notice that she's crying out and writhing, repeating "no, no, no, please, stop, go away, get out of my head" over and over. Maybe a millennia like this will teach you your lesson. Weak. Vulnerable. Scarred. Learn your place. Loppy sobs with relief as the crushing feeling leaves her mind, and she slumps, nearly motionless, in Bloodmoon's arms. Her own limbs dangle limply, swinging like her tail.

He slowed his walking as he heard her whimpering, and a sense of panic began to arise. Apraxia? That was the initial thought at least. Had she hit her head before? Perhaps there was something—would he need to address this now? Bloodmoon looked around, before moving close to a tree for now and, ever so gently, began to sit down against it with the rabbit in his lap.

And that's when he noticed that she wasn't breathing.

The moon's hands tightened around her again before quickly releasing this time, and he carefully began maneuvering her, only to find that she was breathing again moments, or perhaps minutes, later. What had just—?

He is certainly fast enough to react when her arms fly to her head, pulling her close to his body, and all he can do is watch in abject horror while worrying about her. And the way she starts writhing and crying is all the more heartbreaking to hear and listen to. He doesn't hold her close, simply providing a place that allowed her to be comfortable all the while. A tight grip would only cause more violent writhing, which would not be good.

And the sudden slump in his arms surprises him. He quickly handled her so that her position would not hurt her back as she dangled. He doesn't even want to ask about what happened, but. He was terrified for her, at the very least.

All he could do was pet her head again in an attempt to soothe her.

loppy-watches-over

She opens her eyes again, her invisible pupils trained weakly on Bloodmoon. Everything's hazy. He's a blur to her. She vaguely felt herself being gently manhandled (what an ironic statement), but. She just. "Sorry," she croaks, louder than anything else she's said. But that's all she figures to say. Her jaw hurts. Her eyes hurt. Hell, her fur hurts. It's all so surreal. Maybe this is just a dream. The nausea brings her up out of those thoughts immediately, though, and she gurgles back in her throat as bile rises, and since she's on her back, all she can do is swallow and grimace. She can't wait to get her hands on that fucking deity. She can't wait to tear it apart. And then she realises she said that out loud. She pauses.

The moon shook his head. “Do not apologize,” he murmured softly, still stroking her head in an attempt to provide a temporary solace. His claws grazed against her fur, rubbing circles with the flat part of his fingers.

He watched her grimace and seemed more than ready to help her if she needed to heave. Bloodmoon carefully shifted her to sit upright.

And… what was that about deities? He’s not all too surprised—he’s tended to more religious patients, somewhere in his fragmented memory—but this rabbit speaks as if she knows one personally. It’s only now that he realized that he had a creature in his lap that could talk. One that was injured in a multitude of ways, and scarred in unnatural ways.

He… hadn’t questioned that, being more focused on getting her to the household to help in her.

Hm. The moon wasn’t going to question that now. It was clear that her throat was still damaged in one way or another, and forcing her to talk would only strain to it.

Bloodmoon simply held her.

loppy-watches-over

Sitting upright has everything rush up to leave her stomach, and she doubles over, avoiding getting her stomach acid all over Bloodmoon. She feels gross as fluids drip from her mouth and tears force themselves from her eyes. Ouh, gods. She can tell she's worrying him in some manner. She doesn't understand why; she's just something he picked up. And. The only reason she's still up is because he's holding her. She's still limp. Other than her movement to vomit, she's..just..still. And maybe she just doesn't have the energy to breathe. But she's. Somehow. Still functioning? "Wan' die," she mutters. "Can' die. Wan' to. Can't." Her antennae perk weakly, shuddering and straining to stay up, but she gets. A feeling. Some sort of...really familiar feeling. She has to ask. "Where. Exactly. A-am I. Who's in th' house you're talkin'bout." She's so close to crashing again.

Bloodmoon wasn't bothered at all as the rabbit-like being doubled over, gently pulling back her floppy ears so that none of her stomach acid got on them. He doesn't even mind as he unraveled his scarf and turned her around to wipe her tears and mouth with the soft fabric. He could always get another scarf, and he had more of the same red ones just because he liked the color.

"No dying," he chastised her softly as he pulled his scarf back and pocketed it. One of the ends were still spilling out of his jacket's pockets—they weren't deep, after all—but he didn't mind it at all. At the very least, he was going to take the immortal's word that she couldn't die. If she was, well, telling the truth. He could certainly feel that she wasn't breathing anymore, and his scarlet optics flickered across the rabbit's form.

The red moon could see the way her antennae was shuddering and straining, and he carefully maneuvered her back down so that he could pick her up in a bridal carry later. At her question, he stiffened. "...We are in Bremerton, Washington. It is 2062. The others..." he trailed off. As if he was reluctant to say.

"There are... two suns, an eclipse, and another moon."

A hint of shame laced his words. As if he did something irreversible. Loppy didn't know.

loppy-watches-over

She's thankful that he's not...freaking out or anything at her immortality. Most others do. Well. Most others, except Sundowner. Her mind scrambles at the thought of the ex-bartender. She knows she can't face him again. Not while she looks like this. Not while she's so...weak. And. Horrible. When Bloodmoon lies her back down, she thanks him quietly and stares up at the sky. Her eyes, unbiddingly, well with tears and spill over, wetting her fur. Oh, gods. She's so pathetic. And. Bremerton, Washington, hm? Interesting base of operations. She can hear the shame in his voice, but doesn't prod. She has her own issues to deal with. "Sounds like a full house," she hums.

"It is," he agrees. And that is that.

The red moon carefully picked Loppy back up into a bridal carry—not that it was difficult at all, she was light to him—and began making his was back to the house. A rather big house, but befitting of five bots. More could certainly fit in there if someone tried. The house itself seems welcoming, but also feels as if it were waiting. Waiting for Bloodmoon's return.

He crossed the distance easily, walking forward without tripping or a misstep. It is easy for him to return, like all the other times he had done so before. He would go to through the backdoor, come in quietly, and make himself scarce. At least, that was how he had always done so before. It worked for everyone.

But, now with someone else in his hands, he needed to let the others know. They needed to be aware.

Bloodmoon shifted one of his hands to rap against the door. To make himself known. His claws, while they do not scratch, make enough noise—somewhat similar to a knock. The members of the house will know who it is.

They always do.

As if on cue, the door creaks open. It is a slow, careful action, as if the bot behind the door was anticipating the worst by his arrival. And there he is—Sundowner, with his ever grinning faceplate, and red optics with white pupils boring into the moon. The sun said nothing first, simply staring at Bloodmoon with something akin to malice, before flicking downward to Loppy.

Recognition is in those eyes. It is knowing. A sense of horror as his hand dropped from the doorknob.

"Give Lophren to me and leave," the sun states firmly. While he had never been expressive before, and certainly not to the immortal, his disdain has never been clearer. Vitriol laces his every word like venom as he reaches his stiff hands out. Like Bloodmoon will just pass the rabbit in his arms over in a resigned, accepting manner.

Sundowner knows who he's holding. That is the first thing that comes to the red moon's attention. And the second, of course, is the command to leave. One that he would obey to keep the peace of the house, if not for the injured immortal in his arms.

loppy-watches-over

As soon as the door opens, she's suddenly painfully alert. She can feel the presence, and her eyes snap to the doorway as best as possible. Oh gods. She would recognise that colour palette anywhere—those rays. The eyes. They may be blurry in her vision, but she's hyper-aware and can't move a fucking muscle. It's him. The one she's both longed to see and tried to avoid. No, no, no, no! He can't see her like this! His voice brings an involuntary shudder from her body, which, in turn, forces a whimper up through her throat. Fucking ow. But. No? Bloodmoon shouldn't have to leave? After all, he is the one who picked her up from her miserable spot in the grass-- "No," she struggles to say, defending Bloodmoon. "He. H-he helped. Me. Saved me, e-even. Was. Lying. In the g-grass. Hurt. He helped. 'M okay." Tears are still streaming from her eyes, but now they have reason. Look at her. So weak and pathetic. Hanging from a moon model's arms like fresh kill and marked up by an unknown force so much that she's marred. So fucking ugly. In the presence of pure radiance, all she can do is cry and hang there limply, scarred and smelling like a barnyard. Ugh.

Sundowner's faceplate tilted down at her whimper, though the disdain in his eyes hadn't left. It had softened, at least momentarily, until she spoke. He stiffened in fear—just the idea of Bloodmoon hurting Lophren, until.

No. No. What she's saying... isn't true. It can't be. Not after—

The ex-bartender's optics flick back up to Bloodmoon, harsher now. "What did you do." His voice is disbelieving, and a quiet anger seems to be bubbling in his tone. His hands are reaching forth, as if he was going to and pull the rabbit out of the red moon's arms, but the ex-butcher steps back with wide eyes. Sundowner's hands hang in the air, fingers poised. Long, not unlike talons. His body is rigid, before his hands fall. Distaste fills his mouth.

"Lophren...? Is correct," Bloodmoon rasps. His eyes are looking elsewhere, shame still present in his form. The hood of his jacket covers his face, though, without his scarf, his sharp teeth were on display. Such a sight keeps the sun tense. Waiting for something to go wrong, like with what happened with Sungrass.

Not that Bloodmoon knew. Of course, he wouldn't. Not with the virus in his system puppetting his body.

The moon shrunk on himself. "I found her. I... I will not harm her."

"You cannot promise that," the sun cuts in, all but a hiss. "You have not seen what you have done to Sungrass. How you mangled his body. You, you. You are a danger."

Sundowner's voice becomes unsettlingly calm. Bloodmoon's hands do not tremble, though his worlds seemingly becomes unstable.

"Give her to me. Then? Get. Out."

The fury and fear in his voice is prominent enough that his voice box crackled ever so slightly. His faceplate was utterly still, his expression blank. If Bloodmoon did not give Lophren to him, then he will take her away from him—the danger. He cannot have what happened with Moonshine happen here, he had been lenient far too long with Bloodmoon. Someone who needed to be gone. Rid of. Or to be kept on a tight leash. Like a dog. To even think that Sundowner ever thought highly of the moon at all was sickening.

The moon stumbled back, holding the immortal. Afraid.

loppy-watches-over

She just. Listens to the interaction, watching Sundowner with an exhausted expression. She's too tired to intervene, although feeling Bloodmoon shrink in on himself hurts her heart. If she's. Capable. Of feeling. Her chest does flutter at the fact that Sundowner is reaching for her like she's precious, but. His attitude toward the animatronic that rescued her from being eaten by some predator. She. She doesn't like it. In fact, it kind of makes her upset. Bloodmoon didn't do anything to her; just because he might've done something to someone else... And then Bloodmoon stumbles backwards with Sundowner's calmly yet enraged burst, and she just. She snaps. Her voice is sharp as it leaves her already-torn throat, and maybe it cracks a little as she speaks at the top of her lungs (which still isn't very loud), "Sundowner. Stop. He didn't--" she coughs, groaning and trying to lift her head. "He d-didn't do this to me. He f--" she pauses, remembering his dislike for strong language. "He freaking picked. Picked m-me up from the grass. Where I was g-going to rot. Or get eaten. I'm not w-well. He helped. This. Th-this is..." She winces, her head spiking again as memories bounce around in her head like thrown golf balls. She whispers the rest, her voice worn. "It was Boss. Just let him in."

There is a pause as the sun stiffened; he hadn't expected her to snap in her state. Sundowner's hands fall, his eyes trained on the immortal. Something bitter remained on his tongue, and he almost wanted to spit venom. But it is Lophren, and he had no intention in upsetting the rabbit any further.

"So be it." With those words, one could imagine that he was challenging Lophren's words. But, instead, he stepped aside. His displeasure still made itself known, but he rested his hand on the doorknob and gripped it tightly instead. His optics had trailed back to Bloodmoon, his eyes meeting the moon's. Not an ounce of remorse for the sun's rude behavior could be seen, even with his face being static. Bloodmoon could only be sorry for his violence, and Sundowner had no intention of accepting him at all.

A few moments passed. The moon's head simply hung low as he carried Lophren into the house. The household is warm and pleasant, with decorations from a few different bots—dream catchers, baskets and rattan blankets, and grandfather clocks—all could be seen in various areas. There were a few living flowers here and there, but were not as well taken care of as they usually were.

And what was the most unusual, was the amount of empty rooms.

Bloodmoon hadn't minded it one bit, simply going to one of the rooms on the bottom floor. One that wasn't lived in, but still a nice space. He easily carried the rabbit to bed, placing her limp form there and ... hesitantly lingering. He needed to take care of her, yes, he certainly wanted to, but he would have to face the other bots. If she needed something that was easy to swallow and not upset her stomach, he would have to ask Apricot or Daydream. New sets of laundry, and a bin—it was all, well, what he could do himself, yes, but were more of the maid's tasks.

"You'll be okay," he said ever so softly before falling quiet, just stroking the immortal's head for now. That could wait.

loppy-watches-over

The displeasure in Sundowner's voice has her internally wincing. She. She doesn't want him to be upset with her. She really doesn't. She adores the ex-bartender, probably far more than he'll ever know. It hurts to feel the refrained venom. She's close to full-on sobbing, never mind the tears already streaming. But the house. It captures her attention. It's so pretty! Maybe not pretty enough to drag her from her deep wells of dispair and self-deprication going on in her head--you're a fucking failure, Lophren; can never do anything right, always have to butt into every thing and this is why you're so fucking weak--but it's pretty enough to notice. And maybe she does notice the extra rooms, and just chooses not to comment on them. In part because her voice...is failing her. ... When Bloodmoon lies her down, she can't help the whimper that escapes. Is he just going to leave her here? She knows she'll be fine, but. Something about being left alone. It scares her. His hand is soothing as it strokes her head, though, although she does wish he'd use those claws of his to scratch at those ugly scars. Gods, they itch. She wants to tear into her flesh. Get rifd of them. Graphic? Maybe.

The only good thing about interacting with Sundowner is that he would inform the other bots about his return. In truth, the moon wasn't sure what he would say—would he talk about the rabbit's presence in the household now? Or simply that the moon was in the house? ...What would Sungrass think?

The thought of the sunflower-like bot gnawed at him.

"...I will stay," Bloodmoon stated, before moving to sit on the side of the bed. He still pet her head gently, carefully avoiding any of the scars present. The claws are light; they do not dig into her at all, or brush over her fur ever so gently.

Footsteps could be heard approaching the room. It was something faint and practiced well, the sound soft and unlike the sound of Sundowner's oxfords, or the red moon's boots. A new bot, at the very least. As the noise draws closer, a quiet jingling could be heard, before it came to a sudden stop as a purple moon appeared in the doorway. Despite her cardigan covering parts of her dress, it was clear that she was a maid of sorts. Her, with her cloud and four-pointed star theme, dressed ever so comfortably.

And those eyes. Pupiless, a purple to yellow, not unlike a sunset. Seeing, but not there.

The purple moon's hands were clasped together. "Bloodmoon," Daydream began, his voice soft as he came forward, drawing close. It seemed as if he wanted to say more; it didn't seem that she would scold the red moon, at the very least, but she faltered as her optics flickered to the rabbit in the bed.

Bloodmoon was quiet. Regretful. Their usual dance of sorts was something unspoken: one where Daydream would wordlessly clean him, wipe the blood from his fingers, and go to wash his clothes while offering something else. That sort of stability was something that the ex-butcher wanted now but, of course, she had to tend to Lophren. Loppy? He simply acknowledged the other moon with a nod, not saying anything for a few moments.

"Daydream. Check if there's anti-itch cream and gauze," Bloodmoon doesn't command her, but his words had a sense of finality. "If... you can, please get a glass of water and prepare something easy for consumption... a soup of some sort would be fine. If we have emesis bags, that would be preferred, but a bin will work if otherwise."

