#dark kawamura

[sweetwildsyle]

Remember Me

Darkstache

— A drabble in which nostalgic discussions are had after a meltdown.

‘I just… Can you tell me what to do?’

The request was simple. It always was. The moment was always quiet and lovely where Wilford could turn off for a bit and trusttrusttrust in their voice and instructions. Wil would fall apart to Dark who would take care of him and give him a period where he didn’t have to think at all. Calm and quiet, no headaches.

That was until Wilford started crying.

Dark’s mouth parted as stupor struck them. The moment of being flabbergasted undid itself as Dark frantically changed their positions to give Wil space. PLEASE, DON’T LEAVE ME ALONE. The grey being flinched as Wilford’s voice bombarded their mind. Their husband curled up with his eyes screwed shut, blackening hands grasping at his head, and he rolled to be on his side and incidentally faced away from Dark. I DON’T WANT TO BE ALONE AGAIN, PLEASE. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE.

Controlling their breathing, Dark cautiously brought themself to spoon the other who gasped after thoughtlessly holding his breath, and they pulled him as closely and tightly as they could. Dark ignored how his spine was trying to swell, how his skin tried to harden with ink, how protrusions tried to grow on his head — how his own body was working against him to try to grow.

A broken sob choked from Wil. HURTS.

“I know, Wil. You need to pick.”

HURTS, HELP, his voice boomed out to anyone who would hear. Dark winced again before their body seized briefly as Wil began clawing at their arms, and, on their skin, they felt warmth in rivulets that pulled down with gravity.

Dark forcefully breathed, pushing away the pain. “Wil, you need to keep it or get rid of it,” they spoke slowly to mask their straining, already knowing which option would be chosen. A whimper whined out and bounced off the walls with too loud of a volume.

“Please, Wil, you’re hurting me.”

The entire house shook, and all the lights flashed on before turning off with a crack, some lightbulbs exploding. Dark had to bite their tongue as they pulled closer, letting Wil’s weight dig against their chest full of broken ribs to ride out the earthquake.

Their husband panted, weak noises sounding with every exhale, and Dark let out a shaky sigh as they loosened their grip. With gritted teeth, they forced themself to sit up, one hand on Wil’s side as support and ignoring the burns on their chest and arms and now one hand. “I’m going to get up, Wil.” They waited for a signal and received a pathetic noise from his throat. Dark mustered themself before incanting softly and tracing a shape on their thigh. Wilford coiled smaller with restraint during the casting, the laboured breathing resuming once Dark was hovering an inch above the bed.

They grabbed at the blanket to pull themself to the side weightlessly with the levitation. Their eyes flitted to the phone that had been lighting up ever since the power outage — but that could wait. Dark pulled a small notebook and pen from the nightstand before floating to Wilford’s bedside. His soft sniffling accompanied the pen’s scratching at the paper quietly as they filled out the basics of his changes for this time. They had to ignore how their skin buzzed with too much heat when Dark brought their hand to his face to rub his cheek. “I need you to open your eyes, Wilford.” Their husband swallowed thickly before four eyes full of pink opened full of tears.

“You’re bleeding,” whispered Wilford, and Dark had to pause at the words because they knew it wasn’t English.

“I know.”

“I hurt you?”

“We can worry about it after we finish cataloguing,” Dark promised, feeling too conscious of their arms now.

“You look different.”

“I used thauma to get out of bed; you know that.”

“Different than that,” Wil continued, the eyes blinking together, “like a fountain. Or a brook.”

“A river; isn’t that funny? You may be seeing differently because your eyes are different again.” Dark reached over to brush a thumb over his lips and tapped there. Wil obediently opened his mouth that glowed pink from within. They set the book and pen down to the side to take Wil’s hands that were darker than the shadows of the room, an iridescent black.

They paused when they noticed the ring was gone from his left, and, as always, they passed over the scar texture on his right. “Why do you keep this…?”

“It’s all that I have left from me… him,” Wilford admitted, exiting that universal speech to speak English once more.

Dark took the moment to hold Wil’s right hand and guide it towards themself. Their lips dried as they gingerly kissed his hot palm and then his fingers and then his knuckles.

“I don’t know how you can stand me when I cost you everything.”

Dark paused, eyes closing. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. I’m not them. You know that.”

“You kept their name.”

“I know.”

“Did I tell you I was supposed to kill the both of them?”

“You told me about Damien.”

“I was meant to kill Celine, too.”

