Inbox for ryslig

[polarvoid]

WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, CHARACTER NAME/ALIAS. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 018.07.154.55 *** CHARACTER NAME/ALIAS has joined 018.07.154.55 <Daisy>This is Basil! I'm not around right now, but if you leave a message I'll get back to it as soon as I can. <BANNED USER> SCREENED MESSAGE. UNSCREEN? Y/N -- sample for when you ban someone <USERNAME> First sentence of message. <USERNAME> First sentence of message.

Comments

cw: cannibalism mention, hallucination

[polarvoid]

[Max...isn't wrong. Basil has noticed, but obviously it isn't something he's going to bring up. He hadn't automatically assumed anything was seriously wrong, he just...thought it was due to her having to adapt to her new form. Having to walk with hooves would be hard for anyone, wouldn't it? Of course her legs shook...her body is undead now, with no pumping blood. She'd been living mostly on human-jerky for weeks at a time, of course she's been tired...

But Max doesn't just leave it to speculation anymore. She explains, and Basil feels his breath catch painfully in his throat. For a moment, his heartbeat shudders to a terrified stop.]

...y...you...?

[I died. I was killed.

Basil reflexively looks into the corner again, and...it's there, as ever. He only spares the presence a passing glance before he's looking back at Max again, his vision still consumed by the soft light between them, and now...the way she curls up small, as if trying to escape the reality of her existence.

...so that's why. Max, returning to life, only to be...

Basil swallows weakly around the lump in his throat. She's always hurting. All the time, those times she would stumble and fall, or struggle to keep going, she was...]

M...max...

[I'm so sorry, he wants to say, but saying so feels like it would be a slap in the face. But he isn't sure...what else to tell her. There's nothing that could make it better...nothing that will make her pain go away.

So instead? At least for the moment, he says nothing. But that doesn't mean he will do nothing.

He'll stop, if she pulls away. If she shows any sign of being afraid of it, or hurting. But...if Max allows it?

Basil will reach for and take her hands. Ever so gently, holding them within his own, which are still glowing softly with heat. It's probably quite warm for Max, but in a sort of...taking a hot shower warm kind of way. It's not burning her.]

cw: self-loathing, internalized ableism, panic attacks

[zoomingupthathill]

[ She's tried so, so hard to hide it. To ignore it. To not acknowledge it. But now, it's out there. That she's broken, and she won't go back together. Her outside matches her inside, you are sick, and the way Basil's voice shakes, how he trails off, she wonders if he's looking at her differently now. With pity, with dismay, because she's not the strong girl she's pretended to be. After all of this, it has to be clear—she's weak, so incredibly weak.

Her lungs feel like something's squeezing them as little gasps start to build in her. Breathing be damned, it's just uncomfortable. Her head's spinning, suddenly warm in ways that have nothing to do with Basil's warmth. Her eyes feel wet, is she really crying again, is this really what she's doing right now, is she really this pathetic—

Warmth.

Warmth, like a heated blanket. Like a cup of soup on a cold day. Like a spring California night, walking under the pier, right before it'd get too hot and stifling.

All centered around her hands, stiff and tense in her lap.

Max's head whips up, her eyes snap open, and she looks into Basil's eyes, tears falling from her own. She's still small, and she's still vulnerable. But what he looks back at her with...

It doesn't feel like pity.

Before, she'd pulled him into a hug for his own sake. Because she felt that Basil needed—deserved that sort of physical comfort. Now, it's for her own that she pitches forward to lean her forehead against his shoulder, her fingers uncurling from their almost claw-like position and slipping between his, so that he doesn't let go. Her broken antler swings from the sudden motion, dripping bloody velvet onto his floor, and her whole one probably presses into the side of his head.

But, for the first time since she was pulled from the water, Max has stopped shivering. ]

[polarvoid]

[The last thing Basil could ever do is pity her. He knows how she must be feeling, even if his own experiences come at it from a totally different angle. She feels...wrong. Broken. She shouldn't be here, yet for some reason, the universe has decided to keep her alive...and she isn't even really alive.