There's a shift in Daydream's demeanor, a sense of understanding in the other moon's eyes. "Of course," he agreed. Bloodmoon never talked this much, and she nodded rather curtly. He did linger for a few moments, however, in case Loppy needed anything further.

loppy-watches-over

She's relieved at his choice to stay, and maybe it shows on her face while he pets her head. She does notice that he purposefully avoids her scars, and she opens her mouth to ask him about it, but the unfamiliar footsteps interrupt. Another person is coming, and she doesn't know them, so she shuts her mouth and does her best to pay attention to the door. The moon model looks...cosy. Like she could give Loppy a big hug and the rabbit wouldn't mind--that is, if she wasn't hurting. His eyes, despite looking soulless, are pretty to the injured immortal as she scans the DCA quickly. Nothing...off about him. Other than maybe the fact that she refrained from speaking her mind once he noticed Loppy. But learning his name, Daydream, has her appreciating how well some DCAs are named. The name fits, it really does. Loppy appreciates how Bloodmoon asks for anti-itch cream for her; her tube of it is probably still lying on the floor of that break room...or it's in the trash somewhere, maybe. She doesn't care. She notices the moon lingering, and just utters a quiet, "thank you."

The maid had lingered long enough. At the very least, he did seem to acknowledge Loppy's words, but said nothing further. Daydream nodded quickly again, before his optics trailed from the immortal to Bloodmoon. An indiscernible emotion seemed to to seep itself into his expression, but the moment was gone as soon as it came. The purple moon turned around with a quiet flurry of his dress, and left soon after for what Bloodmoon asked of him.

The ex-butcher stayed quiet. His hands simply ran over Loppy's fur, making sure he didn't tug at any tufts. The bot was far too... ah, well, he didn't want to hurt her at all. Not in any way. His claws would occasionally ghost the scarred area, as if just to feel, before his fingers quickly moved away soon after.

He certainly hoped there was gauze. He would rather not have the immortal itch at the scars—the itchiness meant the scars was healing, and itching at it would only cause inflammation, infection, or damage to the healing skin. That was something he wanted to avoid for Loppy's sake; it was something he never had to worry about, being an animatronic, but he had seen infections that were rather awful. Lacerations that got infected were an ugly, painful sight, and. The gauze would at least be a physical barrier, at the very least. Though, he would have to replace the gauze, or perhaps bandages? If they even had that? Well, he would have to replace it once a day, and hopefully put more anti-itch cream then.

Something about this made him rather nostalgic. The act of taking care of someone hurt in a way he hadn't expected—

He missed being able to help in the process of healing.

loppy-watches-over

She knows it's not her business what happened here between her last visit and her current one. But she can't help but be curious. She doesn't want to pry, though, so she sort of relaxes into the petting that resumes after the maid leaves, closing her eyes with a sigh through her small, velvety nose. She has to say, other than the pain shooting through her back, limbs, and skull, she's pretty comfortable. She doesn't even realise the purr that wells up through her throat until it's too late. She can't even stop herself cus the blankets are so nice... But. Her insides twist uncomfortably every time he brushes her scars. She wants him to dig his claws into the lines. Tear at them. Get rid of them by adding more. She can't stand them. But...if she could direct her attention elsewhere, she could just...relax...

Bloodmoon was thankful for the lack of conversation. He didn't want her to ruin her throat trying to speak, which was the most important reason as to why he was letting the silence linger. However, in truth, he hadn't remembered what had happened. His internal clock had said that a few hours had passed? But even that could be incorrect, especially whenever those episodes happened. Days seemed to be more accurate, considering the extensive corrupted memory he had.

With how Sundowner greeted him, which was already unusual, and. And what he had done to Sungrass. He didn't remember that. He—he had hurt Sungrass, his closest friend, and. That mortified him. His hand stilled suddenly as he recalled Sundowner's words, before he tried to continue petting Loppy, as if he were unaffected.

The red moon was pulled out of his thoughts as the purring sound he heard registered in his audio processors. Was. Was Lophren purring? He said nothing about it, only petting her gently still on her fur, and Bloodmoon can't help but look at her with endearment. At least he hadn't hurt her. Yet. He hoped it would never come to that, but he knew that the episodes with his virus would continue, regardless of his wishes and wants.

His clawed fingers began to stay away from the scars. He couldn't help but want to touch the scarring, but he didn't want to accidentally scratch her in anyway. He let his fingers wander across her fur wordlessly, as if mapping out her body with his hand.

loppy-watches-over

"I kind of w-wish I wasn't immortal," she says after a beat, the darkness inside her lids blooming with imaginary scenarios. "I s-suppose I would've died years ago, but. I would've had the oppurt- [cough] opportunity to actually be hurt and. Heal right. But when an interdimensional deity is your m-mother...and sh-she hates you for. Wanting. Her to stop t-torturing her c-creations. And she. Punishes you. And heals you right after. It's. Not n-natural. Healing. And it causes. Eternal suffering." She knows she's just rambling. She doesn't care if she makes sense or not. She just wants. To vent to someone. She knows that Sundowner would probably understand far better than Bloodmoon, considering he knows about Boss and all-- Ow. Fucking memories. But. Bloodmoon is there, petting her and making her sleepy, and she feels that maybe if she just. Rambles. She'll finally get some peaceful rest? Talking into slumber usually...helps her. Sleep seems like it's so far away, though. "...sorry," she mutters.

#bloodmoon wyw #loppybunny #roleplay interaction #a quiet moment of respite #<- and she suddenly can't stand the silence

She's hideous. She's mentally exhausted. She's nauseous. Is it even possible for an immortal being to be sick? She doesn't care. Actually...where the fuck even is she? She can't bring herself to raise her head. Move a muscle. The scent in the air is familiar. Like. Machines. But... She can't even. She's so weak. What's wrong with her? Everything's so bright. Oh, yeah. Her protective skull's been knocked off by the force of air travel. She lies in the grass, not even caring who stumbles across her. Something went wrong around here. She can feel it. But. Her scars itch. The ugly fucking things they are complain against the innocent breeze. She's so done. She's so tired. Someone, please find me.

@loppy-watches-over

The day has begun to fall, the sun slowly going down in the distance. It was strangely silent, as if all life had went into hiding—or had been purged. The only noise that broke this unsettling quiet was the faint sound of grass crunching underfoot. The stench of death drew closer, a strong coppery scent that couldn't be missed that could only mean trouble.

A red moon model had come to a stop a few feet away, looming over the rabbit. The bot's red eyes—ones that were thankfully not pinpricks or with entirely red sclera—looked over Loppy. Dried blood was on the animatronic; a dark, reddish-brown that blended in with his pants, and less so his apron and jacket.

Splotches of red were present. A more recent killing done by his hands.

Bloodmoon approached the rabbit, slowly crouching down to her level—like one would an animal that easily startled. A bloodied hand reached towards the immortal, stroking the top of her head. A living creature that he refused to kill, now that his mind was his again.

"Poor thing..." he rasped. The moon assumed it was dead. After all, what hadn't he killed?

loppy-watches-over

Her prayers are answered by the sound of the grass shifting. Deep in the recesses of her brain, she's grateful. Relieved. But outwardly, she still hardly moves. Her chest rises and falls with a sigh, and her nose twitches with the strong scent of blood as the hand draws nearer. She can see the shadow. She can tell it's some form of...DCA? Maybe? She's unsure. She still can't lift her head. And then she feels his hand—the hand, so carefully, petting her head. And then she hears his voice. She can't help the involuntary shudder that courses through her. Is this where she's going to die? She doesn't respond, but it can be assumed by now that she's alive by the minuscule movements that she's made.

It registered rather quickly for Bloodmoon that this was something alive—the sigh had made that rather clear. The animatronic's hand stilled atop of the rabbit's head, before pulling back like a human hand that had been burned. Quick and alarmed.

With that in mind, the moon carefully scooped Loppy up. He used one of his arms to wrap around her back, while he used the other and placed it behind her knees. This was not one of his usual carries—he would normally do a pack-strap carry to at least practice that, as it was the usual way to carry someone that was injured. However, he didn't think much of it now as he lifted her as he stood up, holding the immortal close to his body.

He didn't say much else. Bloodmoon's hood covered parts of his face; something he was rather grateful for, because he knew he would be ashamed of what he had done. His memory from hours and days prior were rather blank—he knew he had one of those episodes he couldn't control—but it was still awful. What had he done?

Bloodmoon started the trek back to the household without a word.

loppy-watches-over

Oh. She's being picked up now. She can't even muster the strength to protest as the...DCA--she was correct--lifts her from the ground in a bridal style. Her eyes, blank and white, stare tiredly up at the animatronic and her scars. Ugh, her scars itch. She hates it. And they're so ugly. She realises, for the second time, that her rabbit skull isn't on her face. The red Kool-Aid flavoured Moon probably left it over where he found her, deeming it unimportant. Actually. She could care less. Where is he even taking her, anyway? She can't really look around that well. Hhh. She strains to speak, her voice a whisper of a croak; that is to say, it's hardly anything. It also probably doesn't help she's stuttering. Bad. "Wh- where...where am. Where. Where are you. T-taking. Me."

Bloodmoon hadn't minded the scars.

They were certainly of great concern, yes, but the bot could only hope that they were clean and left to heal naturally. An infection would be painful—something unpleasant that he wished upon no one. But he hadn't minded how they looked at all, not one bit.

To him, she was something like a... patient, almost. Not his patient—the idea scared him—but she was someone that should be cared for.

"...to the house. There are others," the red moon answered, his words short. Bloodmoon was not talkative, but he was trying. He simply looked ahead, only walking forward, while he did his best to limit the amount of blood that was smeared onto Loppy.

He could help her if it was physical. He knew what to do, from his time in Alaska. But... would the other animatronics let him in? Even with someone who was injured?

He said nothing else, continuing slowly out of the woods.

loppy-watches-over

A house. Others. Other animatronics? Loppy still doesn't put two and two together. Somehow, she doesn't recognise the trees around her. Maybe it's due to her vision being fucked with by the light. But she definitely recognises the scent. Something about it is familiar. Achingly familiar. Other animatronics. In a house. Familiar scent? She can't seem to fit the puzzle pieces together. Her mind is too addled. She's too far gone right now. "Others?" she rasps, curious. Her bell earrings jingle with each of Bloodmoon's steps. Her tail hangs limply, swinging like a pendulum in time with her antennae. Her arm shudders as she tries to lift it. Please, she mentally begs, let me scratch. They're so itchy...

"The others are like daycare attendants. Similar models."

Bloodmoon continued onward while the sky continued to grow darker from up above above. The sounds of his steps stayed in a consistent rhythm as he passed through the short and tall grasses alike. The sound around them still stayed awfully silent, with his footsteps, and the faintest sound of his fans whirring, being the only noises that could be heard.

His eyes flickered down as he felt the shift of Loppy's weight as she tried to lift her arm. His voice, while soft, was also firm as he quickly cut in with, "Do not scratch." He did not want to say that scratching could only lead to further damage. At least, not right now. The moon simply shifted his grip ever so slightly just to hold her closer to his chest, as if she were something fragile and precious. As if a small breeze could hurt her.

Perhaps, she simply was something to be cherished for him; after all, it had been far too long since he held something that was truly alive.

loppy-watches-over

She's curious about so many things, but oh-- Being curious takes so much energy. She would much rather just lie there in his arms, being soothed by the soothing motions of his steps. Maybe this is where she's going to die. Somewhere quiet and calm, in the arms of a gentle and kind soul. Then she pauses in her own thoughts. An immortal being, dying--ha! She would laugh if she could. And. How did he know her intentions? It's not like her arm lifted too far; it hardly even moved. She must seem desperate. Or pathetic. Either way, when he shifts her, she finds herself comfortable. And slightly facing his chest. His warm, humming chest. She's so tempted to drift off right there, but she wants to see these others that Kool-Aid up there is speaking of. " 's itchy. Ugly," she mumbles, voice cracking under the strain of just a couple of quiet words.

There is a faint rumble in Bloodmoon's throat, as if he were humming only a few notes, before it eased into silence once more.

"It isn't ugly," he murmured after a few beats of silence. "...You aren't ugly. Do not itch it. It will hurt." And the red moon says nothing more again. As the began to settle, something else alive finally disrupted it once more: a bird call that could be heard in the distance. A welcome sound in the midst of all of the hazy horrors that the butcher knew he had caused in his virus-afflicted state.

As much as he wished he could say he would never hurt someone else ever again, he couldn't ever promise it. He could only hope to heal more than he harmed.

The residence was beginning to appear in the distance. He must have gone far in his hunting spree, if it was only now that he was even getting a glimpse of the household. He wanted to call it home, and yet his very presence there, he knew, would cause a stir. Bloodmoon's fingers tightened ever so slightly at just the thought of being separated from this... being. Maybe. Maybe Sungrass could take care of her for him?

The moon wanted to ask how she got hurt. But it would be better for her to rest, at the very least. A bed where she could be comfortable would be beneficial. And for her to perhaps drink any sort of liquid, maybe a warm tea for a dry or sore throat. And food, and perhaps any required medication and—ah.

...it felt nice to want to take care of someone. He didn't want to hurt anyone ever again, despite everything. Despite the damage he caused.

loppy-watches-over

No, but. He doesn't understand. She was so much better-looking before Boss mangled her and left her like this. It doesn't help that she feels like every ounce of strength she's ever had was ripped out of her. It doesn't help that she argued with the inter-dimensional being just recently, and they-- "Sh-shit," she hisses, her head spiking with pain. It hurts to remember. She doesn't want to remember. In fact, if she had the strength, she would've ripped her memories out days ago. Left them in some...unseen dumpster somewhere before dragging herself through air currents and letting them spit her out in unknown locations. When his fingers tighten around her, she senses that something's bothering him. Maybe it's her empathy feebly flickering to life, maybe it's just common sense, but she strains to turn her head to look up at him. She can't see most of his face, and it bothers her a bit. "Are..are you. Are y-you okay-?" The familiar scent just gets stronger as he nears the house; she can smell the cosiness already. It's strange. She can feel the. The. Oh, what's the word? She doesn't know. She's straining too hard to find words in her own head. It's. All so. Exhausting... Her antennae flick once, twice, and she closes her eyes. She doesn't realise how much energy it took to keep them open until they're closed. She can't sleep, though, so she just lets Kool-Aid rock her with his steps. "S'mth'n's wrong wi' me," she mutters, barely understandable.

Bloodmoon paused momentarily as she hissed in pain, looking her over. He was well aware of her state—it was not one that could easily be ignored—but hadn't properly addressed it just yet. After all, doing so out in the open was less than ideal, and he would rather be comfortable before looking over.

He doesn't say anything, however. That will be discussed in due time. Instead, he started to walk once more.

The moon's fingers loosened at her question, as if he became much more aware of how tightly he had been holding onto her. What if his claws hurt her, left a scratch? What if he could hurt her again? A hint of fear seeped into his systems, though he didn't say anything at first.

"I will be," he states, as if it were a fact. Perhaps in due time. But, in truth, he was only answering as calmly as he could as not to stress her out any further. He can't imagine that it would be good for her to start worrying about someone like him and, if the others wanted him to stay out of the house, then he wouldn't be opposed. Well, as awful as that sounded.

The red moon hoped they would let him in before his battery ran low.

His steps continued to be measured, paced and still rhythmic. Despite the crunching of the grass, and the blowing of the wind, he hears her words. While she couldn't see it, he shook his head. "Nothing is wrong with you." His words faltered, before a quiet, "I promise" could be heard from him.

