❝ Oh, yeah! 'Cause it's just so— ❞ Rrrip! ❝ —easy to ignore them! ❞ Teeaaar!
The blossoms and thorny stems flutter gently to the ground, almost spitefully so, given the red, awful, angry wounds they've left behind on Vanth's palms. The lashes mend themselves shut faster than their blood can dry. It's the barest minimum of help from his keeper, who has done nothing but laugh at him from the safety of his mind while Vanth has publicly suffered this unusual humiliation alone.
Subjected to such mental torment for so long, Vanth assumes the Monkey King means to mock him, too. He yanks off more barbs from his knuckles as if to make a point, but the slight, whistling noise of pain that escapes Vanth involuntarily only ends up embarrassing him more.
❝ Hh... I don't, want help. ❞
His knuckles are lost again to an immediate regrowth of thistles. Vanth flexes his fingers in frustration, holding himself back so hard they tremble.
❝ Help is just—ha, a- another thing I have to pay for. You'll hold it over me like everything else does, and I'll be shackled by another debt. Another... power tying me down to hurt me with it later. I know it, I... know. ❞
@sunsage — a crocus among us.