It's cruel. It feels like the Fog must have done it to her on purpose, just how Basil felt his fire must have been given to him as a curse, to ruin the plants he loves so dearly.

But right now? For once...Basil doesn't see it as a curse. If anything, he's glad that he has it, because if he didn't, he wouldn't be able to help Max. It...feels like the first time he's really been able to properly help anyone.

He felt like he was helping, back then. But it also felt like the only option. He hadn't been given a choice...

Basil keeps his hands loose so Max can slip her fingers between his claws before he curves them gently around her hands, keeping the warmth between both of them. He'd be hugging her if he had access to his arms, but the way she leans against him is contact enough, he figures. He tilts his head slightly, leaning his head against hers, heedless to the way her antler presses against his scales.]

...everything is going to be okay, Max.

[He eventually murmurs, his voice a whisper.]

T-this...isn't fair. But it doesn't make you...any less you. You're still Max.

[zoomingupthathill]

[ The warmth of Basil's hands makes her skin tingle. It's drawing the water from her soaked, dead flesh, but even more than that—there's an unquantifiable part of it, more than just acting as a glorified heat lamp. Perhaps it's because right now, her nerves feel shot, both physically and emotionally, as now... There's more she could say. But she feels as hollow as Basil, tired and empty of the secrets that have weighed her down for months.

That he'd hear it all. Everything, and still offer such a simple and kind gesture as holding her hands. It means more than any words could. It means more than Max could even try to understand or explain. ]

I n-never even...admitted it to- to myself. [ Quiet, almost whispered right into his collar between wet gasps. ] But...if I'm s- saying it now...it's gotta be true, right? I- I'm never...never getting better.

[ Her tears, impossibly warm for her but still cold for anyone with a heartbeat, soak into his clothes and scales as she gives up on swallowing down any of this. On instinct, her body tries to take in more air, because she's lightheaded from distress and that's what used to work. What results is Max's turn at a full-body sob, shaking and clutching Basil's hands tighter.

Right against him like this, Basil may feel Max's forehead, starkly and noticeably warmer than the rest of her from an inexplicable fever. ]

[polarvoid]

[Oh my god. Oh my god it's so cute. It's so cute Basil is going to CRY

He sets the pot on a table nearby just for a moment so he can crouch down and very, very gently pick Lavender up. He's immediately beset by how sticky and...very much cake-like this little puppy is, but he's so struck by it that all he can do is marvel. He's had a rough time of it, yet this might have been the only thing to get him to think about anything else.]

This...this puppy is made out of cake!

[Preaching to the choir, he realizes, but he just can't believe it. What the heck.]

[polarvoid]

[That's really all Basil can offer her. An ear, a shoulder...it's the exact same thing Max has given him, too. It's all they have, trapped here, forced to speak the truth. At this point, it feels like Basil has told everything, yet...he knows there's plenty more awful things Max could uncover about him, if enough layers were peeled back.

But he isn't thinking about any of that now. He's too busy turning over her words, the idea that she's never going to get better. She will never be well again, permanently damaged.

Broken.

And Basil...he can't lie to her. It's the one time he wishes he could.

Basil's jaws tremble as he fights to come up with something to say, but he just can't. He's left silent as Max sobs into his shoulder, holding her hands and not minding how tightly she grips them in return. Even if she holds them until they turn numb, he won't ask her to let go. It's...scary, how cold, yet warm she can be all at the same time.]

I-...I d-don't know.

[He finally whispers, wishing he could conjure up a half-truth that was better than something so weak and uncertain. But he doesn't know, how could he? Ryslig...the Fog, whatever, It could have fixed Max, but it didn't. Her new monster body could have been stronger, and completely whole again...but it didn't.

He hates it. He hates it for her.]

It...it's not fair.

cw: nonconsensual surgery/medical horror mentions

[zoomingupthathill]

[ Max often thinks back to her very first week here—well, Felfri. She remembers laying out on a cot with an unfamiliar boy whose mansion of a house she would come to live with. She remembers her ruined arm re-stitching itself together. She remembers the moment he found the deeper damage, remembers how she shook her head in fear.

