...Excuse me, Chrollo? I don’t mean to be rude, and I really do appreciate your hospitality as of late, but this drink tastes a little bit uh- funny? Sour. The food, too. Did you do something different? - @goreswag
There’s that expression he likes. Confusion, then the ineluctable epiphany.
And dread.
It hits you, hard. In a form of a foul, acidic taste woven onto your discolored tongue. Face starting to heat up, vision slowly blurring into a mess of colors and undistinguishable shapes you’re unable to make out. Your mouth opens ajar, but the sentence leaves your mind and not of your chapped dry lips.
What... is going on?
You have no recollection of what took place earlier today. Or yesterday. Or even the day before that. Everything’s starting to become a haze as you try to piece things together.
“Strange, it should’ve been tasteless…” He murmurs calmly to himself, eyebrows slightly scrunched at the minor mistake. Like this was normal talk between close friends.
“… Though the effects seems to be working.. a little too well. Excuse the repulsive taste, beloved, you were supposed to indulge in a nice meal before the dosage hits. I’ll have to alter it for next time. Yes, I should.”
An apology, for the wrong thing, is not what you wanted to hear. Caressing the left of your cheek, his large palm cold and heavy against burning skin, you’d unconsciously lean closer and he hums, welcomes this. If only you were this openly affectionate and honest, sober minded. Obedience is a good look on you.
“You don’t have to finish it.”
Well, it looks like you aren’t going to anyways at this rate. Not when you’re panicking, muscles refusing. You’re so focused on your heart drumming, a distant ring that only you can hear, wanting to move, wanting to escape, but your body is not one with a nimble mind.
A pitiful whimper is all you can muster. That, he smiles at.
“Fear naught—I do not aim to hurt you, but remediate. You are going to be alright.”
How so? By turning your brain into a pile of mush? Sedating you? For what?
You’ve so many questions, ones that won’t be getting answered because he’s guiding your head to rest on his lap. Patting you softly, a child being lulled, crooning.