If there was something wrong with anyone, it would be him.

loppy-watches-over

"Can' ev'n op'n my eyes," she whimpers. Things are starting to blur together behind her eyelids; memories are becoming faint, and she can barely feel the hands holding her. What's wrong with her? What did Boss even do? Is she even immortal anymore? She stops breathing to check, and sure enough, she is. She doesn't have to breathe to stay alive, but it's realistic and helps her blend into organic life forms. So. She's still immortal, but she's so. Weak. And so close to just giving up. Succumbing to whatever the fuck this is. She starts breathing again, but it's laboured. What the fuck. It's like she's dying, but she literally cannot die. What is happening. The heavy presence touches her mind again, and she cries out, somehow finding the strength for her arms to fly to her head. Her skull feels like imploding as Boss's voice rings out. This is how it feels to disobey me, you ungrateful little bitch, they growl in her mind. She doesn't even notice that she's crying out and writhing, repeating "no, no, no, please, stop, go away, get out of my head" over and over. Maybe a millennia like this will teach you your lesson. Weak. Vulnerable. Scarred. Learn your place. Loppy sobs with relief as the crushing feeling leaves her mind, and she slumps, nearly motionless, in Bloodmoon's arms. Her own limbs dangle limply, swinging like her tail.

He slowed his walking as he heard her whimpering, and a sense of panic began to arise. Apraxia? That was the initial thought at least. Had she hit her head before? Perhaps there was something—would he need to address this now? Bloodmoon looked around, before moving close to a tree for now and, ever so gently, began to sit down against it with the rabbit in his lap.

And that's when he noticed that she wasn't breathing.

The moon's hands tightened around her again before quickly releasing this time, and he carefully began maneuvering her, only to find that she was breathing again moments, or perhaps minutes, later. What had just—?

He is certainly fast enough to react when her arms fly to her head, pulling her close to his body, and all he can do is watch in abject horror while worrying about her. And the way she starts writhing and crying is all the more heartbreaking to hear and listen to. He doesn't hold her close, simply providing a place that allowed her to be comfortable all the while. A tight grip would only cause more violent writhing, which would not be good.

And the sudden slump in his arms surprises him. He quickly handled her so that her position would not hurt her back as she dangled. He doesn't even want to ask about what happened, but. He was terrified for her, at the very least.

All he could do was pet her head again in an attempt to soothe her.

loppy-watches-over

She opens her eyes again, her invisible pupils trained weakly on Bloodmoon. Everything's hazy. He's a blur to her. She vaguely felt herself being gently manhandled (what an ironic statement), but. She just. "Sorry," she croaks, louder than anything else she's said. But that's all she figures to say. Her jaw hurts. Her eyes hurt. Hell, her fur hurts. It's all so surreal. Maybe this is just a dream. The nausea brings her up out of those thoughts immediately, though, and she gurgles back in her throat as bile rises, and since she's on her back, all she can do is swallow and grimace. She can't wait to get her hands on that fucking deity. She can't wait to tear it apart. And then she realises she said that out loud. She pauses.

The moon shook his head. “Do not apologize,” he murmured softly, still stroking her head in an attempt to provide a temporary solace. His claws grazed against her fur, rubbing circles with the flat part of his fingers.

He watched her grimace and seemed more than ready to help her if she needed to heave. Bloodmoon carefully shifted her to sit upright.

And… what was that about deities? He’s not all too surprised—he’s tended to more religious patients, somewhere in his fragmented memory—but this rabbit speaks as if she knows one personally. It’s only now that he realized that he had a creature in his lap that could talk. One that was injured in a multitude of ways, and scarred in unnatural ways.

He… hadn’t questioned that, being more focused on getting her to the household to help in her.

Hm. The moon wasn’t going to question that now. It was clear that her throat was still damaged in one way or another, and forcing her to talk would only strain to it.

Bloodmoon simply held her.

loppy-watches-over

Sitting upright has everything rush up to leave her stomach, and she doubles over, avoiding getting her stomach acid all over Bloodmoon. She feels gross as fluids drip from her mouth and tears force themselves from her eyes. Ouh, gods. She can tell she's worrying him in some manner. She doesn't understand why; she's just something he picked up. And. The only reason she's still up is because he's holding her. She's still limp. Other than her movement to vomit, she's..just..still. And maybe she just doesn't have the energy to breathe. But she's. Somehow. Still functioning? "Wan' die," she mutters. "Can' die. Wan' to. Can't." Her antennae perk weakly, shuddering and straining to stay up, but she gets. A feeling. Some sort of...really familiar feeling. She has to ask. "Where. Exactly. A-am I. Who's in th' house you're talkin'bout." She's so close to crashing again.

Bloodmoon wasn't bothered at all as the rabbit-like being doubled over, gently pulling back her floppy ears so that none of her stomach acid got on them. He doesn't even mind as he unraveled his scarf and turned her around to wipe her tears and mouth with the soft fabric. He could always get another scarf, and he had more of the same red ones just because he liked the color.

"No dying," he chastised her softly as he pulled his scarf back and pocketed it. One of the ends were still spilling out of his jacket's pockets—they weren't deep, after all—but he didn't mind it at all. At the very least, he was going to take the immortal's word that she couldn't die. If she was, well, telling the truth. He could certainly feel that she wasn't breathing anymore, and his scarlet optics flickered across the rabbit's form.

The red moon could see the way her antennae was shuddering and straining, and he carefully maneuvered her back down so that he could pick her up in a bridal carry later. At her question, he stiffened. "...We are in Bremerton, Washington. It is 2062. The others..." he trailed off. As if he was reluctant to say.

"There are... two suns, an eclipse, and another moon."

A hint of shame laced his words. As if he did something irreversible. Loppy didn't know.

loppy-watches-over

She's thankful that he's not...freaking out or anything at her immortality. Most others do. Well. Most others, except Sundowner. Her mind scrambles at the thought of the ex-bartender. She knows she can't face him again. Not while she looks like this. Not while she's so...weak. And. Horrible. When Bloodmoon lies her back down, she thanks him quietly and stares up at the sky. Her eyes, unbiddingly, well with tears and spill over, wetting her fur. Oh, gods. She's so pathetic. And. Bremerton, Washington, hm? Interesting base of operations. She can hear the shame in his voice, but doesn't prod. She has her own issues to deal with. "Sounds like a full house," she hums.

"It is," he agrees. And that is that.

The red moon carefully picked Loppy back up into a bridal carry—not that it was difficult at all, she was light to him—and began making his was back to the house. A rather big house, but befitting of five bots. More could certainly fit in there if someone tried. The house itself seems welcoming, but also feels as if it were waiting. Waiting for Bloodmoon's return.

He crossed the distance easily, walking forward without tripping or a misstep. It is easy for him to return, like all the other times he had done so before. He would go to through the backdoor, come in quietly, and make himself scarce. At least, that was how he had always done so before. It worked for everyone.

But, now with someone else in his hands, he needed to let the others know. They needed to be aware.

Bloodmoon shifted one of his hands to rap against the door. To make himself known. His claws, while they do not scratch, make enough noise—somewhat similar to a knock. The members of the house will know who it is.

They always do.

As if on cue, the door creaks open. It is a slow, careful action, as if the bot behind the door was anticipating the worst by his arrival. And there he is—Sundowner, with his ever grinning faceplate, and red optics with white pupils boring into the moon. The sun said nothing first, simply staring at Bloodmoon with something akin to malice, before flicking downward to Loppy.

Recognition is in those eyes. It is knowing. A sense of horror as his hand dropped from the doorknob.

"Give Lophren to me and leave," the sun states firmly. While he had never been expressive before, and certainly not to the immortal, his disdain has never been clearer. Vitriol laces his every word like venom as he reaches his stiff hands out. Like Bloodmoon will just pass the rabbit in his arms over in a resigned, accepting manner.

Sundowner knows who he's holding. That is the first thing that comes to the red moon's attention. And the second, of course, is the command to leave. One that he would obey to keep the peace of the house, if not for the injured immortal in his arms.

loppy-watches-over

As soon as the door opens, she's suddenly painfully alert. She can feel the presence, and her eyes snap to the doorway as best as possible. Oh gods. She would recognise that colour palette anywhere—those rays. The eyes. They may be blurry in her vision, but she's hyper-aware and can't move a fucking muscle. It's him. The one she's both longed to see and tried to avoid. No, no, no, no! He can't see her like this! His voice brings an involuntary shudder from her body, which, in turn, forces a whimper up through her throat. Fucking ow. But. No? Bloodmoon shouldn't have to leave? After all, he is the one who picked her up from her miserable spot in the grass-- "No," she struggles to say, defending Bloodmoon. "He. H-he helped. Me. Saved me, e-even. Was. Lying. In the g-grass. Hurt. He helped. 'M okay." Tears are still streaming from her eyes, but now they have reason. Look at her. So weak and pathetic. Hanging from a moon model's arms like fresh kill and marked up by an unknown force so much that she's marred. So fucking ugly. In the presence of pure radiance, all she can do is cry and hang there limply, scarred and smelling like a barnyard. Ugh.

Sundowner's faceplate tilted down at her whimper, though the disdain in his eyes hadn't left. It had softened, at least momentarily, until she spoke. He stiffened in fear—just the idea of Bloodmoon hurting Lophren, until.

No. No. What she's saying... isn't true. It can't be. Not after—

The ex-bartender's optics flick back up to Bloodmoon, harsher now. "What did you do." His voice is disbelieving, and a quiet anger seems to be bubbling in his tone. His hands are reaching forth, as if he was going to and pull the rabbit out of the red moon's arms, but the ex-butcher steps back with wide eyes. Sundowner's hands hang in the air, fingers poised. Long, not unlike talons. His body is rigid, before his hands fall. Distaste fills his mouth.

"Lophren...? Is correct," Bloodmoon rasps. His eyes are looking elsewhere, shame still present in his form. The hood of his jacket covers his face, though, without his scarf, his sharp teeth were on display. Such a sight keeps the sun tense. Waiting for something to go wrong, like with what happened with Sungrass.

Not that Bloodmoon knew. Of course, he wouldn't. Not with the virus in his system puppetting his body.

The moon shrunk on himself. "I found her. I... I will not harm her."

"You cannot promise that," the sun cuts in, all but a hiss. "You have not seen what you have done to Sungrass. How you mangled his body. You, you. You are a danger."

Sundowner's voice becomes unsettlingly calm. Bloodmoon's hands do not tremble, though his worlds seemingly becomes unstable.

"Give her to me. Then? Get. Out."

The fury and fear in his voice is prominent enough that his voice box crackled ever so slightly. His faceplate was utterly still, his expression blank. If Bloodmoon did not give Lophren to him, then he will take her away from him—the danger. He cannot have what happened with Moonshine happen here, he had been lenient far too long with Bloodmoon. Someone who needed to be gone. Rid of. Or to be kept on a tight leash. Like a dog. To even think that Sundowner ever thought highly of the moon at all was sickening.

The moon stumbled back, holding the immortal. Afraid.

loppy-watches-over

She just. Listens to the interaction, watching Sundowner with an exhausted expression. She's too tired to intervene, although feeling Bloodmoon shrink in on himself hurts her heart. If she's. Capable. Of feeling. Her chest does flutter at the fact that Sundowner is reaching for her like she's precious, but. His attitude toward the animatronic that rescued her from being eaten by some predator. She. She doesn't like it. In fact, it kind of makes her upset. Bloodmoon didn't do anything to her; just because he might've done something to someone else... And then Bloodmoon stumbles backwards with Sundowner's calmly yet enraged burst, and she just. She snaps. Her voice is sharp as it leaves her already-torn throat, and maybe it cracks a little as she speaks at the top of her lungs (which still isn't very loud), "Sundowner. Stop. He didn't--" she coughs, groaning and trying to lift her head. "He d-didn't do this to me. He f--" she pauses, remembering his dislike for strong language. "He freaking picked. Picked m-me up from the grass. Where I was g-going to rot. Or get eaten. I'm not w-well. He helped. This. Th-this is..." She winces, her head spiking again as memories bounce around in her head like thrown golf balls. She whispers the rest, her voice worn. "It was Boss. Just let him in."

There is a pause as the sun stiffened; he hadn't expected her to snap in her state. Sundowner's hands fall, his eyes trained on the immortal. Something bitter remained on his tongue, and he almost wanted to spit venom. But it is Lophren, and he had no intention in upsetting the rabbit any further.

"So be it." With those words, one could imagine that he was challenging Lophren's words. But, instead, he stepped aside. His displeasure still made itself known, but he rested his hand on the doorknob and gripped it tightly instead. His optics had trailed back to Bloodmoon, his eyes meeting the moon's. Not an ounce of remorse for the sun's rude behavior could be seen, even with his face being static. Bloodmoon could only be sorry for his violence, and Sundowner had no intention of accepting him at all.

A few moments passed. The moon's head simply hung low as he carried Lophren into the house. The household is warm and pleasant, with decorations from a few different bots—dream catchers, baskets and rattan blankets, and grandfather clocks—all could be seen in various areas. There were a few living flowers here and there, but were not as well taken care of as they usually were.

And what was the most unusual, was the amount of empty rooms.

Bloodmoon hadn't minded it one bit, simply going to one of the rooms on the bottom floor. One that wasn't lived in, but still a nice space. He easily carried the rabbit to bed, placing her limp form there and ... hesitantly lingering. He needed to take care of her, yes, he certainly wanted to, but he would have to face the other bots. If she needed something that was easy to swallow and not upset her stomach, he would have to ask Apricot or Daydream. New sets of laundry, and a bin—it was all, well, what he could do himself, yes, but were more of the maid's tasks.

"You'll be okay," he said ever so softly before falling quiet, just stroking the immortal's head for now. That could wait.

loppy-watches-over

The displeasure in Sundowner's voice has her internally wincing. She. She doesn't want him to be upset with her. She really doesn't. She adores the ex-bartender, probably far more than he'll ever know. It hurts to feel the refrained venom. She's close to full-on sobbing, never mind the tears already streaming. But the house. It captures her attention. It's so pretty! Maybe not pretty enough to drag her from her deep wells of dispair and self-deprication going on in her head--you're a fucking failure, Lophren; can never do anything right, always have to butt into every thing and this is why you're so fucking weak--but it's pretty enough to notice. And maybe she does notice the extra rooms, and just chooses not to comment on them. In part because her voice...is failing her. ... When Bloodmoon lies her down, she can't help the whimper that escapes. Is he just going to leave her here? She knows she'll be fine, but. Something about being left alone. It scares her. His hand is soothing as it strokes her head, though, although she does wish he'd use those claws of his to scratch at those ugly scars. Gods, they itch. She wants to tear into her flesh. Get rifd of them. Graphic? Maybe.

The only good thing about interacting with Sundowner is that he would inform the other bots about his return. In truth, the moon wasn't sure what he would say—would he talk about the rabbit's presence in the household now? Or simply that the moon was in the house? ...What would Sungrass think?

The thought of the sunflower-like bot gnawed at him.

"...I will stay," Bloodmoon stated, before moving to sit on the side of the bed. He still pet her head gently, carefully avoiding any of the scars present. The claws are light; they do not dig into her at all, or brush over her fur ever so gently.

Footsteps could be heard approaching the room. It was something faint and practiced well, the sound soft and unlike the sound of Sundowner's oxfords, or the red moon's boots. A new bot, at the very least. As the noise draws closer, a quiet jingling could be heard, before it came to a sudden stop as a purple moon appeared in the doorway. Despite her cardigan covering parts of her dress, it was clear that she was a maid of sorts. Her, with her cloud and four-pointed star theme, dressed ever so comfortably.

And those eyes. Pupiless, a purple to yellow, not unlike a sunset. Seeing, but not there.

The purple moon's hands were clasped together. "Bloodmoon," Daydream began, his voice soft as he came forward, drawing close. It seemed as if he wanted to say more; it didn't seem that she would scold the red moon, at the very least, but she faltered as her optics flickered to the rabbit in the bed.