That there was a chance to beg for them to be healed, but the idea of someone else poking around inside her was too terrifying to comprehend. Not after Vecna invading her mind. Not after the scientists of E+L carving her open.

It's stupid, how horrible things happening to her kept Max from seizing opportunities. What if it didn't work? But what if it did?

Those sorts of thoughts swim around her head. It's dizzying. Or...maybe that's just the weird way she's reacting to what undead do instead of drown.

Still, Basil centers her. Without her music to, it's all she has. How his support is quite literally keeping her body upright, as she can't put the weight on her knees. How the warmth from his hands radiates outward, like it's enveloping them in a gentle aura. The sobs tearing through her disrupt it a little—but they also keep her from spilling anything else from her loose lips, and at the moment, she'll take it. It's not fair, it's not, but there's nothing she can do about it.

For a long while, that's all there is. Until either her crying or his heat or some combination of the two expel all the water from her. Even her hair's airdried, and her grip on Basil's hands has weakened. If she were thinking about it, she would've shifted to a more comfortable position. But now somehow her thighs tingle with pins and needles, as do her arms. Like the water previously in her lungs, it's a reason to pull away.

But, this time she doesn't. ]

'm sorry. [ With a scratchy, hoarse voice. ] Please...don't tell, okay?

[ It already hurts that it feels like she's had her insides shown to the world, with March. It already hurts that none of this was anywhere near voluntary. That now, she's been reduced to pleading like a child. ]

[purevanillacookie]

[The thunk of the pot being set down perks Pure Vanillas ears, and he trots over to investigate it curiously, while Lavender proceeds to be beside himself with joy at being picked up. Basil will instantly get his fingers covered in sticky syrup as the puppy begins to lick everywhere it's tiny tongue can reach, squirming and wiggling and whining. This boy is made of scales! And warmth! licklicklicklick and Dirt!

Pure Vanilla laughs, 'looking' up from the pot to turn his attention in their direction.]

Indeed! A dear friend of mine had a Cake Dog brought in from our world, and she recently- [gave birth is definitely not it, nor did she rebake herself...] think of it as a flower budding smaller flowers! Lavender attached himself to me.

[Moving away to his desk, he pulls open the top to pull out powdered sugar and wet wipes. He'll set the latter down on top of the desk, then bring the tin of the former over to Basil, opening it and holding it out, smiling.]

It helps. Coat your hands generously.

cw: death/panic attack mention

[polarvoid]

[Basil is brought back to his conversation with Katurian in his apartment. When Katurian admitted to Basil that he'd killed his own parents. When Katurian also admitted that he knew Basil was involved in a murder of some kind...and that he had been tasked with covering it up.

Please don't tell.

It had become another secret. Another pair of secrets to keep. And now...Basil feels the weight of yet another, only this time...he can remember everything. He isn't just being told after the fact, he told Max everything himself. She knows it all, down to the most minute detail.

Basil thinks that he should be uncomfortable like this too, sitting on the hard floor in the same position for so long. But he's unfortunately used to this, having spent many a evening in the fetal position in his bedroom, trying to work himself down from a panic attack. It has all happened before, and it will happen again.

And since Max doesn't pull away, Basil won't either. He'll just shift, resting his head now on her shoulder, his longer snout pressing against the side of her neck.]

I promise...I won't tell anyone.

[And he means it.]

[polarvoid]

[Basil giggles even as he gets all sticky, because honestly? Since he doesn't have any fur or hair on his body, the concept of being sticky doesn't bother him as much as it used to. Except for maybe if the syrup gets between his scales...but that pales in comparison to just getting to hold a little cake puppy, it's so cute...]

Wow...I knew you used to be a cookie, but I didn't know you had anything like this!

[Oh Basil, get ready for what else Pure Vanilla is going to show you today.

He will shift Lavender carefully in his arms, from both to one- gently tucked by his elbow- so he can reach out and carefully cover his palms with the powdered sugar being offered.]

[purevanillacookie]

[The powdered sugar will help turn the sticky mess into an easily removable firmer mess, but it also sinks into the puppy the next time Basil pats it, to help firm the icing up and keep it from coming off. Pure Vanilla beams as he listens to Lavender making happy little whining noises as he snuggles into Basils elbow.]