“But you didn’t.”

Wilford let out a puff of breath, and then his eyes fluttered shut when Dark began going through his hair. “I did, in a way.”

Dark held their tongue, wanting to argue that it wasn’t him, that he wasn’t it. But he was, and they knew that.

“I’m here now,” Dark murmured, and Wilford began to sob again.

“I’m not trying to compare–”

“I know.”

“I miss him.”

Dark’s heart panged, a lump forming in their throat since they knew that he wasn’t talking about Damien. The trickling blood on their arms felt so loud. “I know.”

[ask-bing-and-the-g-unit]

Eric watched as Dark laid out newspapers along the tub. Such a fine tub — so clean. The cat wilted, ears pressing down as he thought about having to- to- to go to the bathroom. He shuddered at the very thought. Eating, going to the bathroom. Awful, awful, awful. He shook himself again, and he then noticed the start hairs that flew off of him. He was making a mess.

A long, low mewl of disconcertion came from his throat, and Dark looked over with confusion. After a moment of hesitation, they reached over to rub his head. Eric had quickly learned this soothed Dark as much as it felt good for Eric. “It’s just temporary. I doubt that this will last long. No more than a week.” Eric certainly hoped it would be shorter. A week? Unable to make sure everyone was okay? Unable to clean??? The world will fall to disarray! Chaos! Discord! Madness!

Dark was quiet as they rubbed his soft ears, then letting their hand run along his back slowly. Eric crept closer until barely pressed against their side and settled his head on their leg. His ears swiveled at every subtle crack and pop of their body, upset rising in Eric’s throat.

“Come along,” they sighed, standing carefully as more bones crackled against Eric’s ears. “You should be able to sleep through most of it, I would think. We’ll get you settled on the bed.”

Eric’s little pink nose wrinkled at that. He had seen the bed on the way in: crumpled and messy. It would need to be made before anything. He scampered off the ledge of the tub and sprinted ahead of Dark who startled at the the suddenness.

The cat leapt onto the bed and promptly collapsed with a less-than spectacular landing before pushing himself back up onto his paws. He stumbled across the foam mattress, but he had set himself to a task. Using his mouth (awful, terrible, so many germs, he hated this), Eric began his tedious undertaking of making the bed. Dark finished shuffling their way to stand in the doorframe to the en suite, watching with both amusement and bemusement. Each step that the cat took grew more confident by the meticulousness of walking back and forth to straighten the sheets just right.

Eric not moved to trek over to grab the next layer but rather froze, a paw hovering over the ‘pristinely’ placed sheets. He would– He would wrinkle it! Ruin it! The bed will fall to disarray!! Eric shrank back, tail between legs as he bumped the headboard. He couldn’t finish the bed without ruining it. An upset warble (?) sat in his throat, and he circled to hide in the pillows with a whimper.

All of this was terrible! Couldn’t cook, couldn’t clean, couldn’t even make a bed! He whined beneath the pillow, too upset to silence himself. While the cat fell into despair, Dark sighed and shuffled to Eric, dragging themself over by their cane. Their free hand moved with slight movements, and the rest of the covers drifted into the air by Dark’s will and made themselves on the mattress. Eric’s hairs stood on end and led him to peeking his head out as his nerves were now on edge.

The brown of his irises bloomed with dilated pupils as the magic finished making the bed. Clean! Neat! CREASELESS AND WITHOUT WRINKLES!!! He started trembling? and he whipped his head to find the source, stumbling out from behind the pillows as his chest continued rumbling.

A grey hand settled on his head, causing Eric to look up at Dark who rubbed — oh, that feels really nice — his ears. “Glad to have your approval,” they chuckled — also very nice; had he ever heard Dark chuckle before? — which only confused the former android more. How did they know that he liked the made bed?

Eric chirped at them in approval; this seemed to interrupt the strange vibrations for a moment, so he chirped again, only for the rumbled to resume. A little frustrated, he chirped over and over, worry crossing Dark’s face as he continued. “Are you… hiccuping?” Eric shook his head, his purrs overtaking him again when he stopped. “Okay, sleep as much as you can. It’ll help make the time go by faster.”

[sweetwildsyle]

Oops it’s a Drabble

it’s also short

—

A twinge was all it took. It flickered at their coccyx, and the pain spread through their spine as a cruel awakening.