Bloodmoon was quiet. Regretful. Their usual dance of sorts was something unspoken: one where Daydream would wordlessly clean him, wipe the blood from his fingers, and go to wash his clothes while offering something else. That sort of stability was something that the ex-butcher wanted now but, of course, she had to tend to Lophren. Loppy? He simply acknowledged the other moon with a nod, not saying anything for a few moments.

"Daydream. Check if there's anti-itch cream and gauze," Bloodmoon doesn't command her, but his words had a sense of finality. "If... you can, please get a glass of water and prepare something easy for consumption... a soup of some sort would be fine. If we have emesis bags, that would be preferred, but a bin will work if otherwise."

There's a shift in Daydream's demeanor, a sense of understanding in the other moon's eyes. "Of course," he agreed. Bloodmoon never talked this much, and she nodded rather curtly. He did linger for a few moments, however, in case Loppy needed anything further.

loppy-watches-over

She's relieved at his choice to stay, and maybe it shows on her face while he pets her head. She does notice that he purposefully avoids her scars, and she opens her mouth to ask him about it, but the unfamiliar footsteps interrupt. Another person is coming, and she doesn't know them, so she shuts her mouth and does her best to pay attention to the door. The moon model looks...cosy. Like she could give Loppy a big hug and the rabbit wouldn't mind--that is, if she wasn't hurting. His eyes, despite looking soulless, are pretty to the injured immortal as she scans the DCA quickly. Nothing...off about him. Other than maybe the fact that she refrained from speaking her mind once he noticed Loppy. But learning his name, Daydream, has her appreciating how well some DCAs are named. The name fits, it really does. Loppy appreciates how Bloodmoon asks for anti-itch cream for her; her tube of it is probably still lying on the floor of that break room...or it's in the trash somewhere, maybe. She doesn't care. She notices the moon lingering, and just utters a quiet, "thank you."

The maid had lingered long enough. At the very least, he did seem to acknowledge Loppy's words, but said nothing further. Daydream nodded quickly again, before his optics trailed from the immortal to Bloodmoon. An indiscernible emotion seemed to to seep itself into his expression, but the moment was gone as soon as it came. The purple moon turned around with a quiet flurry of his dress, and left soon after for what Bloodmoon asked of him.

The ex-butcher stayed quiet. His hands simply ran over Loppy's fur, making sure he didn't tug at any tufts. The bot was far too... ah, well, he didn't want to hurt her at all. Not in any way. His claws would occasionally ghost the scarred area, as if just to feel, before his fingers quickly moved away soon after.

He certainly hoped there was gauze. He would rather not have the immortal itch at the scars—the itchiness meant the scars was healing, and itching at it would only cause inflammation, infection, or damage to the healing skin. That was something he wanted to avoid for Loppy's sake; it was something he never had to worry about, being an animatronic, but he had seen infections that were rather awful. Lacerations that got infected were an ugly, painful sight, and. The gauze would at least be a physical barrier, at the very least. Though, he would have to replace the gauze, or perhaps bandages? If they even had that? Well, he would have to replace it once a day, and hopefully put more anti-itch cream then.

Something about this made him rather nostalgic. The act of taking care of someone hurt in a way he hadn't expected—

He missed being able to help in the process of healing.

loppy-watches-over

She knows it's not her business what happened here between her last visit and her current one. But she can't help but be curious. She doesn't want to pry, though, so she sort of relaxes into the petting that resumes after the maid leaves, closing her eyes with a sigh through her small, velvety nose. She has to say, other than the pain shooting through her back, limbs, and skull, she's pretty comfortable. She doesn't even realise the purr that wells up through her throat until it's too late. She can't even stop herself cus the blankets are so nice... But. Her insides twist uncomfortably every time he brushes her scars. She wants him to dig his claws into the lines. Tear at them. Get rid of them by adding more. She can't stand them. But...if she could direct her attention elsewhere, she could just...relax...

#bloodmoon wyw #loppybunny #roleplay interaction #daydream wyw

She's hideous. She's mentally exhausted. She's nauseous. Is it even possible for an immortal being to be sick? She doesn't care. Actually...where the fuck even is she? She can't bring herself to raise her head. Move a muscle. The scent in the air is familiar. Like. Machines. But... She can't even. She's so weak. What's wrong with her? Everything's so bright. Oh, yeah. Her protective skull's been knocked off by the force of air travel. She lies in the grass, not even caring who stumbles across her. Something went wrong around here. She can feel it. But. Her scars itch. The ugly fucking things they are complain against the innocent breeze. She's so done. She's so tired. Someone, please find me.

@loppy-watches-over

The day has begun to fall, the sun slowly going down in the distance. It was strangely silent, as if all life had went into hiding—or had been purged. The only noise that broke this unsettling quiet was the faint sound of grass crunching underfoot. The stench of death drew closer, a strong coppery scent that couldn't be missed that could only mean trouble.

A red moon model had come to a stop a few feet away, looming over the rabbit. The bot's red eyes—ones that were thankfully not pinpricks or with entirely red sclera—looked over Loppy. Dried blood was on the animatronic; a dark, reddish-brown that blended in with his pants, and less so his apron and jacket.

Splotches of red were present. A more recent killing done by his hands.

Bloodmoon approached the rabbit, slowly crouching down to her level—like one would an animal that easily startled. A bloodied hand reached towards the immortal, stroking the top of her head. A living creature that he refused to kill, now that his mind was his again.

"Poor thing..." he rasped. The moon assumed it was dead. After all, what hadn't he killed?

loppy-watches-over

Her prayers are answered by the sound of the grass shifting. Deep in the recesses of her brain, she's grateful. Relieved. But outwardly, she still hardly moves. Her chest rises and falls with a sigh, and her nose twitches with the strong scent of blood as the hand draws nearer. She can see the shadow. She can tell it's some form of...DCA? Maybe? She's unsure. She still can't lift her head. And then she feels his hand—the hand, so carefully, petting her head. And then she hears his voice. She can't help the involuntary shudder that courses through her. Is this where she's going to die? She doesn't respond, but it can be assumed by now that she's alive by the minuscule movements that she's made.

It registered rather quickly for Bloodmoon that this was something alive—the sigh had made that rather clear. The animatronic's hand stilled atop of the rabbit's head, before pulling back like a human hand that had been burned. Quick and alarmed.

With that in mind, the moon carefully scooped Loppy up. He used one of his arms to wrap around her back, while he used the other and placed it behind her knees. This was not one of his usual carries—he would normally do a pack-strap carry to at least practice that, as it was the usual way to carry someone that was injured. However, he didn't think much of it now as he lifted her as he stood up, holding the immortal close to his body.

He didn't say much else. Bloodmoon's hood covered parts of his face; something he was rather grateful for, because he knew he would be ashamed of what he had done. His memory from hours and days prior were rather blank—he knew he had one of those episodes he couldn't control—but it was still awful. What had he done?

Bloodmoon started the trek back to the household without a word.

loppy-watches-over

Oh. She's being picked up now. She can't even muster the strength to protest as the...DCA--she was correct--lifts her from the ground in a bridal style. Her eyes, blank and white, stare tiredly up at the animatronic and her scars. Ugh, her scars itch. She hates it. And they're so ugly. She realises, for the second time, that her rabbit skull isn't on her face. The red Kool-Aid flavoured Moon probably left it over where he found her, deeming it unimportant. Actually. She could care less. Where is he even taking her, anyway? She can't really look around that well. Hhh. She strains to speak, her voice a whisper of a croak; that is to say, it's hardly anything. It also probably doesn't help she's stuttering. Bad. "Wh- where...where am. Where. Where are you. T-taking. Me."

Bloodmoon hadn't minded the scars.

They were certainly of great concern, yes, but the bot could only hope that they were clean and left to heal naturally. An infection would be painful—something unpleasant that he wished upon no one. But he hadn't minded how they looked at all, not one bit.

To him, she was something like a... patient, almost. Not his patient—the idea scared him—but she was someone that should be cared for.

"...to the house. There are others," the red moon answered, his words short. Bloodmoon was not talkative, but he was trying. He simply looked ahead, only walking forward, while he did his best to limit the amount of blood that was smeared onto Loppy.

He could help her if it was physical. He knew what to do, from his time in Alaska. But... would the other animatronics let him in? Even with someone who was injured?

He said nothing else, continuing slowly out of the woods.

loppy-watches-over

A house. Others. Other animatronics? Loppy still doesn't put two and two together. Somehow, she doesn't recognise the trees around her. Maybe it's due to her vision being fucked with by the light. But she definitely recognises the scent. Something about it is familiar. Achingly familiar. Other animatronics. In a house. Familiar scent? She can't seem to fit the puzzle pieces together. Her mind is too addled. She's too far gone right now. "Others?" she rasps, curious. Her bell earrings jingle with each of Bloodmoon's steps. Her tail hangs limply, swinging like a pendulum in time with her antennae. Her arm shudders as she tries to lift it. Please, she mentally begs, let me scratch. They're so itchy...

"The others are like daycare attendants. Similar models."

Bloodmoon continued onward while the sky continued to grow darker from up above above. The sounds of his steps stayed in a consistent rhythm as he passed through the short and tall grasses alike. The sound around them still stayed awfully silent, with his footsteps, and the faintest sound of his fans whirring, being the only noises that could be heard.

His eyes flickered down as he felt the shift of Loppy's weight as she tried to lift her arm. His voice, while soft, was also firm as he quickly cut in with, "Do not scratch." He did not want to say that scratching could only lead to further damage. At least, not right now. The moon simply shifted his grip ever so slightly just to hold her closer to his chest, as if she were something fragile and precious. As if a small breeze could hurt her.

Perhaps, she simply was something to be cherished for him; after all, it had been far too long since he held something that was truly alive.

loppy-watches-over

She's curious about so many things, but oh-- Being curious takes so much energy. She would much rather just lie there in his arms, being soothed by the soothing motions of his steps. Maybe this is where she's going to die. Somewhere quiet and calm, in the arms of a gentle and kind soul. Then she pauses in her own thoughts. An immortal being, dying--ha! She would laugh if she could. And. How did he know her intentions? It's not like her arm lifted too far; it hardly even moved. She must seem desperate. Or pathetic. Either way, when he shifts her, she finds herself comfortable. And slightly facing his chest. His warm, humming chest. She's so tempted to drift off right there, but she wants to see these others that Kool-Aid up there is speaking of. " 's itchy. Ugly," she mumbles, voice cracking under the strain of just a couple of quiet words.

There is a faint rumble in Bloodmoon's throat, as if he were humming only a few notes, before it eased into silence once more.

"It isn't ugly," he murmured after a few beats of silence. "...You aren't ugly. Do not itch it. It will hurt." And the red moon says nothing more again. As the began to settle, something else alive finally disrupted it once more: a bird call that could be heard in the distance. A welcome sound in the midst of all of the hazy horrors that the butcher knew he had caused in his virus-afflicted state.

As much as he wished he could say he would never hurt someone else ever again, he couldn't ever promise it. He could only hope to heal more than he harmed.

The residence was beginning to appear in the distance. He must have gone far in his hunting spree, if it was only now that he was even getting a glimpse of the household. He wanted to call it home, and yet his very presence there, he knew, would cause a stir. Bloodmoon's fingers tightened ever so slightly at just the thought of being separated from this... being. Maybe. Maybe Sungrass could take care of her for him?

The moon wanted to ask how she got hurt. But it would be better for her to rest, at the very least. A bed where she could be comfortable would be beneficial. And for her to perhaps drink any sort of liquid, maybe a warm tea for a dry or sore throat. And food, and perhaps any required medication and—ah.

...it felt nice to want to take care of someone. He didn't want to hurt anyone ever again, despite everything. Despite the damage he caused.

loppy-watches-over

No, but. He doesn't understand. She was so much better-looking before Boss mangled her and left her like this. It doesn't help that she feels like every ounce of strength she's ever had was ripped out of her. It doesn't help that she argued with the inter-dimensional being just recently, and they-- "Sh-shit," she hisses, her head spiking with pain. It hurts to remember. She doesn't want to remember. In fact, if she had the strength, she would've ripped her memories out days ago. Left them in some...unseen dumpster somewhere before dragging herself through air currents and letting them spit her out in unknown locations. When his fingers tighten around her, she senses that something's bothering him. Maybe it's her empathy feebly flickering to life, maybe it's just common sense, but she strains to turn her head to look up at him. She can't see most of his face, and it bothers her a bit. "Are..are you. Are y-you okay-?" The familiar scent just gets stronger as he nears the house; she can smell the cosiness already. It's strange. She can feel the. The. Oh, what's the word? She doesn't know. She's straining too hard to find words in her own head. It's. All so. Exhausting... Her antennae flick once, twice, and she closes her eyes. She doesn't realise how much energy it took to keep them open until they're closed. She can't sleep, though, so she just lets Kool-Aid rock her with his steps. "S'mth'n's wrong wi' me," she mutters, barely understandable.

Bloodmoon paused momentarily as she hissed in pain, looking her over. He was well aware of her state—it was not one that could easily be ignored—but hadn't properly addressed it just yet. After all, doing so out in the open was less than ideal, and he would rather be comfortable before looking over.

He doesn't say anything, however. That will be discussed in due time. Instead, he started to walk once more.

The moon's fingers loosened at her question, as if he became much more aware of how tightly he had been holding onto her. What if his claws hurt her, left a scratch? What if he could hurt her again? A hint of fear seeped into his systems, though he didn't say anything at first.

"I will be," he states, as if it were a fact. Perhaps in due time. But, in truth, he was only answering as calmly as he could as not to stress her out any further. He can't imagine that it would be good for her to start worrying about someone like him and, if the others wanted him to stay out of the house, then he wouldn't be opposed. Well, as awful as that sounded.

The red moon hoped they would let him in before his battery ran low.

His steps continued to be measured, paced and still rhythmic. Despite the crunching of the grass, and the blowing of the wind, he hears her words. While she couldn't see it, he shook his head. "Nothing is wrong with you." His words faltered, before a quiet, "I promise" could be heard from him.

If there was something wrong with anyone, it would be him.

loppy-watches-over

"Can' ev'n op'n my eyes," she whimpers. Things are starting to blur together behind her eyelids; memories are becoming faint, and she can barely feel the hands holding her. What's wrong with her? What did Boss even do? Is she even immortal anymore? She stops breathing to check, and sure enough, she is. She doesn't have to breathe to stay alive, but it's realistic and helps her blend into organic life forms. So. She's still immortal, but she's so. Weak. And so close to just giving up. Succumbing to whatever the fuck this is. She starts breathing again, but it's laboured. What the fuck. It's like she's dying, but she literally cannot die. What is happening. The heavy presence touches her mind again, and she cries out, somehow finding the strength for her arms to fly to her head. Her skull feels like imploding as Boss's voice rings out. This is how it feels to disobey me, you ungrateful little bitch, they growl in her mind. She doesn't even notice that she's crying out and writhing, repeating "no, no, no, please, stop, go away, get out of my head" over and over. Maybe a millennia like this will teach you your lesson. Weak. Vulnerable. Scarred. Learn your place. Loppy sobs with relief as the crushing feeling leaves her mind, and she slumps, nearly motionless, in Bloodmoon's arms. Her own limbs dangle limply, swinging like her tail.

He slowed his walking as he heard her whimpering, and a sense of panic began to arise. Apraxia? That was the initial thought at least. Had she hit her head before? Perhaps there was something—would he need to address this now? Bloodmoon looked around, before moving close to a tree for now and, ever so gently, began to sit down against it with the rabbit in his lap.

And that's when he noticed that she wasn't breathing.

The moon's hands tightened around her again before quickly releasing this time, and he carefully began maneuvering her, only to find that she was breathing again moments, or perhaps minutes, later. What had just—?

He is certainly fast enough to react when her arms fly to her head, pulling her close to his body, and all he can do is watch in abject horror while worrying about her. And the way she starts writhing and crying is all the more heartbreaking to hear and listen to. He doesn't hold her close, simply providing a place that allowed her to be comfortable all the while. A tight grip would only cause more violent writhing, which would not be good.