Oh my friend, my world is made up of many similar things! Our sheep's wool is thick, fluffy cotton candy, for example! Mango fish, and blueberry birds. And!

[Closing the tin of sugar and setting it aside, he moves over to a pot in the window, to pick it up. Growing there, small yet, with only one bud barely open, is... yellow orchids? But when Basil looks closer, he will notice the slit across the middle, and the tiny ... eyelash lines?]

I'm afraid I cannot yet show you the Jellyragora full size, but if you pull one out, you can get a sense of what they look like...

[He gestures to another pot, a larger one, that has several tiny little colorful flowers sticking out.]

[zoomingupthathill]

[ She sucks in an unnecessary breath, for two reasons.

For one, she's relived that he's promised. For another, his snout tickles a little. ]

Thank you...for being here.

[ It feels bad to say, considering the nature of here. But it's the truth of what she feels. She needed to see him, because she didn't want to be alone...and here, Basil feels like one of the most important people to her.

Here, in the blue glow, it feels like...before the attic. Sitting with Lucas, only paper and markers to communicate, and a painfully sincere confession.

I'm glad you're here.

She'll examine that later. Probably. ]

[polarvoid]

[No, Basil...feels the same way. His relationship with Ryslig as a whole is, of course, more complicated. He thinks he might have died back home, but at the same time, even if he hadn't...being there is worse than being here, in a world so far removed from the hell of reality, with people who seem to love and care for him as he is, regardless of...everything. They don't know of course, not in the same way Max now does, but...

There's something to it. It's sad, he knows, but...he isn't sure he has anything else, anymore.]

...you too.

[Basil murmurs back, his own voice hoarse from crying, his body feeling heavy and tired.]

M'...glad it was you, who came. I...I w-wouldn't have wanted to talk to anyone else.

[He wouldn't...have wanted to tell that to anyone else. Granted, he wished he didn't have to period, but...]

[polarvoid]

[It's almost hard to believe, and Basil knows that his own imagination can be overactive sometimes. Probably not as overactive as Sunny's was, but still. To think, a whole world made out of candies and fruits...but it's not like he doesn't have proof right here, wiggling about excitedly in his arms, right?

Basil blinks, moving over to where Pure Vanilla ended up so he can look for himself...and when he sees what looks like a closed eye on the flower?

He gasps, and it's actually a startled exclamation initially.]

W-wait, these plants...are they...are they like Nymphs? They're not sentient, are they?

[zoomingupthathill]

[ There's a level they can't relate on—because despite everything, Max wants to go home. She wants to go back. She has people waiting for her, and she wants to fight the universe to return.

But...while she's here... She can't keep isolating herself. She's been doing it so much, even from the ones she knows from home. This, right here, even though she can feel her body ache and groan, her head floaty and heavy at the same time, her legs like swiss cheese—

Still. This feels right. Like what she's been missing. It's like breaking out of Vecna's vision all over again, into the arms of those who love her.

If she had the strength, she would squeeze his hands again. ]

I- needed to see you. [ That's what she'd said at the start.

It was true. It was very, very true. ]

But I- I think now, um... We need to...

[ Max doesn't want to move. She doesn't want to do anything but feel this. But. He'd said it already, and the warmth Basil's generated has her almost completely dry.

Her legs need wrapping. At least to keep what's inside them inside and not all over his floor. ]

[polarvoid]

[He knows. He doesn't want to move either, but...he's starting to worry about Max. It sounds like she coughed up all the water that was in her, and his heat managed to dry her the rest of the way, but he's done nothing for her injuries. He doesn't care if her body heals different because she's undead, or whatever. That doesn't mean he won't do what he can to help.

So Basil nods, slowly trying to move so he can get his legs out from underneath himself. He hisses softly, his padded feet and clawed toes tingling as the circulation rushes back to them. He wishes he had a first-aid kit in his room...that's something he's going to have to remember to keep, next time.]

If I help you, do you think you can stand?

[If not, that's okay. As much as he will hate going into the dark hallway by himself, with its dark corners and staircase around the bend, he will retrieve what he needs to get her legs wrapped without Max having to move.

