firstonesexpert | Victory Road IC Inbox

"That's why you get permission first. Make them come to you with their things to fix or improve." He tilts his head a little, trying to mentally prod at the feeling of knowing what that is, then gives up and suggests, "Or let me find work, and you can tinker on your own things without bothering anyone. Or sell pokemon eggs, I suppose," he adds, putting the flesh hand on the nearest egg on his bed, almost reverently. That's life, there. Weird, magical life. "And camp out as much as possible to save funds supply for food."

It wasn't like she didn't know that, but based on what she's said so far she can understand why Winter thinks so. It was more like a compulsion: she simply had to make improvements when she saw a possibility, no matter what permissions she may or may not have. To do so was as natural as breathing, to her.

(She did it on a spaceship while in space despite promising that she wouldn't because of the risk of being crushed by the cold void of space. Darla was a good ship.)

"That sounds like a logical plan," she says instead, grinning happily. "It'll be fun taking care of the eggs, as well. Biology is a whole new topic of research for me, especially that of Pokemon! It'll be incredibly interesting!"

...from anyone else that would probably sound sarcastic.

Yeah, he hasn't caught on just how compulsive her engineering problem really is, since she has in fact managed to restrain herself when it comes to the tech closest at hand-- that is, his arm. He'll figure it out eventually.

Instead, for now, he just relaxes a fraction more at her easy acceptance. He'll take care of her, they'll take care of pokemon, and they'll stick together so he can keep her safe. Right now, that's frankly all he wants. "I know less about. Biology. Than I do about engineering, too. By a whole lot. We'll have to learn together. Violet City's supposed to have libraries. Classes."

Frankly the only reason she hasn't torn her 'gear apart for scraps, aside from the obvious tool situation, is that she can't steal Winter's without him noticing it's gone, and it seems to be something of a support sytem for him at this stage.

"Oh, excellent! Violet sounds like a much more engaging city than Cherrygrove!" She leans around Grace and gives the eggs a brief pat - one that probably seems surprisingly gentle, given how hard her enthusiasm has been running.

But then she pushes herself off the bed and onto her feet. "We should probably go back to sleep though. If we're going to leave today we ought to try and be well-rested!"

Really, he's not that surprised. She's been careful when she needs to be, enthusiastic or not. She's kind that way. (Grace gives Entrapta's cheek a nuzzle when she leans over her, just to be friendly.)

He's also pretty sure he won't be doing much sleeping, but he can understand the sentiment, and maybe Entrapta can sleep, herself. So he nods, standing up, too, to get the door for her and Nancy. "Okay. That's probably a good idea." At the very least he can rest, and gently poke at the eggs until maybe he feels like he won't break them by trying to carry them around later.

Nancy pounces off the bed, and struts out the door first still looking very proud of himself, even as Entrapta gives a quiet giggle at Grace's soft nuzzle and pets the Absol in return. Leslie takes a moment to yawn wide, showing off the full length of his fangs, before he clambers sleepily back into Entrapta's ponytail, and starts climbing her hair once more as she goes for the door.

But Entrapta pauses in the doorway beside Winter, and her hands wring uncertainly for a moment; before, with some hesitation very deliberate care, she stretches her bare hand out and places it softly on Winter's sleeve.

"I know you don't think you need much sleep," she says, and her tone has a soft, almost kind tone as she carefully chooses her words. "But you should try to get a proper rest as well." She looks up at his face, and gives him a warm smile. "Good night."

And she takes her hand away, so she can trot after Nancy and open the door for him.

She does still surprise him, more perceptive than she seems sometimes. Or maybe just better at reading him than most people. (Also, pot, meet kettle, little miss I-never-fucking-sleep.) He even only twitches a little at the touch, especially since it's not on skin.

Still, that's very sweet. He doesn't smile, he's still not sure how to do that anymore, but his face does soften. "I will try," he promises, and his voice does manage gentle and even a little warm. "Good night, Entrapta."

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