And the sudden slump in his arms surprises him. He quickly handled her so that her position would not hurt her back as she dangled. He doesn't even want to ask about what happened, but. He was terrified for her, at the very least.

All he could do was pet her head again in an attempt to soothe her.

loppy-watches-over

She opens her eyes again, her invisible pupils trained weakly on Bloodmoon. Everything's hazy. He's a blur to her. She vaguely felt herself being gently manhandled (what an ironic statement), but. She just. "Sorry," she croaks, louder than anything else she's said. But that's all she figures to say. Her jaw hurts. Her eyes hurt. Hell, her fur hurts. It's all so surreal. Maybe this is just a dream. The nausea brings her up out of those thoughts immediately, though, and she gurgles back in her throat as bile rises, and since she's on her back, all she can do is swallow and grimace. She can't wait to get her hands on that fucking deity. She can't wait to tear it apart. And then she realises she said that out loud. She pauses.

The moon shook his head. “Do not apologize,” he murmured softly, still stroking her head in an attempt to provide a temporary solace. His claws grazed against her fur, rubbing circles with the flat part of his fingers.

He watched her grimace and seemed more than ready to help her if she needed to heave. Bloodmoon carefully shifted her to sit upright.

And… what was that about deities? He’s not all too surprised—he’s tended to more religious patients, somewhere in his fragmented memory—but this rabbit speaks as if she knows one personally. It’s only now that he realized that he had a creature in his lap that could talk. One that was injured in a multitude of ways, and scarred in unnatural ways.

He… hadn’t questioned that, being more focused on getting her to the household to help in her.

Hm. The moon wasn’t going to question that now. It was clear that her throat was still damaged in one way or another, and forcing her to talk would only strain to it.

Bloodmoon simply held her.

loppy-watches-over

Sitting upright has everything rush up to leave her stomach, and she doubles over, avoiding getting her stomach acid all over Bloodmoon. She feels gross as fluids drip from her mouth and tears force themselves from her eyes. Ouh, gods. She can tell she's worrying him in some manner. She doesn't understand why; she's just something he picked up. And. The only reason she's still up is because he's holding her. She's still limp. Other than her movement to vomit, she's..just..still. And maybe she just doesn't have the energy to breathe. But she's. Somehow. Still functioning? "Wan' die," she mutters. "Can' die. Wan' to. Can't." Her antennae perk weakly, shuddering and straining to stay up, but she gets. A feeling. Some sort of...really familiar feeling. She has to ask. "Where. Exactly. A-am I. Who's in th' house you're talkin'bout." She's so close to crashing again.

Bloodmoon wasn't bothered at all as the rabbit-like being doubled over, gently pulling back her floppy ears so that none of her stomach acid got on them. He doesn't even mind as he unraveled his scarf and turned her around to wipe her tears and mouth with the soft fabric. He could always get another scarf, and he had more of the same red ones just because he liked the color.

"No dying," he chastised her softly as he pulled his scarf back and pocketed it. One of the ends were still spilling out of his jacket's pockets—they weren't deep, after all—but he didn't mind it at all. At the very least, he was going to take the immortal's word that she couldn't die. If she was, well, telling the truth. He could certainly feel that she wasn't breathing anymore, and his scarlet optics flickered across the rabbit's form.

The red moon could see the way her antennae was shuddering and straining, and he carefully maneuvered her back down so that he could pick her up in a bridal carry later. At her question, he stiffened. "...We are in Bremerton, Washington. It is 2062. The others..." he trailed off. As if he was reluctant to say.

"There are... two suns, an eclipse, and another moon."

A hint of shame laced his words. As if he did something irreversible. Loppy didn't know.

loppy-watches-over

She's thankful that he's not...freaking out or anything at her immortality. Most others do. Well. Most others, except Sundowner. Her mind scrambles at the thought of the ex-bartender. She knows she can't face him again. Not while she looks like this. Not while she's so...weak. And. Horrible. When Bloodmoon lies her back down, she thanks him quietly and stares up at the sky. Her eyes, unbiddingly, well with tears and spill over, wetting her fur. Oh, gods. She's so pathetic. And. Bremerton, Washington, hm? Interesting base of operations. She can hear the shame in his voice, but doesn't prod. She has her own issues to deal with. "Sounds like a full house," she hums.

"It is," he agrees. And that is that.

The red moon carefully picked Loppy back up into a bridal carry—not that it was difficult at all, she was light to him—and began making his was back to the house. A rather big house, but befitting of five bots. More could certainly fit in there if someone tried. The house itself seems welcoming, but also feels as if it were waiting. Waiting for Bloodmoon's return.

He crossed the distance easily, walking forward without tripping or a misstep. It is easy for him to return, like all the other times he had done so before. He would go to through the backdoor, come in quietly, and make himself scarce. At least, that was how he had always done so before. It worked for everyone.

But, now with someone else in his hands, he needed to let the others know. They needed to be aware.

Bloodmoon shifted one of his hands to rap against the door. To make himself known. His claws, while they do not scratch, make enough noise—somewhat similar to a knock. The members of the house will know who it is.

They always do.

As if on cue, the door creaks open. It is a slow, careful action, as if the bot behind the door was anticipating the worst by his arrival. And there he is—Sundowner, with his ever grinning faceplate, and red optics with white pupils boring into the moon. The sun said nothing first, simply staring at Bloodmoon with something akin to malice, before flicking downward to Loppy.

Recognition is in those eyes. It is knowing. A sense of horror as his hand dropped from the doorknob.

"Give Lophren to me and leave," the sun states firmly. While he had never been expressive before, and certainly not to the immortal, his disdain has never been clearer. Vitriol laces his every word like venom as he reaches his stiff hands out. Like Bloodmoon will just pass the rabbit in his arms over in a resigned, accepting manner.

Sundowner knows who he's holding. That is the first thing that comes to the red moon's attention. And the second, of course, is the command to leave. One that he would obey to keep the peace of the house, if not for the injured immortal in his arms.

loppy-watches-over

As soon as the door opens, she's suddenly painfully alert. She can feel the presence, and her eyes snap to the doorway as best as possible. Oh gods. She would recognise that colour palette anywhere—those rays. The eyes. They may be blurry in her vision, but she's hyper-aware and can't move a fucking muscle. It's him. The one she's both longed to see and tried to avoid. No, no, no, no! He can't see her like this! His voice brings an involuntary shudder from her body, which, in turn, forces a whimper up through her throat. Fucking ow. But. No? Bloodmoon shouldn't have to leave? After all, he is the one who picked her up from her miserable spot in the grass-- "No," she struggles to say, defending Bloodmoon. "He. H-he helped. Me. Saved me, e-even. Was. Lying. In the g-grass. Hurt. He helped. 'M okay." Tears are still streaming from her eyes, but now they have reason. Look at her. So weak and pathetic. Hanging from a moon model's arms like fresh kill and marked up by an unknown force so much that she's marred. So fucking ugly. In the presence of pure radiance, all she can do is cry and hang there limply, scarred and smelling like a barnyard. Ugh.

Sundowner's faceplate tilted down at her whimper, though the disdain in his eyes hadn't left. It had softened, at least momentarily, until she spoke. He stiffened in fear—just the idea of Bloodmoon hurting Lophren, until.

No. No. What she's saying... isn't true. It can't be. Not after—

The ex-bartender's optics flick back up to Bloodmoon, harsher now. "What did you do." His voice is disbelieving, and a quiet anger seems to be bubbling in his tone. His hands are reaching forth, as if he was going to and pull the rabbit out of the red moon's arms, but the ex-butcher steps back with wide eyes. Sundowner's hands hang in the air, fingers poised. Long, not unlike talons. His body is rigid, before his hands fall. Distaste fills his mouth.

"Lophren...? Is correct," Bloodmoon rasps. His eyes are looking elsewhere, shame still present in his form. The hood of his jacket covers his face, though, without his scarf, his sharp teeth were on display. Such a sight keeps the sun tense. Waiting for something to go wrong, like with what happened with Sungrass.

Not that Bloodmoon knew. Of course, he wouldn't. Not with the virus in his system puppetting his body.

The moon shrunk on himself. "I found her. I... I will not harm her."

"You cannot promise that," the sun cuts in, all but a hiss. "You have not seen what you have done to Sungrass. How you mangled his body. You, you. You are a danger."

Sundowner's voice becomes unsettlingly calm. Bloodmoon's hands do not tremble, though his worlds seemingly becomes unstable.

"Give her to me. Then? Get. Out."

The fury and fear in his voice is prominent enough that his voice box crackled ever so slightly. His faceplate was utterly still, his expression blank. If Bloodmoon did not give Lophren to him, then he will take her away from him—the danger. He cannot have what happened with Moonshine happen here, he had been lenient far too long with Bloodmoon. Someone who needed to be gone. Rid of. Or to be kept on a tight leash. Like a dog. To even think that Sundowner ever thought highly of the moon at all was sickening.

The moon stumbled back, holding the immortal. Afraid.

loppy-watches-over

She just. Listens to the interaction, watching Sundowner with an exhausted expression. She's too tired to intervene, although feeling Bloodmoon shrink in on himself hurts her heart. If she's. Capable. Of feeling. Her chest does flutter at the fact that Sundowner is reaching for her like she's precious, but. His attitude toward the animatronic that rescued her from being eaten by some predator. She. She doesn't like it. In fact, it kind of makes her upset. Bloodmoon didn't do anything to her; just because he might've done something to someone else... And then Bloodmoon stumbles backwards with Sundowner's calmly yet enraged burst, and she just. She snaps. Her voice is sharp as it leaves her already-torn throat, and maybe it cracks a little as she speaks at the top of her lungs (which still isn't very loud), "Sundowner. Stop. He didn't--" she coughs, groaning and trying to lift her head. "He d-didn't do this to me. He f--" she pauses, remembering his dislike for strong language. "He freaking picked. Picked m-me up from the grass. Where I was g-going to rot. Or get eaten. I'm not w-well. He helped. This. Th-this is..." She winces, her head spiking again as memories bounce around in her head like thrown golf balls. She whispers the rest, her voice worn. "It was Boss. Just let him in."

There is a pause as the sun stiffened; he hadn't expected her to snap in her state. Sundowner's hands fall, his eyes trained on the immortal. Something bitter remained on his tongue, and he almost wanted to spit venom. But it is Lophren, and he had no intention in upsetting the rabbit any further.

"So be it." With those words, one could imagine that he was challenging Lophren's words. But, instead, he stepped aside. His displeasure still made itself known, but he rested his hand on the doorknob and gripped it tightly instead. His optics had trailed back to Bloodmoon, his eyes meeting the moon's. Not an ounce of remorse for the sun's rude behavior could be seen, even with his face being static. Bloodmoon could only be sorry for his violence, and Sundowner had no intention of accepting him at all.

A few moments passed. The moon's head simply hung low as he carried Lophren into the house. The household is warm and pleasant, with decorations from a few different bots—dream catchers, baskets and rattan blankets, and grandfather clocks—all could be seen in various areas. There were a few living flowers here and there, but were not as well taken care of as they usually were.

And what was the most unusual, was the amount of empty rooms.

Bloodmoon hadn't minded it one bit, simply going to one of the rooms on the bottom floor. One that wasn't lived in, but still a nice space. He easily carried the rabbit to bed, placing her limp form there and ... hesitantly lingering. He needed to take care of her, yes, he certainly wanted to, but he would have to face the other bots. If she needed something that was easy to swallow and not upset her stomach, he would have to ask Apricot or Daydream. New sets of laundry, and a bin—it was all, well, what he could do himself, yes, but were more of the maid's tasks.

"You'll be okay," he said ever so softly before falling quiet, just stroking the immortal's head for now. That could wait.

loppy-watches-over

The displeasure in Sundowner's voice has her internally wincing. She. She doesn't want him to be upset with her. She really doesn't. She adores the ex-bartender, probably far more than he'll ever know. It hurts to feel the refrained venom. She's close to full-on sobbing, never mind the tears already streaming. But the house. It captures her attention. It's so pretty! Maybe not pretty enough to drag her from her deep wells of dispair and self-deprication going on in her head--you're a fucking failure, Lophren; can never do anything right, always have to butt into every thing and this is why you're so fucking weak--but it's pretty enough to notice. And maybe she does notice the extra rooms, and just chooses not to comment on them. In part because her voice...is failing her. ... When Bloodmoon lies her down, she can't help the whimper that escapes. Is he just going to leave her here? She knows she'll be fine, but. Something about being left alone. It scares her. His hand is soothing as it strokes her head, though, although she does wish he'd use those claws of his to scratch at those ugly scars. Gods, they itch. She wants to tear into her flesh. Get rifd of them. Graphic? Maybe.

The only good thing about interacting with Sundowner is that he would inform the other bots about his return. In truth, the moon wasn't sure what he would say—would he talk about the rabbit's presence in the household now? Or simply that the moon was in the house? ...What would Sungrass think?

The thought of the sunflower-like bot gnawed at him.

"...I will stay," Bloodmoon stated, before moving to sit on the side of the bed. He still pet her head gently, carefully avoiding any of the scars present. The claws are light; they do not dig into her at all, or brush over her fur ever so gently.

Footsteps could be heard approaching the room. It was something faint and practiced well, the sound soft and unlike the sound of Sundowner's oxfords, or the red moon's boots. A new bot, at the very least. As the noise draws closer, a quiet jingling could be heard, before it came to a sudden stop as a purple moon appeared in the doorway. Despite her cardigan covering parts of her dress, it was clear that she was a maid of sorts. Her, with her cloud and four-pointed star theme, dressed ever so comfortably.

And those eyes. Pupiless, a purple to yellow, not unlike a sunset. Seeing, but not there.

The purple moon's hands were clasped together. "Bloodmoon," Daydream began, his voice soft as he came forward, drawing close. It seemed as if he wanted to say more; it didn't seem that she would scold the red moon, at the very least, but she faltered as her optics flickered to the rabbit in the bed.

Bloodmoon was quiet. Regretful. Their usual dance of sorts was something unspoken: one where Daydream would wordlessly clean him, wipe the blood from his fingers, and go to wash his clothes while offering something else. That sort of stability was something that the ex-butcher wanted now but, of course, she had to tend to Lophren. Loppy? He simply acknowledged the other moon with a nod, not saying anything for a few moments.

"Daydream. Check if there's anti-itch cream and gauze," Bloodmoon doesn't command her, but his words had a sense of finality. "If... you can, please get a glass of water and prepare something easy for consumption... a soup of some sort would be fine. If we have emesis bags, that would be preferred, but a bin will work if otherwise."

There's a shift in Daydream's demeanor, a sense of understanding in the other moon's eyes. "Of course," he agreed. Bloodmoon never talked this much, and she nodded rather curtly. He did linger for a few moments, however, in case Loppy needed anything further.

loppy-watches-over

She's relieved at his choice to stay, and maybe it shows on her face while he pets her head. She does notice that he purposefully avoids her scars, and she opens her mouth to ask him about it, but the unfamiliar footsteps interrupt. Another person is coming, and she doesn't know them, so she shuts her mouth and does her best to pay attention to the door. The moon model looks...cosy. Like she could give Loppy a big hug and the rabbit wouldn't mind--that is, if she wasn't hurting. His eyes, despite looking soulless, are pretty to the injured immortal as she scans the DCA quickly. Nothing...off about him. Other than maybe the fact that she refrained from speaking her mind once he noticed Loppy. But learning his name, Daydream, has her appreciating how well some DCAs are named. The name fits, it really does. Loppy appreciates how Bloodmoon asks for anti-itch cream for her; her tube of it is probably still lying on the floor of that break room...or it's in the trash somewhere, maybe. She doesn't care. She notices the moon lingering, and just utters a quiet, "thank you."