Just for good measure, Basil checks the corner one last time, and Max may notice him looking.

But this time, Something isn't there. He breathes an audible sigh of relief.]

[zoomingupthathill]

[ Basil moves, and Basil is all that's really holding Max up, so it's natural she sort of moves too. Her thighs press a little more into the floor and she winces. She doesn't think it's fair that she feels the undead equivalent of pins and needles, with no need for her blood to flow. It's a little different, but more than anything she just feels stiff.

Only now does she start to let go of his hands, but it's so she can keep her grip on Basil's arm, instead; easier to stay upright that way.

With an embarrassed little frown, she shakes her head, just as she catches Basil's line of sight, and his relieved sigh.

Despite it all—she's glad. Because it seems like the memory of what's tormenting him has decided to leave for the time being. ]

No. I...think it's more likely I'd fall again.

[polarvoid]

That's okay.

[He doesn't want Max to feel bad about this, or ashamed, or guilty. He just lets her keep holding his arms until she's able to lean back against the edge of his bed, still on the floor as she is.]

I'll be right back, okay?

[Basil lingers for a moment, reluctant to leave Max alone...especially when that music out there hasn't stopped. But right now, it feels like...maybe it has less of a hold on them. Whatever they say now...they would have said anyway.

Eventually, he pulls back, and disappears into the hallway. For what it's worth, Max's ears should pick up the sounds of Basil walking quickly to the bathroom, rummaging around, grabbing as much as he can carry before he comes back. Clean towels, gauze, disinfectant, painkillers...Fugo really makes sure this place stays well stocked in that regard.

Basil...sort of just dumps it all onto his rug, because what else can you do, and goes for the gauze first. Now, he's no doctor, but he's been in Ryslig long enough where he's had to doctor himself every so often, or he's seen other people do it, or he's been to the clinic to have it done to him. He's not unfamiliar, and he doesn't expect Max to do this by herself.]

Can...can you show me where all you got hurt?

cw: gore, corpse desecration????

[zoomingupthathill]

[ It takes a minute or so for Max to get comfortable, and she tries not to let out a grunt of exertion as Basil helps her back to the bed. She hates feeling this helpless. It makes her want to lash out, despite everything, all the kindness and acceptance, because that's what she's learned. When you're helpless, others will take advantage of you. Accepting help is just another way to provide the world with ammunition.

It's...so hard, not to think that way. Even with all the evidence to the contrary. It's so hard to keep the anger in her from bubbling over and burning those who are just trying to help.

So all Max does is nod. It's okay. She knows he'll come back. (She knows, right?) She knows, he's not leaving her. Max simply nods, watching him silently and stretching out her legs. Once he's gone, she leans her head back on the side of his bed and closes her eyes. The violin's still screeching in her ears, and she murmurs, ] I still don't understand...why anyone's this nice to me.

[ Just to let it out. Just a little. Just so she doesn't keep spilling how utterly weak she always is.

Her ears twitch as the soft sounds of Basil's footsteps grow slightly fainter. As she can hear the clattering of cabinet doors, the gathering of supplies. Only when those footsteps get louder, as he returns to the room, does Max open her eyes again. She tries to manage a little grateful smile, but it falls flat. ]

Uh... Here... [ She reaches down to roll up her jeans, a lot easier now that they're not soaked.

What he'll see are a collection of bites, some shallow, some incredibly deep, which are where the jam-like blood and moss are leaking from. They look like they've come from something about the size of a medium-sized dog, but with many, many more sharp needle-like teeth.

The most unsettling part of it is...well, her body is dead. Pale and corpse-like. Therefore, the injuries all appear post-mortem, slightly off and wrong. They aren't red with inflammation, aren't actively bleeding, just dripping. With so many of them, it's not how they should be. ]

...Sorry. I know it's...really gross.

[purevanillacookie]

[The gasp makes Pure Vanillas ears twist up for a moment in startlement, before he realizes why. Oh. He offers a little smile as he tries to figure out how to explain this.]

