@hngmn7div This might answer your question about whether Steele owns any plants…
Steele was sure he hadn’t misheard this time.
Lowering his head and slowing his steps, he pushed through the bathroom door, instinctively grabbing the shotgun by his commode. Helpful moss softened the sound of his steps, though it hurt him physically to have to harm it with his weight. He’d never dare usually, but this was an exception.
Once Steele turned the corner to the kitchen, he didn’t see anything at first.
Whipping his head to the side, he was met with the sight of a pair of clothed legs, and a pair of shoes tapping on his kitchen counter.
Someone was standing on his kitchen counter.
With a click, he’d aimed the barrel up, right at the intruders head. But the stranger only continued to nod emphatically at their surroundings, idly taking it all in with both hands on their hips.
The leaves creeping up the drainpipe of the kitchen sink. The tendrils of ivy seemingly exploring the different kitchen cabinets. Moss filling the spaces where floor tiles had seemingly once shattered.
They whistled appreciatively.
The stranger spun on their heel, still elevated by the kitchen counter, although their face finally came into view. And Steele had in no way anticipated the bright eyed individual who was looking around his apartment with what he believed was curiosity.
Their voice was laced with amusement, but also genuine interest at the rush of new information flooding their eyesight.
Steele tightened his grip on the gun, preparing to scare the shameless home-invader away with a powerful shout.
Had his voice always been this quiet?
The home-invaders eyes flicked down towards him for the first time. To the barrel, to his hand near the trigger, to him again. Not uninterested, but unconcerned.
Again, his voice barely sounded like a hoarse murmur, and Steele almost coughed in the process. He brought the back of his hand towards his mouth, awkwardly clearing his throat. His face scrunched up at the sheer discomfort of sound passing through his throat.
“…for someone who hasn’t talked in years you sure are talkative.”
With a deliberate step off the counter, they landed on the floor in front of him, causing Steele to flinch back a step, shoulders raised and tense.
The face he was pointing his weapon at held two wide eyes, two eyebrows raised with expectation, and a smile that seemed to be the baseline of their expressiveness. Their blonde hair was slicked back almost like his, only difference being the sharp way it continued off the back of their head. The shape reminded Steele of a finch’s beak. The kind that sat at his window sill in the mornings to watch him brush his teeth.
Before he could say a thing, they had flicked the steel part of the gun like it was merely a stick, but the moment they did, Steele yanked the gun into another direction with a grunt. Even after realising that the gun hadn’t gone off, he was pale as a sheet, paler than usual, and his hands were shaking with adrenaline.
“Calm down! You ain’t gonna shoot me that easy.”
They grinned at him like it was a particularly funny joke.
Steele didn’t find anything about it funny.
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