#bloodmoon wyw #daydream wyw #loppybunny #roleplay interaction

She's hideous. She's mentally exhausted. She's nauseous. Is it even possible for an immortal being to be sick? She doesn't care. Actually...where the fuck even is she? She can't bring herself to raise her head. Move a muscle. The scent in the air is familiar. Like. Machines. But... She can't even. She's so weak. What's wrong with her? Everything's so bright. Oh, yeah. Her protective skull's been knocked off by the force of air travel. She lies in the grass, not even caring who stumbles across her. Something went wrong around here. She can feel it. But. Her scars itch. The ugly fucking things they are complain against the innocent breeze. She's so done. She's so tired. Someone, please find me.

@loppy-watches-over

The day has begun to fall, the sun slowly going down in the distance. It was strangely silent, as if all life had went into hiding—or had been purged. The only noise that broke this unsettling quiet was the faint sound of grass crunching underfoot. The stench of death drew closer, a strong coppery scent that couldn't be missed that could only mean trouble.

A red moon model had come to a stop a few feet away, looming over the rabbit. The bot's red eyes—ones that were thankfully not pinpricks or with entirely red sclera—looked over Loppy. Dried blood was on the animatronic; a dark, reddish-brown that blended in with his pants, and less so his apron and jacket.

Splotches of red were present. A more recent killing done by his hands.

Bloodmoon approached the rabbit, slowly crouching down to her level—like one would an animal that easily startled. A bloodied hand reached towards the immortal, stroking the top of her head. A living creature that he refused to kill, now that his mind was his again.

"Poor thing..." he rasped. The moon assumed it was dead. After all, what hadn't he killed?

loppy-watches-over

Her prayers are answered by the sound of the grass shifting. Deep in the recesses of her brain, she's grateful. Relieved. But outwardly, she still hardly moves. Her chest rises and falls with a sigh, and her nose twitches with the strong scent of blood as the hand draws nearer. She can see the shadow. She can tell it's some form of...DCA? Maybe? She's unsure. She still can't lift her head. And then she feels his hand—the hand, so carefully, petting her head. And then she hears his voice. She can't help the involuntary shudder that courses through her. Is this where she's going to die? She doesn't respond, but it can be assumed by now that she's alive by the minuscule movements that she's made.

It registered rather quickly for Bloodmoon that this was something alive—the sigh had made that rather clear. The animatronic's hand stilled atop of the rabbit's head, before pulling back like a human hand that had been burned. Quick and alarmed.

With that in mind, the moon carefully scooped Loppy up. He used one of his arms to wrap around her back, while he used the other and placed it behind her knees. This was not one of his usual carries—he would normally do a pack-strap carry to at least practice that, as it was the usual way to carry someone that was injured. However, he didn't think much of it now as he lifted her as he stood up, holding the immortal close to his body.

He didn't say much else. Bloodmoon's hood covered parts of his face; something he was rather grateful for, because he knew he would be ashamed of what he had done. His memory from hours and days prior were rather blank—he knew he had one of those episodes he couldn't control—but it was still awful. What had he done?

Bloodmoon started the trek back to the household without a word.

loppy-watches-over

Oh. She's being picked up now. She can't even muster the strength to protest as the...DCA--she was correct--lifts her from the ground in a bridal style. Her eyes, blank and white, stare tiredly up at the animatronic and her scars. Ugh, her scars itch. She hates it. And they're so ugly. She realises, for the second time, that her rabbit skull isn't on her face. The red Kool-Aid flavoured Moon probably left it over where he found her, deeming it unimportant. Actually. She could care less. Where is he even taking her, anyway? She can't really look around that well. Hhh. She strains to speak, her voice a whisper of a croak; that is to say, it's hardly anything. It also probably doesn't help she's stuttering. Bad. "Wh- where...where am. Where. Where are you. T-taking. Me."

Bloodmoon hadn't minded the scars.

They were certainly of great concern, yes, but the bot could only hope that they were clean and left to heal naturally. An infection would be painful—something unpleasant that he wished upon no one. But he hadn't minded how they looked at all, not one bit.

To him, she was something like a... patient, almost. Not his patient—the idea scared him—but she was someone that should be cared for.

"...to the house. There are others," the red moon answered, his words short. Bloodmoon was not talkative, but he was trying. He simply looked ahead, only walking forward, while he did his best to limit the amount of blood that was smeared onto Loppy.

He could help her if it was physical. He knew what to do, from his time in Alaska. But... would the other animatronics let him in? Even with someone who was injured?

He said nothing else, continuing slowly out of the woods.

loppy-watches-over

A house. Others. Other animatronics? Loppy still doesn't put two and two together. Somehow, she doesn't recognise the trees around her. Maybe it's due to her vision being fucked with by the light. But she definitely recognises the scent. Something about it is familiar. Achingly familiar. Other animatronics. In a house. Familiar scent? She can't seem to fit the puzzle pieces together. Her mind is too addled. She's too far gone right now. "Others?" she rasps, curious. Her bell earrings jingle with each of Bloodmoon's steps. Her tail hangs limply, swinging like a pendulum in time with her antennae. Her arm shudders as she tries to lift it. Please, she mentally begs, let me scratch. They're so itchy...

"The others are like daycare attendants. Similar models."

Bloodmoon continued onward while the sky continued to grow darker from up above above. The sounds of his steps stayed in a consistent rhythm as he passed through the short and tall grasses alike. The sound around them still stayed awfully silent, with his footsteps, and the faintest sound of his fans whirring, being the only noises that could be heard.

His eyes flickered down as he felt the shift of Loppy's weight as she tried to lift her arm. His voice, while soft, was also firm as he quickly cut in with, "Do not scratch." He did not want to say that scratching could only lead to further damage. At least, not right now. The moon simply shifted his grip ever so slightly just to hold her closer to his chest, as if she were something fragile and precious. As if a small breeze could hurt her.

Perhaps, she simply was something to be cherished for him; after all, it had been far too long since he held something that was truly alive.

loppy-watches-over

She's curious about so many things, but oh-- Being curious takes so much energy. She would much rather just lie there in his arms, being soothed by the soothing motions of his steps. Maybe this is where she's going to die. Somewhere quiet and calm, in the arms of a gentle and kind soul. Then she pauses in her own thoughts. An immortal being, dying--ha! She would laugh if she could. And. How did he know her intentions? It's not like her arm lifted too far; it hardly even moved. She must seem desperate. Or pathetic. Either way, when he shifts her, she finds herself comfortable. And slightly facing his chest. His warm, humming chest. She's so tempted to drift off right there, but she wants to see these others that Kool-Aid up there is speaking of. " 's itchy. Ugly," she mumbles, voice cracking under the strain of just a couple of quiet words.

There is a faint rumble in Bloodmoon's throat, as if he were humming only a few notes, before it eased into silence once more.

"It isn't ugly," he murmured after a few beats of silence. "...You aren't ugly. Do not itch it. It will hurt." And the red moon says nothing more again. As the began to settle, something else alive finally disrupted it once more: a bird call that could be heard in the distance. A welcome sound in the midst of all of the hazy horrors that the butcher knew he had caused in his virus-afflicted state.

As much as he wished he could say he would never hurt someone else ever again, he couldn't ever promise it. He could only hope to heal more than he harmed.

The residence was beginning to appear in the distance. He must have gone far in his hunting spree, if it was only now that he was even getting a glimpse of the household. He wanted to call it home, and yet his very presence there, he knew, would cause a stir. Bloodmoon's fingers tightened ever so slightly at just the thought of being separated from this... being. Maybe. Maybe Sungrass could take care of her for him?

The moon wanted to ask how she got hurt. But it would be better for her to rest, at the very least. A bed where she could be comfortable would be beneficial. And for her to perhaps drink any sort of liquid, maybe a warm tea for a dry or sore throat. And food, and perhaps any required medication and—ah.

...it felt nice to want to take care of someone. He didn't want to hurt anyone ever again, despite everything. Despite the damage he caused.

loppy-watches-over

No, but. He doesn't understand. She was so much better-looking before Boss mangled her and left her like this. It doesn't help that she feels like every ounce of strength she's ever had was ripped out of her. It doesn't help that she argued with the inter-dimensional being just recently, and they-- "Sh-shit," she hisses, her head spiking with pain. It hurts to remember. She doesn't want to remember. In fact, if she had the strength, she would've ripped her memories out days ago. Left them in some...unseen dumpster somewhere before dragging herself through air currents and letting them spit her out in unknown locations. When his fingers tighten around her, she senses that something's bothering him. Maybe it's her empathy feebly flickering to life, maybe it's just common sense, but she strains to turn her head to look up at him. She can't see most of his face, and it bothers her a bit. "Are..are you. Are y-you okay-?" The familiar scent just gets stronger as he nears the house; she can smell the cosiness already. It's strange. She can feel the. The. Oh, what's the word? She doesn't know. She's straining too hard to find words in her own head. It's. All so. Exhausting... Her antennae flick once, twice, and she closes her eyes. She doesn't realise how much energy it took to keep them open until they're closed. She can't sleep, though, so she just lets Kool-Aid rock her with his steps. "S'mth'n's wrong wi' me," she mutters, barely understandable.

Bloodmoon paused momentarily as she hissed in pain, looking her over. He was well aware of her state—it was not one that could easily be ignored—but hadn't properly addressed it just yet. After all, doing so out in the open was less than ideal, and he would rather be comfortable before looking over.

He doesn't say anything, however. That will be discussed in due time. Instead, he started to walk once more.

The moon's fingers loosened at her question, as if he became much more aware of how tightly he had been holding onto her. What if his claws hurt her, left a scratch? What if he could hurt her again? A hint of fear seeped into his systems, though he didn't say anything at first.

"I will be," he states, as if it were a fact. Perhaps in due time. But, in truth, he was only answering as calmly as he could as not to stress her out any further. He can't imagine that it would be good for her to start worrying about someone like him and, if the others wanted him to stay out of the house, then he wouldn't be opposed. Well, as awful as that sounded.

The red moon hoped they would let him in before his battery ran low.

His steps continued to be measured, paced and still rhythmic. Despite the crunching of the grass, and the blowing of the wind, he hears her words. While she couldn't see it, he shook his head. "Nothing is wrong with you." His words faltered, before a quiet, "I promise" could be heard from him.

If there was something wrong with anyone, it would be him.

loppy-watches-over

"Can' ev'n op'n my eyes," she whimpers. Things are starting to blur together behind her eyelids; memories are becoming faint, and she can barely feel the hands holding her. What's wrong with her? What did Boss even do? Is she even immortal anymore? She stops breathing to check, and sure enough, she is. She doesn't have to breathe to stay alive, but it's realistic and helps her blend into organic life forms. So. She's still immortal, but she's so. Weak. And so close to just giving up. Succumbing to whatever the fuck this is. She starts breathing again, but it's laboured. What the fuck. It's like she's dying, but she literally cannot die. What is happening. The heavy presence touches her mind again, and she cries out, somehow finding the strength for her arms to fly to her head. Her skull feels like imploding as Boss's voice rings out. This is how it feels to disobey me, you ungrateful little bitch, they growl in her mind. She doesn't even notice that she's crying out and writhing, repeating "no, no, no, please, stop, go away, get out of my head" over and over. Maybe a millennia like this will teach you your lesson. Weak. Vulnerable. Scarred. Learn your place. Loppy sobs with relief as the crushing feeling leaves her mind, and she slumps, nearly motionless, in Bloodmoon's arms. Her own limbs dangle limply, swinging like her tail.

He slowed his walking as he heard her whimpering, and a sense of panic began to arise. Apraxia? That was the initial thought at least. Had she hit her head before? Perhaps there was something—would he need to address this now? Bloodmoon looked around, before moving close to a tree for now and, ever so gently, began to sit down against it with the rabbit in his lap.

And that's when he noticed that she wasn't breathing.

The moon's hands tightened around her again before quickly releasing this time, and he carefully began maneuvering her, only to find that she was breathing again moments, or perhaps minutes, later. What had just—?

He is certainly fast enough to react when her arms fly to her head, pulling her close to his body, and all he can do is watch in abject horror while worrying about her. And the way she starts writhing and crying is all the more heartbreaking to hear and listen to. He doesn't hold her close, simply providing a place that allowed her to be comfortable all the while. A tight grip would only cause more violent writhing, which would not be good.

And the sudden slump in his arms surprises him. He quickly handled her so that her position would not hurt her back as she dangled. He doesn't even want to ask about what happened, but. He was terrified for her, at the very least.

All he could do was pet her head again in an attempt to soothe her.

loppy-watches-over

She opens her eyes again, her invisible pupils trained weakly on Bloodmoon. Everything's hazy. He's a blur to her. She vaguely felt herself being gently manhandled (what an ironic statement), but. She just. "Sorry," she croaks, louder than anything else she's said. But that's all she figures to say. Her jaw hurts. Her eyes hurt. Hell, her fur hurts. It's all so surreal. Maybe this is just a dream. The nausea brings her up out of those thoughts immediately, though, and she gurgles back in her throat as bile rises, and since she's on her back, all she can do is swallow and grimace. She can't wait to get her hands on that fucking deity. She can't wait to tear it apart. And then she realises she said that out loud. She pauses.

The moon shook his head. “Do not apologize,” he murmured softly, still stroking her head in an attempt to provide a temporary solace. His claws grazed against her fur, rubbing circles with the flat part of his fingers.

He watched her grimace and seemed more than ready to help her if she needed to heave. Bloodmoon carefully shifted her to sit upright.

And… what was that about deities? He’s not all too surprised—he’s tended to more religious patients, somewhere in his fragmented memory—but this rabbit speaks as if she knows one personally. It’s only now that he realized that he had a creature in his lap that could talk. One that was injured in a multitude of ways, and scarred in unnatural ways.

He… hadn’t questioned that, being more focused on getting her to the household to help in her.

Hm. The moon wasn’t going to question that now. It was clear that her throat was still damaged in one way or another, and forcing her to talk would only strain to it.

Bloodmoon simply held her.

loppy-watches-over

Sitting upright has everything rush up to leave her stomach, and she doubles over, avoiding getting her stomach acid all over Bloodmoon. She feels gross as fluids drip from her mouth and tears force themselves from her eyes. Ouh, gods. She can tell she's worrying him in some manner. She doesn't understand why; she's just something he picked up. And. The only reason she's still up is because he's holding her. She's still limp. Other than her movement to vomit, she's..just..still. And maybe she just doesn't have the energy to breathe. But she's. Somehow. Still functioning? "Wan' die," she mutters. "Can' die. Wan' to. Can't." Her antennae perk weakly, shuddering and straining to stay up, but she gets. A feeling. Some sort of...really familiar feeling. She has to ask. "Where. Exactly. A-am I. Who's in th' house you're talkin'bout." She's so close to crashing again.

Bloodmoon wasn't bothered at all as the rabbit-like being doubled over, gently pulling back her floppy ears so that none of her stomach acid got on them. He doesn't even mind as he unraveled his scarf and turned her around to wipe her tears and mouth with the soft fabric. He could always get another scarf, and he had more of the same red ones just because he liked the color.

"No dying," he chastised her softly as he pulled his scarf back and pocketed it. One of the ends were still spilling out of his jacket's pockets—they weren't deep, after all—but he didn't mind it at all. At the very least, he was going to take the immortal's word that she couldn't die. If she was, well, telling the truth. He could certainly feel that she wasn't breathing anymore, and his scarlet optics flickered across the rabbit's form.

The red moon could see the way her antennae was shuddering and straining, and he carefully maneuvered her back down so that he could pick her up in a bridal carry later. At her question, he stiffened. "...We are in Bremerton, Washington. It is 2062. The others..." he trailed off. As if he was reluctant to say.

"There are... two suns, an eclipse, and another moon."