Dark flinched, their muscles seizing to prevent movement that they knew would make the ordeal worse. Focused, shallow breaths were steady and controlled to prevent agitating their ribs. The blankets felt too hot and scratching through their pajamas as sweat formed at their hairline, and their hair was growing from the stress. Flare-ups occurred indiscriminately and — frustratingly — frequently. Too often was Dark’s world full of stifling clouds that scratched at their skin and closed their throat and fire ants that scrambled across their body. This instance was an acid made to gradually corrode, trickling its rivulet along their spine to defy gravity as they remained on their side.

Until reprieve arrived: their husband’s sleeping form shifted in the bed until shuffling to be pressed against them. Arms that were always a sanctuary coddled them and gently jostled them into an embrace before Wilford snuffled directly against the back of Dark’s neck, sending brief trembles through their form from the odd feeling. The irate nerve endings soothed under Wil’s touch, muscles unwinding to leave them to breathe shakily but without pain. After their husband’s arms pulled them even closer, guilt seeded in their stomach to ferment a different kind of pain.

Their voice came quietly, “Did I wake you?” as they carefully grasped at his hands.

“Few other things, but yes,” grumbled Wil, voice dry with gravel, and he turned his head to give two, short coughs. His head flopped against the pillow again, and his jaw sounded near-silent pops as he gave a massive yawn. “How long this time?”

“Only eleven days,” Dark whispered before beginning to move to sit up. Their husband let his arms fall away, brown eyes watching the slow process of Dark’s becoming upright. He turned his head towards the pillow to press farther into it, only one eye visible and blinking slowly with a grogginess he struggled to shake. His eye then met both of his spouse’s. “You look tired still.”

“Bad dreams.”

“Was it him?”

Wilford wavered. The pause made Dark inhale a slow gasp before swallowing thickly, grey hands gripping at the plush blanket in fistfuls. Their aura crackled with anger: defensive and protective and causing Wilford to flutter his eyes as the comforting static attempted to swallow him. He welcomed it — them, truly. From the under the covers, Wil moved to creep closer, hands soon on either side of Dark’s waist while keeping his head low enough to look up.

“You need to keep calm, love,” he whispered, pushing his nose against their chin, “as much as I like feeling you in that way.”

Dark huffed and ran their hands through Wil’s greasy hair in due need of a shower. A bemused frown kept their lips in a straight line. “Angry?”

“Powerful. Around me. Otherly.” When Wilford had appeared lounging sideways with his head in their lap was impossible to say, but Dark’s hands readjusted seamlessly. “You don’t often indulge yourself in that field.”

“You know I handle thauma better than aura,” they scoffed.

“Same difference.”

“To you.”

“To me.”

“Tell me about the dream?”

Wilford met their eyes, irises so dark that they seemed to be a part of the pupils. His tongue peeked out to lick his lips briefly before he glanced away. “I… I don’t think it’s actually him anymore, Dark. I don’t think it’s been Mark for a long time.”

The hairs on Dark’s nape stood on end, goosebumps riddling their skin at the name. “Wil, what do you mean?”

His lips pursed together to be hidden behind the partially brown mustache. “I need to tell you the minute details of the times before our creations,” he whispered, “the party.”

[ask-bing-and-the-g-unit]

We take a moment to go back in time. We move back about a year ago in the time of this existence. We settle into when the four Googles arrive at the Kawamura-Barnum Manor.

I, your Teller, will leave you to gain insight.

The slanted blinds allowed the setting sun to peer into the office with warm, grey green walls, casting the space in a soft glow. It smelled, not dusty, but old. A rocks glass full of dark amber liquid was settled on a coaster, full cube hitting the sides of the glass musically, grey fingers adjusting the cup by its lip out of habit. The figure whom the grey hand belonged to was interesting. At the moment, they were rather feminine with a hairless face and hair that just reached their shoulders without obstructing their face. Their right hand moved back to a keyboard on that side — eyes so dark that the iris and pupil appeared to be one and the same as they focused on the screen.

Three of the androids could not decide on how to view the being as they observed. One, however, wanted answers.

“Why are you grey?”

The genuine question caused Dark to pause, gaze returning to the four newcomers. The green one — small thing that he was — had quickly made himself comfortable in one of the two chairs on the opposing side of the desk, lounging with little care until the one spoke, but he now was side-eyeing his fellow sitter. In between the two chairs and a step back, the blue one stood still as a statue, face completely blank as his eyes freckled with violet moved to the yellow speaker. Behind the second chair towered the red android, head jerking with surprise at the one in front of him, and he placed a hand on the speaker’s shoulder.

