Wretch Character Cards: Blood in the Water // Reprimand Him
Wretch's words hang in the air between you, and you feel your pulse quicken. "For you... for a price," he'd said, like he was half-joking, half-testing you. You study his face as you work on the bandage, noting the way his smirk avers ever-so-slightly, like even he isn’t sure if he means it.
Your fingers hesitate for only a moment before your thumb presses against one of the cuts on his knuckles, the jagged skin sticky with half-dried blood. Wretch hisses sharply, jerking his hand back like you’ve lit a fire under it.
“Shit, fine!” he snaps, slapping your hand away. His voice is raw, defensive, but more annoyed than angry. “Work until your back breaks, whatever. Was just a fuckin’ idea.”
You narrow your eyes, ready to bite back, but something in his tone catches you. He doesn’t mean it—not fully. His words hang in the air, heavy with the unspoken weight of his exhaustion. He glances away, his sharp smirk softening as he mutters, “Still sat there watchin’ the whole thing, though, didn’t ya?”
You freeze for a moment, caught off guard. “I didn’t—” The denial is automatic, but he’s already pointing at you, a sly grin creeping back onto his face.
"Aw, c’mon. Yer tellin’ me ya didn’t get the tiniest lil thrill watchin’ me push that guy’s teeth down his neck?” His voice drips with sarcasm, the mocking edge impossible to ignore. “Y’know, maybe the dumb girl’s finally learnin’ somethin’. Maybe I’m finally rubbin’ off on ya.”
You roll your eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t fall out of your skull. But his words stick, like everything else he says—whether you want them to or not.
The truth is, he’s not wrong. You’d stayed. Watched. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder why. It wasn’t fascination, certainly not enjoyment, but there was something grounding about his raw survival instinct. Something almost stabilizing in how he exists in this nightmare, so unapologetically alive despite it all.
And you can’t help but think about how different things might’ve been if you were stuck with anyone else. How much faster you might’ve cracked under the weight of this place without him anchoring you in his twisted, brutal way.
“Y’know,” you start slowly, catching his eye again. “You’re a good person, Wretch. For all your bluster and bullshit.”
He freezes like you’ve slapped him. For a heartbeat, he doesn’t say a word, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and discomfort. Then, a laugh bursts out of him—sharp and bitter.
“Geez, yer really beggin’ me ta show you my ugly side, huh?” He shakes his head, but there’s something softer in his gaze now, something almost vulnerable. His voice lowers, losing some of its edge. “Don’t go thinkin’ I’m some kinda hero, Whore. Ain’t nothin’ ‘good’ about me.”
You don’t answer right away, letting the silence stretch between you. Maybe he believes it. Maybe he needs to. But in this place, where survival is a currency and cruelty is the law, sometimes just being there—being human—is enough.