A hint of shame laced his words. As if he did something irreversible. Loppy didn't know.

loppy-watches-over

She's thankful that he's not...freaking out or anything at her immortality. Most others do. Well. Most others, except Sundowner. Her mind scrambles at the thought of the ex-bartender. She knows she can't face him again. Not while she looks like this. Not while she's so...weak. And. Horrible. When Bloodmoon lies her back down, she thanks him quietly and stares up at the sky. Her eyes, unbiddingly, well with tears and spill over, wetting her fur. Oh, gods. She's so pathetic. And. Bremerton, Washington, hm? Interesting base of operations. She can hear the shame in his voice, but doesn't prod. She has her own issues to deal with. "Sounds like a full house," she hums.

"It is," he agrees. And that is that.

The red moon carefully picked Loppy back up into a bridal carry—not that it was difficult at all, she was light to him—and began making his was back to the house. A rather big house, but befitting of five bots. More could certainly fit in there if someone tried. The house itself seems welcoming, but also feels as if it were waiting. Waiting for Bloodmoon's return.

He crossed the distance easily, walking forward without tripping or a misstep. It is easy for him to return, like all the other times he had done so before. He would go to through the backdoor, come in quietly, and make himself scarce. At least, that was how he had always done so before. It worked for everyone.

But, now with someone else in his hands, he needed to let the others know. They needed to be aware.

Bloodmoon shifted one of his hands to rap against the door. To make himself known. His claws, while they do not scratch, make enough noise—somewhat similar to a knock. The members of the house will know who it is.

They always do.

As if on cue, the door creaks open. It is a slow, careful action, as if the bot behind the door was anticipating the worst by his arrival. And there he is—Sundowner, with his ever grinning faceplate, and red optics with white pupils boring into the moon. The sun said nothing first, simply staring at Bloodmoon with something akin to malice, before flicking downward to Loppy.

Recognition is in those eyes. It is knowing. A sense of horror as his hand dropped from the doorknob.

"Give Lophren to me and leave," the sun states firmly. While he had never been expressive before, and certainly not to the immortal, his disdain has never been clearer. Vitriol laces his every word like venom as he reaches his stiff hands out. Like Bloodmoon will just pass the rabbit in his arms over in a resigned, accepting manner.

Sundowner knows who he's holding. That is the first thing that comes to the red moon's attention. And the second, of course, is the command to leave. One that he would obey to keep the peace of the house, if not for the injured immortal in his arms.

loppy-watches-over

As soon as the door opens, she's suddenly painfully alert. She can feel the presence, and her eyes snap to the doorway as best as possible. Oh gods. She would recognise that colour palette anywhere—those rays. The eyes. They may be blurry in her vision, but she's hyper-aware and can't move a fucking muscle. It's him. The one she's both longed to see and tried to avoid. No, no, no, no! He can't see her like this! His voice brings an involuntary shudder from her body, which, in turn, forces a whimper up through her throat. Fucking ow. But. No? Bloodmoon shouldn't have to leave? After all, he is the one who picked her up from her miserable spot in the grass-- "No," she struggles to say, defending Bloodmoon. "He. H-he helped. Me. Saved me, e-even. Was. Lying. In the g-grass. Hurt. He helped. 'M okay." Tears are still streaming from her eyes, but now they have reason. Look at her. So weak and pathetic. Hanging from a moon model's arms like fresh kill and marked up by an unknown force so much that she's marred. So fucking ugly. In the presence of pure radiance, all she can do is cry and hang there limply, scarred and smelling like a barnyard. Ugh.

Sundowner's faceplate tilted down at her whimper, though the disdain in his eyes hadn't left. It had softened, at least momentarily, until she spoke. He stiffened in fear—just the idea of Bloodmoon hurting Lophren, until.

No. No. What she's saying... isn't true. It can't be. Not after—

The ex-bartender's optics flick back up to Bloodmoon, harsher now. "What did you do." His voice is disbelieving, and a quiet anger seems to be bubbling in his tone. His hands are reaching forth, as if he was going to and pull the rabbit out of the red moon's arms, but the ex-butcher steps back with wide eyes. Sundowner's hands hang in the air, fingers poised. Long, not unlike talons. His body is rigid, before his hands fall. Distaste fills his mouth.

"Lophren...? Is correct," Bloodmoon rasps. His eyes are looking elsewhere, shame still present in his form. The hood of his jacket covers his face, though, without his scarf, his sharp teeth were on display. Such a sight keeps the sun tense. Waiting for something to go wrong, like with what happened with Sungrass.

Not that Bloodmoon knew. Of course, he wouldn't. Not with the virus in his system puppetting his body.

The moon shrunk on himself. "I found her. I... I will not harm her."

"You cannot promise that," the sun cuts in, all but a hiss. "You have not seen what you have done to Sungrass. How you mangled his body. You, you. You are a danger."

Sundowner's voice becomes unsettlingly calm. Bloodmoon's hands do not tremble, though his worlds seemingly becomes unstable.

"Give her to me. Then? Get. Out."

The fury and fear in his voice is prominent enough that his voice box crackled ever so slightly. His faceplate was utterly still, his expression blank. If Bloodmoon did not give Lophren to him, then he will take her away from him—the danger. He cannot have what happened with Moonshine happen here, he had been lenient far too long with Bloodmoon. Someone who needed to be gone. Rid of. Or to be kept on a tight leash. Like a dog. To even think that Sundowner ever thought highly of the moon at all was sickening.

The moon stumbled back, holding the immortal. Afraid.

loppy-watches-over

She just. Listens to the interaction, watching Sundowner with an exhausted expression. She's too tired to intervene, although feeling Bloodmoon shrink in on himself hurts her heart. If she's. Capable. Of feeling. Her chest does flutter at the fact that Sundowner is reaching for her like she's precious, but. His attitude toward the animatronic that rescued her from being eaten by some predator. She. She doesn't like it. In fact, it kind of makes her upset. Bloodmoon didn't do anything to her; just because he might've done something to someone else... And then Bloodmoon stumbles backwards with Sundowner's calmly yet enraged burst, and she just. She snaps. Her voice is sharp as it leaves her already-torn throat, and maybe it cracks a little as she speaks at the top of her lungs (which still isn't very loud), "Sundowner. Stop. He didn't--" she coughs, groaning and trying to lift her head. "He d-didn't do this to me. He f--" she pauses, remembering his dislike for strong language. "He freaking picked. Picked m-me up from the grass. Where I was g-going to rot. Or get eaten. I'm not w-well. He helped. This. Th-this is..." She winces, her head spiking again as memories bounce around in her head like thrown golf balls. She whispers the rest, her voice worn. "It was Boss. Just let him in."

There is a pause as the sun stiffened; he hadn't expected her to snap in her state. Sundowner's hands fall, his eyes trained on the immortal. Something bitter remained on his tongue, and he almost wanted to spit venom. But it is Lophren, and he had no intention in upsetting the rabbit any further.

"So be it." With those words, one could imagine that he was challenging Lophren's words. But, instead, he stepped aside. His displeasure still made itself known, but he rested his hand on the doorknob and gripped it tightly instead. His optics had trailed back to Bloodmoon, his eyes meeting the moon's. Not an ounce of remorse for the sun's rude behavior could be seen, even with his face being static. Bloodmoon could only be sorry for his violence, and Sundowner had no intention of accepting him at all.

A few moments passed. The moon's head simply hung low as he carried Lophren into the house. The household is warm and pleasant, with decorations from a few different bots—dream catchers, baskets and rattan blankets, and grandfather clocks—all could be seen in various areas. There were a few living flowers here and there, but were not as well taken care of as they usually were.

And what was the most unusual, was the amount of empty rooms.

Bloodmoon hadn't minded it one bit, simply going to one of the rooms on the bottom floor. One that wasn't lived in, but still a nice space. He easily carried the rabbit to bed, placing her limp form there and ... hesitantly lingering. He needed to take care of her, yes, he certainly wanted to, but he would have to face the other bots. If she needed something that was easy to swallow and not upset her stomach, he would have to ask Apricot or Daydream. New sets of laundry, and a bin—it was all, well, what he could do himself, yes, but were more of the maid's tasks.

"You'll be okay," he said ever so softly before falling quiet, just stroking the immortal's head for now. That could wait.

loppy-watches-over

The displeasure in Sundowner's voice has her internally wincing. She. She doesn't want him to be upset with her. She really doesn't. She adores the ex-bartender, probably far more than he'll ever know. It hurts to feel the refrained venom. She's close to full-on sobbing, never mind the tears already streaming. But the house. It captures her attention. It's so pretty! Maybe not pretty enough to drag her from her deep wells of dispair and self-deprication going on in her head--you're a fucking failure, Lophren; can never do anything right, always have to butt into every thing and this is why you're so fucking weak--but it's pretty enough to notice. And maybe she does notice the extra rooms, and just chooses not to comment on them. In part because her voice...is failing her. ... When Bloodmoon lies her down, she can't help the whimper that escapes. Is he just going to leave her here? She knows she'll be fine, but. Something about being left alone. It scares her. His hand is soothing as it strokes her head, though, although she does wish he'd use those claws of his to scratch at those ugly scars. Gods, they itch. She wants to tear into her flesh. Get rifd of them. Graphic? Maybe.

#bloodmoon wyw #sundowner wyw #loppybunny #roleplay interaction #sobs #not loppy and boss being like.#my two mental sides

She's hideous. She's mentally exhausted. She's nauseous. Is it even possible for an immortal being to be sick? She doesn't care. Actually...where the fuck even is she? She can't bring herself to raise her head. Move a muscle. The scent in the air is familiar. Like. Machines. But... She can't even. She's so weak. What's wrong with her? Everything's so bright. Oh, yeah. Her protective skull's been knocked off by the force of air travel. She lies in the grass, not even caring who stumbles across her. Something went wrong around here. She can feel it. But. Her scars itch. The ugly fucking things they are complain against the innocent breeze. She's so done. She's so tired. Someone, please find me.

@loppy-watches-over

The day has begun to fall, the sun slowly going down in the distance. It was strangely silent, as if all life had went into hiding—or had been purged. The only noise that broke this unsettling quiet was the faint sound of grass crunching underfoot. The stench of death drew closer, a strong coppery scent that couldn't be missed that could only mean trouble.

A red moon model had come to a stop a few feet away, looming over the rabbit. The bot's red eyes—ones that were thankfully not pinpricks or with entirely red sclera—looked over Loppy. Dried blood was on the animatronic; a dark, reddish-brown that blended in with his pants, and less so his apron and jacket.

Splotches of red were present. A more recent killing done by his hands.

Bloodmoon approached the rabbit, slowly crouching down to her level—like one would an animal that easily startled. A bloodied hand reached towards the immortal, stroking the top of her head. A living creature that he refused to kill, now that his mind was his again.

"Poor thing..." he rasped. The moon assumed it was dead. After all, what hadn't he killed?

loppy-watches-over

Her prayers are answered by the sound of the grass shifting. Deep in the recesses of her brain, she's grateful. Relieved. But outwardly, she still hardly moves. Her chest rises and falls with a sigh, and her nose twitches with the strong scent of blood as the hand draws nearer. She can see the shadow. She can tell it's some form of...DCA? Maybe? She's unsure. She still can't lift her head. And then she feels his hand—the hand, so carefully, petting her head. And then she hears his voice. She can't help the involuntary shudder that courses through her. Is this where she's going to die? She doesn't respond, but it can be assumed by now that she's alive by the minuscule movements that she's made.

It registered rather quickly for Bloodmoon that this was something alive—the sigh had made that rather clear. The animatronic's hand stilled atop of the rabbit's head, before pulling back like a human hand that had been burned. Quick and alarmed.

With that in mind, the moon carefully scooped Loppy up. He used one of his arms to wrap around her back, while he used the other and placed it behind her knees. This was not one of his usual carries—he would normally do a pack-strap carry to at least practice that, as it was the usual way to carry someone that was injured. However, he didn't think much of it now as he lifted her as he stood up, holding the immortal close to his body.

He didn't say much else. Bloodmoon's hood covered parts of his face; something he was rather grateful for, because he knew he would be ashamed of what he had done. His memory from hours and days prior were rather blank—he knew he had one of those episodes he couldn't control—but it was still awful. What had he done?

Bloodmoon started the trek back to the household without a word.

loppy-watches-over

Oh. She's being picked up now. She can't even muster the strength to protest as the...DCA--she was correct--lifts her from the ground in a bridal style. Her eyes, blank and white, stare tiredly up at the animatronic and her scars. Ugh, her scars itch. She hates it. And they're so ugly. She realises, for the second time, that her rabbit skull isn't on her face. The red Kool-Aid flavoured Moon probably left it over where he found her, deeming it unimportant. Actually. She could care less. Where is he even taking her, anyway? She can't really look around that well. Hhh. She strains to speak, her voice a whisper of a croak; that is to say, it's hardly anything. It also probably doesn't help she's stuttering. Bad. "Wh- where...where am. Where. Where are you. T-taking. Me."

Bloodmoon hadn't minded the scars.

They were certainly of great concern, yes, but the bot could only hope that they were clean and left to heal naturally. An infection would be painful—something unpleasant that he wished upon no one. But he hadn't minded how they looked at all, not one bit.

To him, she was something like a... patient, almost. Not his patient—the idea scared him—but she was someone that should be cared for.

"...to the house. There are others," the red moon answered, his words short. Bloodmoon was not talkative, but he was trying. He simply looked ahead, only walking forward, while he did his best to limit the amount of blood that was smeared onto Loppy.

He could help her if it was physical. He knew what to do, from his time in Alaska. But... would the other animatronics let him in? Even with someone who was injured?

He said nothing else, continuing slowly out of the woods.

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A house. Others. Other animatronics? Loppy still doesn't put two and two together. Somehow, she doesn't recognise the trees around her. Maybe it's due to her vision being fucked with by the light. But she definitely recognises the scent. Something about it is familiar. Achingly familiar. Other animatronics. In a house. Familiar scent? She can't seem to fit the puzzle pieces together. Her mind is too addled. She's too far gone right now. "Others?" she rasps, curious. Her bell earrings jingle with each of Bloodmoon's steps. Her tail hangs limply, swinging like a pendulum in time with her antennae. Her arm shudders as she tries to lift it. Please, she mentally begs, let me scratch. They're so itchy...

"The others are like daycare attendants. Similar models."

Bloodmoon continued onward while the sky continued to grow darker from up above above. The sounds of his steps stayed in a consistent rhythm as he passed through the short and tall grasses alike. The sound around them still stayed awfully silent, with his footsteps, and the faintest sound of his fans whirring, being the only noises that could be heard.

His eyes flickered down as he felt the shift of Loppy's weight as she tried to lift her arm. His voice, while soft, was also firm as he quickly cut in with, "Do not scratch." He did not want to say that scratching could only lead to further damage. At least, not right now. The moon simply shifted his grip ever so slightly just to hold her closer to his chest, as if she were something fragile and precious. As if a small breeze could hurt her.

Perhaps, she simply was something to be cherished for him; after all, it had been far too long since he held something that was truly alive.

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She's curious about so many things, but oh-- Being curious takes so much energy. She would much rather just lie there in his arms, being soothed by the soothing motions of his steps. Maybe this is where she's going to die. Somewhere quiet and calm, in the arms of a gentle and kind soul. Then she pauses in her own thoughts. An immortal being, dying--ha! She would laugh if she could. And. How did he know her intentions? It's not like her arm lifted too far; it hardly even moved. She must seem desperate. Or pathetic. Either way, when he shifts her, she finds herself comfortable. And slightly facing his chest. His warm, humming chest. She's so tempted to drift off right there, but she wants to see these others that Kool-Aid up there is speaking of. " 's itchy. Ugly," she mumbles, voice cracking under the strain of just a couple of quiet words.