Oliver did not feel the tension (and did not understand the hand to be chiding), far too distracted in his observations of the business person. “Is it paint?” His amber eyes lit up at the prospect. (And his freckles may have been glowing? Dark struggled to tell.)

Their lips twitched with the slightest smile as they brought their full attention to Oliver. What fascinated Dark the most was that the other three understood the social faux pas taking place. “No, it is not paint. I am not actually grey,” their voice flowed, unplaceable between feminine and masculine. As they continued, it smoothed to be low and rich. “There is an ambient field around me of raw aura that affects the perception of colour; it’s an illusion of sorts. At times, it reacts to my mood as well. I do have some control over it seeing as I am able to suppress it, but that takes energy and focus that I do not care to expend in the comfort of my personal home office. Any more questions, hon?”

Cordial, polite. Patient. Eric relaxed his grip on Oliver as he noted that Dark was being all of these things towards his ch– brother. Brother, brother, brother. Those void-like eyes moved to Eric who took in a breath to handle himself before Dark was focusing again on Oliver, and the yellow bot leaned forward.

“Yeah, I do! Why are we here?”

“That is what we’ll be discussing in a moment,” promised Dark whose visage was undergoing very gradual change. Ivan watched in horrific entrancement as their hair shortened back into their scalp, face becoming prickled with stubble instead of being naturally hairless. Even their hands changed to have more wrinkles in the knuckles. “I had received a very brief email asking to expedite the arrival of four ‘top-of-the-line models’ to begin the phase of testing, so I wanted to ask —” Dark quickly swiped at their bottom lip while exhaling a brief word, the air around them cracking with static.

Three of the four reacted. Oliver covered his ears, curling into the chair as his face scrunched up uncomfortably, and he didn’t notice the warble of discomfort he was making. With green eyes bright with panic as his pupils were narrowed to pinpricks, Ivan scrambled to sit up straight, and his teeth ground together loud enough to be heard. Flames rushed up Eric’s arms — quickly snuffed with a glance from Dark who traced a finger on the desk — and his synthetic pupils dilated and shrank back and forth erratically.

The blue one was completely still, irises swirling to a blend of turquoise and mint. His hair was long on top and falling messily on the sides in a middleish part, but some lone strands stood on end.

“— why were you sent here early? In your own words of course. Communications have been cut.” Dark rose from the office chair and moved to the window to crack it open to air out whatever chemical Eric happened to be producing. They returned to their desk and took a sip from the manhatten.

“What the fuck did you do!?” Dark’s eyebrows shot up at the curse that came from Ivan who had begun holding himself, his eyes darting aimlessly around. “There’s errors everywhere!”

Eric snapped out of it to tower over Ivan as barely-there fire radiated from his arms. “Where did you learn that language? That is not how we speak. You need to apologize for being rude–”

“Don’t pretend you’re not freaking out, too!” snapped Ivan, now kneeling on the chair to be higher, hands clasped on the armrest and back. The green bot bared his teeth with a growl. “Everyone can see what you’re about to do. Gonna burn this room down, too, you fucking pyro?”

Curling in on himself more and more, Oliver had tears welling in his eyes. “Stop fighting. Please stop fighting.” He grew smaller and smaller, hands on his head to hide in his knees.

Dark looked upon the contained pandemonium scrutinizingly, more aware about what they were given: four people in a tenuous relationship. As Ivan’s voice grew louder over Eric’s calm reprimands, Dark happened to make eye contact with the silent one whose eyes warped to cyan.

“May I touch one of your power outlets.”

Eric and Ivan’s squabbling halted, so only Oliver’s concealed whimpers could be heard from his balled-up form. Baffled, Ivan stared at Blue as Eric tilted his head, brow scrunched in concern. “Blue…?” gingerly asked Eric who did not finish the question of if Blue was okay.

Dark invited, curious, “You’re more than welcome to.”

The blue Google moved over to the wall opposing the window to reach down, and a loud pop of electricity could be heard. As the light overhead and the desk lamp flickered for a brief moment from the power surge, he stood back up, posture perfect, and his hair settled with gravity again. As he returned to his fellows, he placed a hand on Ivan’s shoulder. “I know you are excited that you do not need to filter yourself, but we are in polite company that can send us back.”

