[ Midnight is often silly, often inobservant, often purposefully obtuse... but one thing he is not is suicidal. He's gone into the the greenhouse a couple of times by now, just to check for stragglers and anyone who may not have gotten the memo about the flowers inside, but the sound of heavy feet and torn up vegetation is enough to make him tread a bit more carefully, dropping down and narrowing his eyes. Vampiric scent has him on alert, even if he doesn't know what he's smelling. Something like flesh, something like blood, something like something that exists somewhere damp and dark.
He's relying on stealth and the whispering of other flowers to drown out the sound of his approach, but there are certainly a few flowers that seem perfectly willing to hiss out his own inner monologue.
Playing hero again? What if you die this time? Or does that matter anymore...? It has to matter. You're still afraid. Of the unknown. Of pain. Hell of a demon you are.
He finds the path of destruction, traces it to flying debris, ripped up leaves. What... is that?
... He quietly removes his terminal from his pocket, unlocks it, and swipes for the network. He does this slowly. His hands do not shake. As long as the creature does not move this way... He is pretty sure he won't be able to do this on his own. ]
no subject
He's relying on stealth and the whispering of other flowers to drown out the sound of his approach, but there are certainly a few flowers that seem perfectly willing to hiss out his own inner monologue.
Playing hero again? What if you die this time? Or does that matter anymore...?
It has to matter. You're still afraid.
Of the unknown.
Of pain.
Hell of a demon you are.
He finds the path of destruction, traces it to flying debris, ripped up leaves. What... is that?
... He quietly removes his terminal from his pocket, unlocks it, and swipes for the network. He does this slowly. His hands do not shake. As long as the creature does not move this way... He is pretty sure he won't be able to do this on his own. ]