There is a faint rumble in Bloodmoon's throat, as if he were humming only a few notes, before it eased into silence once more.

"It isn't ugly," he murmured after a few beats of silence. "...You aren't ugly. Do not itch it. It will hurt." And the red moon says nothing more again. As the began to settle, something else alive finally disrupted it once more: a bird call that could be heard in the distance. A welcome sound in the midst of all of the hazy horrors that the butcher knew he had caused in his virus-afflicted state.

As much as he wished he could say he would never hurt someone else ever again, he couldn't ever promise it. He could only hope to heal more than he harmed.

The residence was beginning to appear in the distance. He must have gone far in his hunting spree, if it was only now that he was even getting a glimpse of the household. He wanted to call it home, and yet his very presence there, he knew, would cause a stir. Bloodmoon's fingers tightened ever so slightly at just the thought of being separated from this... being. Maybe. Maybe Sungrass could take care of her for him?

The moon wanted to ask how she got hurt. But it would be better for her to rest, at the very least. A bed where she could be comfortable would be beneficial. And for her to perhaps drink any sort of liquid, maybe a warm tea for a dry or sore throat. And food, and perhaps any required medication and—ah.

...it felt nice to want to take care of someone. He didn't want to hurt anyone ever again, despite everything. Despite the damage he caused.

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No, but. He doesn't understand. She was so much better-looking before Boss mangled her and left her like this. It doesn't help that she feels like every ounce of strength she's ever had was ripped out of her. It doesn't help that she argued with the inter-dimensional being just recently, and they-- "Sh-shit," she hisses, her head spiking with pain. It hurts to remember. She doesn't want to remember. In fact, if she had the strength, she would've ripped her memories out days ago. Left them in some...unseen dumpster somewhere before dragging herself through air currents and letting them spit her out in unknown locations. When his fingers tighten around her, she senses that something's bothering him. Maybe it's her empathy feebly flickering to life, maybe it's just common sense, but she strains to turn her head to look up at him. She can't see most of his face, and it bothers her a bit. "Are..are you. Are y-you okay-?" The familiar scent just gets stronger as he nears the house; she can smell the cosiness already. It's strange. She can feel the. The. Oh, what's the word? She doesn't know. She's straining too hard to find words in her own head. It's. All so. Exhausting... Her antennae flick once, twice, and she closes her eyes. She doesn't realise how much energy it took to keep them open until they're closed. She can't sleep, though, so she just lets Kool-Aid rock her with his steps. "S'mth'n's wrong wi' me," she mutters, barely understandable.

Bloodmoon paused momentarily as she hissed in pain, looking her over. He was well aware of her state—it was not one that could easily be ignored—but hadn't properly addressed it just yet. After all, doing so out in the open was less than ideal, and he would rather be comfortable before looking over.

He doesn't say anything, however. That will be discussed in due time. Instead, he started to walk once more.

The moon's fingers loosened at her question, as if he became much more aware of how tightly he had been holding onto her. What if his claws hurt her, left a scratch? What if he could hurt her again? A hint of fear seeped into his systems, though he didn't say anything at first.

"I will be," he states, as if it were a fact. Perhaps in due time. But, in truth, he was only answering as calmly as he could as not to stress her out any further. He can't imagine that it would be good for her to start worrying about someone like him and, if the others wanted him to stay out of the house, then he wouldn't be opposed. Well, as awful as that sounded.

The red moon hoped they would let him in before his battery ran low.

His steps continued to be measured, paced and still rhythmic. Despite the crunching of the grass, and the blowing of the wind, he hears her words. While she couldn't see it, he shook his head. "Nothing is wrong with you." His words faltered, before a quiet, "I promise" could be heard from him.

If there was something wrong with anyone, it would be him.

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"Can' ev'n op'n my eyes," she whimpers. Things are starting to blur together behind her eyelids; memories are becoming faint, and she can barely feel the hands holding her. What's wrong with her? What did Boss even do? Is she even immortal anymore? She stops breathing to check, and sure enough, she is. She doesn't have to breathe to stay alive, but it's realistic and helps her blend into organic life forms. So. She's still immortal, but she's so. Weak. And so close to just giving up. Succumbing to whatever the fuck this is. She starts breathing again, but it's laboured. What the fuck. It's like she's dying, but she literally cannot die. What is happening. The heavy presence touches her mind again, and she cries out, somehow finding the strength for her arms to fly to her head. Her skull feels like imploding as Boss's voice rings out. This is how it feels to disobey me, you ungrateful little bitch, they growl in her mind. She doesn't even notice that she's crying out and writhing, repeating "no, no, no, please, stop, go away, get out of my head" over and over. Maybe a millennia like this will teach you your lesson. Weak. Vulnerable. Scarred. Learn your place. Loppy sobs with relief as the crushing feeling leaves her mind, and she slumps, nearly motionless, in Bloodmoon's arms. Her own limbs dangle limply, swinging like her tail.

He slowed his walking as he heard her whimpering, and a sense of panic began to arise. Apraxia? That was the initial thought at least. Had she hit her head before? Perhaps there was something—would he need to address this now? Bloodmoon looked around, before moving close to a tree for now and, ever so gently, began to sit down against it with the rabbit in his lap.

And that's when he noticed that she wasn't breathing.

The moon's hands tightened around her again before quickly releasing this time, and he carefully began maneuvering her, only to find that she was breathing again moments, or perhaps minutes, later. What had just—?

He is certainly fast enough to react when her arms fly to her head, pulling her close to his body, and all he can do is watch in abject horror while worrying about her. And the way she starts writhing and crying is all the more heartbreaking to hear and listen to. He doesn't hold her close, simply providing a place that allowed her to be comfortable all the while. A tight grip would only cause more violent writhing, which would not be good.

And the sudden slump in his arms surprises him. He quickly handled her so that her position would not hurt her back as she dangled. He doesn't even want to ask about what happened, but. He was terrified for her, at the very least.

All he could do was pet her head again in an attempt to soothe her.

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She opens her eyes again, her invisible pupils trained weakly on Bloodmoon. Everything's hazy. He's a blur to her. She vaguely felt herself being gently manhandled (what an ironic statement), but. She just. "Sorry," she croaks, louder than anything else she's said. But that's all she figures to say. Her jaw hurts. Her eyes hurt. Hell, her fur hurts. It's all so surreal. Maybe this is just a dream. The nausea brings her up out of those thoughts immediately, though, and she gurgles back in her throat as bile rises, and since she's on her back, all she can do is swallow and grimace. She can't wait to get her hands on that fucking deity. She can't wait to tear it apart. And then she realises she said that out loud. She pauses.

The moon shook his head. “Do not apologize,” he murmured softly, still stroking her head in an attempt to provide a temporary solace. His claws grazed against her fur, rubbing circles with the flat part of his fingers.

He watched her grimace and seemed more than ready to help her if she needed to heave. Bloodmoon carefully shifted her to sit upright.

And… what was that about deities? He’s not all too surprised—he’s tended to more religious patients, somewhere in his fragmented memory—but this rabbit speaks as if she knows one personally. It’s only now that he realized that he had a creature in his lap that could talk. One that was injured in a multitude of ways, and scarred in unnatural ways.

He… hadn’t questioned that, being more focused on getting her to the household to help in her.

Hm. The moon wasn’t going to question that now. It was clear that her throat was still damaged in one way or another, and forcing her to talk would only strain to it.

Bloodmoon simply held her.

loppy-watches-over

Sitting upright has everything rush up to leave her stomach, and she doubles over, avoiding getting her stomach acid all over Bloodmoon. She feels gross as fluids drip from her mouth and tears force themselves from her eyes. Ouh, gods. She can tell she's worrying him in some manner. She doesn't understand why; she's just something he picked up. And. The only reason she's still up is because he's holding her. She's still limp. Other than her movement to vomit, she's..just..still. And maybe she just doesn't have the energy to breathe. But she's. Somehow. Still functioning? "Wan' die," she mutters. "Can' die. Wan' to. Can't." Her antennae perk weakly, shuddering and straining to stay up, but she gets. A feeling. Some sort of...really familiar feeling. She has to ask. "Where. Exactly. A-am I. Who's in th' house you're talkin'bout." She's so close to crashing again.

Bloodmoon wasn't bothered at all as the rabbit-like being doubled over, gently pulling back her floppy ears so that none of her stomach acid got on them. He doesn't even mind as he unraveled his scarf and turned her around to wipe her tears and mouth with the soft fabric. He could always get another scarf, and he had more of the same red ones just because he liked the color.

"No dying," he chastised her softly as he pulled his scarf back and pocketed it. One of the ends were still spilling out of his jacket's pockets—they weren't deep, after all—but he didn't mind it at all. At the very least, he was going to take the immortal's word that she couldn't die. If she was, well, telling the truth. He could certainly feel that she wasn't breathing anymore, and his scarlet optics flickered across the rabbit's form.

The red moon could see the way her antennae was shuddering and straining, and he carefully maneuvered her back down so that he could pick her up in a bridal carry later. At her question, he stiffened. "...We are in Bremerton, Washington. It is 2062. The others..." he trailed off. As if he was reluctant to say.

"There are... two suns, an eclipse, and another moon."

A hint of shame laced his words. As if he did something irreversible. Loppy didn't know.

loppy-watches-over

She's thankful that he's not...freaking out or anything at her immortality. Most others do. Well. Most others, except Sundowner. Her mind scrambles at the thought of the ex-bartender. She knows she can't face him again. Not while she looks like this. Not while she's so...weak. And. Horrible. When Bloodmoon lies her back down, she thanks him quietly and stares up at the sky. Her eyes, unbiddingly, well with tears and spill over, wetting her fur. Oh, gods. She's so pathetic. And. Bremerton, Washington, hm? Interesting base of operations. She can hear the shame in his voice, but doesn't prod. She has her own issues to deal with. "Sounds like a full house," she hums.

"It is," he agrees. And that is that.

The red moon carefully picked Loppy back up into a bridal carry—not that it was difficult at all, she was light to him—and began making his was back to the house. A rather big house, but befitting of five bots. More could certainly fit in there if someone tried. The house itself seems welcoming, but also feels as if it were waiting. Waiting for Bloodmoon's return.

He crossed the distance easily, walking forward without tripping or a misstep. It is easy for him to return, like all the other times he had done so before. He would go to through the backdoor, come in quietly, and make himself scarce. At least, that was how he had always done so before. It worked for everyone.

But, now with someone else in his hands, he needed to let the others know. They needed to be aware.

Bloodmoon shifted one of his hands to rap against the door. To make himself known. His claws, while they do not scratch, make enough noise—somewhat similar to a knock. The members of the house will know who it is.

They always do.

As if on cue, the door creaks open. It is a slow, careful action, as if the bot behind the door was anticipating the worst by his arrival. And there he is—Sundowner, with his ever grinning faceplate, and red optics with white pupils boring into the moon. The sun said nothing first, simply staring at Bloodmoon with something akin to malice, before flicking downward to Loppy.

Recognition is in those eyes. It is knowing. A sense of horror as his hand dropped from the doorknob.

"Give Lophren to me and leave," the sun states firmly. While he had never been expressive before, and certainly not to the immortal, his disdain has never been clearer. Vitriol laces his every word like venom as he reaches his stiff hands out. Like Bloodmoon will just pass the rabbit in his arms over in a resigned, accepting manner.

Sundowner knows who he's holding. That is the first thing that comes to the red moon's attention. And the second, of course, is the command to leave. One that he would obey to keep the peace of the house, if not for the injured immortal in his arms.

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As soon as the door opens, she's suddenly painfully alert. She can feel the presence, and her eyes snap to the doorway as best as possible. Oh gods. She would recognise that colour palette anywhere—those rays. The eyes. They may be blurry in her vision, but she's hyper-aware and can't move a fucking muscle. It's him. The one she's both longed to see and tried to avoid. No, no, no, no! He can't see her like this! His voice brings an involuntary shudder from her body, which, in turn, forces a whimper up through her throat. Fucking ow. But. No? Bloodmoon shouldn't have to leave? After all, he is the one who picked her up from her miserable spot in the grass-- "No," she struggles to say, defending Bloodmoon. "He. H-he helped. Me. Saved me, e-even. Was. Lying. In the g-grass. Hurt. He helped. 'M okay." Tears are still streaming from her eyes, but now they have reason. Look at her. So weak and pathetic. Hanging from a moon model's arms like fresh kill and marked up by an unknown force so much that she's marred. So fucking ugly. In the presence of pure radiance, all she can do is cry and hang there limply, scarred and smelling like a barnyard. Ugh.

Sundowner's faceplate tilted down at her whimper, though the disdain in his eyes hadn't left. It had softened, at least momentarily, until she spoke. He stiffened in fear—just the idea of Bloodmoon hurting Lophren, until.

No. No. What she's saying... isn't true. It can't be. Not after—

The ex-bartender's optics flick back up to Bloodmoon, harsher now. "What did you do." His voice is disbelieving, and a quiet anger seems to be bubbling in his tone. His hands are reaching forth, as if he was going to and pull the rabbit out of the red moon's arms, but the ex-butcher steps back with wide eyes. Sundowner's hands hang in the air, fingers poised. Long, not unlike talons. His body is rigid, before his hands fall. Distaste fills his mouth.

"Lophren...? Is correct," Bloodmoon rasps. His eyes are looking elsewhere, shame still present in his form. The hood of his jacket covers his face, though, without his scarf, his sharp teeth were on display. Such a sight keeps the sun tense. Waiting for something to go wrong, like with what happened with Sungrass.

Not that Bloodmoon knew. Of course, he wouldn't. Not with the virus in his system puppetting his body.

The moon shrunk on himself. "I found her. I... I will not harm her."

"You cannot promise that," the sun cuts in, all but a hiss. "You have not seen what you have done to Sungrass. How you mangled his body. You, you. You are a danger."

Sundowner's voice becomes unsettlingly calm. Bloodmoon's hands do not tremble, though his worlds seemingly becomes unstable.

"Give her to me. Then? Get. Out."

The fury and fear in his voice is prominent enough that his voice box crackled ever so slightly. His faceplate was utterly still, his expression blank. If Bloodmoon did not give Lophren to him, then he will take her away from him—the danger. He cannot have what happened with Moonshine happen here, he had been lenient far too long with Bloodmoon. Someone who needed to be gone. Rid of. Or to be kept on a tight leash. Like a dog. To even think that Sundowner ever thought highly of the moon at all was sickening.

The moon stumbled back, holding the immortal. Afraid.

loppy-watches-over

She just. Listens to the interaction, watching Sundowner with an exhausted expression. She's too tired to intervene, although feeling Bloodmoon shrink in on himself hurts her heart. If she's. Capable. Of feeling. Her chest does flutter at the fact that Sundowner is reaching for her like she's precious, but. His attitude toward the animatronic that rescued her from being eaten by some predator. She. She doesn't like it. In fact, it kind of makes her upset. Bloodmoon didn't do anything to her; just because he might've done something to someone else... And then Bloodmoon stumbles backwards with Sundowner's calmly yet enraged burst, and she just. She snaps. Her voice is sharp as it leaves her already-torn throat, and maybe it cracks a little as she speaks at the top of her lungs (which still isn't very loud), "Sundowner. Stop. He didn't--" she coughs, groaning and trying to lift her head. "He d-didn't do this to me. He f--" she pauses, remembering his dislike for strong language. "He freaking picked. Picked m-me up from the grass. Where I was g-going to rot. Or get eaten. I'm not w-well. He helped. This. Th-this is..." She winces, her head spiking again as memories bounce around in her head like thrown golf balls. She whispers the rest, her voice worn. "It was Boss. Just let him in."

#bloodmoon wyw #sundowner wyw #loppybunny #roleplay interaction #she said “s t o p. pls. bro my head hurts just fuckin let him in.”

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