With Ivan sobered (and huffy), Blue let his hand rest upon the middle of Eric’s upper back before he moved to sniffling Oliver and picked him up. No thought behind the action, the sensitive, bigger bot reached to wrap his arms around Blue’s neck with his legs curled up to shape himself as small as possible. The eldest held him briefly before handing him to Eric, and the guardian hastily collected Oliver in his embrace to coddle and comfort.

Blue turned back to Dark. “I believe you asked for our own words on why we were sent here. We appreciate having the remote access monitoring removed for this moment, but, unfortunately, the answer is the same as corporate’s.

“We were sent here as per the Google Corporation’s wish for a more organic test ground after excelling at the given tests and when goals were reached before the predicted timeline,” Blue reiterated information that Dark already had, slowly blinking (for the first time since he had arrived, it dawned on Dark). “The corporation appreciates that you accepted the sudden change in schedule and thanks you for the cosmetic base.”

Dark was about to reply in frustration when their phone chimed, and a scowl overtook their features. They had told all to not disturb them, yet someone… [E25N3CRY926P33TE7D messaged: I do not want to say what I did in front of the other three.] Dark glanced back up at Blue’s stare, unwavering until he gave two, fluttering blinks.

“Excuse me for letting my phone interrupt our conversation,” they smoothed over while putting the device away again. “If that truly is all you have to say, you may take your leave. I want you to stay — Blue, was it?” Ivan held his breath at that, and Eric pressed a kiss to Oliver’s head nervously. Separated? So soon?

“Yes, I also have some topics I wish to discuss since we are not human: needs and care.” His voice never dipped, never lilted, never stammered; his expression never changed, vacant and neutral.

Blue took Oliver’s former seat as Ivan stood up to join his other two brothers. Eric paused to shift Oliver into one arm and to then gently grasp Blue’s shoulder. “We’ll see you out there later.”

“Yes, I will see you.”

[ask-bing-and-the-g-unit]

Eric the cat tentatively touched the plastic ball with a bell in it, his ears swiveling with interest that he most adamantly did not want to have. The noise was — he wanted to smack it.

He felt ridiculous.

The cat looked over at the head of the manor who was still idly going through the newspaper. It was interesting, thought Eric, how Dark seemed unbothered by the anons. Did they not see the things? Or did they know something Eric didn’t? Or did they simply not care what happened in their house??? That last one did not seem correct at all.

And those crackles that Eric kept hearing, he knew that those were coming from Dark. The noises had to be. Their bones? Something else?? How had he not noticed before? He was a sophisticated android! Meant to care and nurture! AND HE HADN’T NOTICED?

Maybe he was missing something as a synthetic being.

He sure as heck knew that his stomach area didn’t normally feel like this. Do organics feel this all the time? This weird– weird, uhm– scraping (???) sensation in their abdomen? Like an internal scraping? It reminded him of the one time he stayed on for a deep clean from Ivan. Uncomfortable. Invasive. With a need of- of something. He didn’t know what but definitely something.

Sleep through it — How could Dark be so calm? Eric had become organic. Gross and fleshy and germy. And he didn’t know how cats worked!

Eric yipped softly. Upon receiving no attention, he yapped, and Dark looked up with a creased brow.

“Yes?”

Paralysis took over his little, furry form as he was stumped on how to communicate.

Dark hummed, causing Eric’s ears to twitch. They pushed out of the rocking chair — more crackles and pops — and moved over to double closet door and pulled it open. Eric fluffed up at the series of soft snaps when Dark spread their arms, a long and low mewl leaving him in worry. Ignoring Eric’s concerns, Dark kneeled with a grunt to go through a box. The cat finally creased the perfect blankets to stumble off of the bed, manage a clumsy landing, and pad over to their side in time for them to place down —

The fluffy tail flicked in agitation as he stared at Dark with indignation.

They only raised in eyebrow. “Do you have a better idea?”

Eric wilted. No. No, he didn’t. He placed his paw on the ‘no’ of the ouija board.

[ask-bing-and-the-g-unit]

“Here: the last thing we need is for me to accidentally step on you,” Dark said while bending down to pick Eric up. The cat’s ears swiveled forward at the amount of cracks that emitted from them, and he gave a low noise of concern as he was placed on the counter. The grey being sighed, eyes closing.

“Please, I know you don’t like it when people sit on the counter —” Not what he was upset about, but now he was. “— but I need you to stay up here.”

Eric gave an awkward nod as he sat down as politely as possible, his tail curling up tightly against his side. The perspective was disorienting. He was high up from the floor, yet it was lower than usual for him. He couldn’t open any drawers or cabinets without difficulty. He wanted to get in the sink– He wanted to what?

He stared at the sink, perplexed by his own thoughts. Well… Dark had found salmon and was cutting it; they would not need the sink yet. Fueled with curiosity and impulse, the cat slipped into the sink and pressed his back to two of the walls. His head peeped just above the ledge to watch Dark who sent him a look of confusion. “Are you… enjoying yourself?”

Mrrp! Oh, he could make that noise. Interesting.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” they sighed before they took a minute to finish their cutting and placing it carefully on a plate. Dark moved over to him, and they gestured at Eric who tilted his head. “You need to move; I need to wash my hands.” But he was comfortable… Reluctantly, Eric rose from the sink, stepping back onto the counter. His head tilted again as the water began to run. Did it feel different now? Would it? The concept of wetness was just that: a concept to humans. Wet couldn’t be felt. Could he feel wetness?

A white paw batted the stream of water.

Why did he do that??

Dark watched as Eric sniffed his paw before licking it tentatively. The owner of the house chuckled with a tired smile before they picked up Eric who let out a soft mrrp of surprise. Upon being placed on the table, he froze, eyes on Dark.

“Oh, come now. I know you don’t like anyone on the table, but this way we can have something together,” scoffed Dark who moved the plate of salmon in front of Eric. Together? As they spoke, Eric could see the freezer open on its own, and an unlabeled tub of ice cream drifted out along the air to the counter. The cat’s tail puffed as he continued watching the tub open, perfectly scooped balls coming out and settling into a bowl without assistance and followed by a spoon.

The dish floated over to the table while Dark’s hands moved slowly, similarly to a conductor’s but in smaller gestures. The grey person swayed a hand to make a chair pull out before they moved to sit with a wince, and the bowl of plain ice cream sat itself before them. “Itadakimasu.”

[ask-bing-and-the-g-unit]

DOES HE WANT HIS ANXIETY TREATED OR NOT? Actually imma look for the green Google and give the catnip to them.

Green–

Eric scrambled to his paws, his little heart beating wildly beneath all of the fluff. He couldn’t let them see him like this. His- his brothers. He was meant to protect them! Keep them safe! He can’t– They can’t see him like this!

A tentative paw step was taken as he began to figure out how to walk. It was using legs; how hard could it be??

It was awkward, moving one of four legs at a time. But once he had an idea, he grew more fluid in walking. Two at a time. Trotting along, padding along.

His eyes were down, watching himself walk to keep track of himself. This resulted into bumping into something, and he flopped over in surprise. Stupid– lack of auto-balance. The tuxedo cat glanced up and froze.

Dark stared in surprise at the cat, the two holding eye contact without moving. Slowly, Eric moved to stand up again, never breaking gazes before offering a weak mewl of apology. The head of the manor’s eyes softened, and Eric began to notice some things.

Dark leaned heavily on their cane, keeping all of their weight on their left arm instead of their leg. “Hi, dear,” they whispered and began lowering themself carefully. Eric’s ears straightened attentively at the subtle cracks of bones. Hurt? They hurt? A wince crossed their features as they finally made it to the floor. Eric yowled with worry and began to circle them nervously before moving closer while lowering himself to be smaller.

“It’s okay, it’s alright,” they murmured, reaching slowly for him. Eric folded his ears back but did not move away. There was a slight tug on his neck as Dark felt the collar and sighed. “Ivan, why…”

That’s a very fair assumption, thought Eric.

Dark then paused, and their eyes moved back to the tuxedo’s. “Eric?” The cat yipped. “Well… Alright, then. Let’s get you set up to wait this out.”

[ask-bing-and-the-g-unit]

You know, it might be easier to eat if someone cut it up for you into smaller bites you can just pick up and chew? Rather than trying to tear chunks out of that big piece. But either way I'm really glad you're eating! Think it's tasty? c:

-Iowa

Were these not small bites? Eric tilts his head again in contemplation. He thinks they’re pretty small. So far they’ve been fitting in his mouth.

To clarify for the anon, the salmon is cut up. It is! The pieces are all bite-size and chewable. He’s just that dumb at being a cat.

Eric walks over to Dark and– oh, he is screaming in their face. Dark winces and sets a hand on his head to silence him. “We should have brought the oujia board with us.”