No, not quite. They do not think for themselves, or make decisions based on informed ideas. They may react to stimuli such as certain plants do - I have heard tale of plants that close to touch - and may have their own defense mechanisms as trees do with sap or flowers with thorns, but they are simply plants.

[Except for his staff, but that is a symbiotic relationship born of a lot of decisions.

Lavender decides he's tired of being held and begins to squirm to be let down, gumming Basils fingers gently as he does.]

Omori spoilers, cw: gore/cannibalism mention

[polarvoid]

[In spite of his best efforts to steel himself, when Basil does finally see the extent of Max's injuries, his breath catches in his throat. It may actually be worse, somehow, seeing the wounds like this than it would be to see them open, fresh and bloody. He hesitates for just a moment, but he isn't brought back to the day he hunted for the first time, and feasted on another's flesh.

He's remembering what she looked like. How pale her skin had quickly become...and how her body had felt as they dragged her to the yard, still warm yet quickly growing cold and stiff in death.

Basil closes his eyes for a moment before quickly shaking his head to snap himself out of it, going for some antisceptic wipes from the first-aid kid first.]

I-it's okay. You can't help it.

[He doubts antisceptic will do much for her when her body is already dead- can she get infections anymore?- but what feels more important right now is cleaning the wounds of what they're oozing, whether it's actually blood, or a mossy slurry. He's just glad for her sake that his hands are still a bit warm as he moves to press one of the wipes to her skin, trying to clean the areas first as best he can.]

It might sting a bit, so stop me if it hurts too bad...b-but I want to get some of this stuff out before I wrap it.

cw: cannibalism, corpse decay mentions

[zoomingupthathill]

[ The spots where the fish tore at her legs look a little pitiful, completely absent of fur like the rest of her leg. It makes them look speckled in a warped and twisted way, and she's self-conscious of it, almost apologizing again before he can even reassure her.

Still, she nods as he gathers up...everything, quietly assuring him, ] Don't worry about it too much. I, uh...think that's just how it looks in there when it's... When I've gotta eat something...fresh.

[ Max hates to say it like that. But that's what her body looked like the first time she had to eat human meat. This is what it felt like, stiff and pained, like the semblance of being even something halfway to living no longer had to be maintained. The facade was over, and she would stiffen and stop moving and decay. That's what this is. She's decaying. ]

Just- make sure the...um, "bleeding" stops. Then clean, then disinfect, then bandage. [ Oh... Max adds, ] Sorry. It's not that I don't think you know what you're doing, I've just- I've done this a lot.

cw: corpse decay

[polarvoid]

N-no, it's okay. I haven't really...done this a lot, so...

[He'd rather be coached through how to do it right than make the attempt and just make it worse.

Basil doesn't like thinking about that either, but the timelines match up. Basil still probably has some weeks to go before he has to worry about feeding again, but Max...it's coming up on that time for her. He wonders what she might look like, now, if she had gotten to eat something before. Would her wounds look this dessicated? Would everything still be oozing sludgy moss, or would it be more like blood, even though her body no longer pumps it through her veins?

It's all idle thinking, pointless speculation as Basil works and tries to stay his hands from shaking too much. Wait until the wounds stop...oozing. Clean, disinfect, bandage...the former takes less time than normal, likely because they'd been sitting there for some time, giving her wounds more opportunity to just sort of fester and "bleed" until there was nothing left to escape. Only then does Basil feel confident in cleaning the wounds, but god, it's still hard.

But he does it anyway, because it's for Max.

For a while, he works in silence. It feels like there's been so much talking, so much noise, that it's nice to just...exist for a moment, even if the music still overpowers all. It's not music Basil wants to hear right now, because the violin keeps trying to twist into something else, a meandering waltz instead of a jaunty riff.]

I'm sorry this happened to you.

[Basil finally whispers, knowing there's nothing he could have done even if he were in his right mind at the time. Honestly, if he'd followed Max out there, there's a chance he would have just become another victim she was trying to save.]

[zoomingupthathill]

[ It's at this moment that Max realizes:

She's always done this for herself.

There are extreme exceptions, such as after narrowing escaping Vecna the first time, or when she got caught in a blast in Felfri—but barring those or particularly horrible monster changes, Max hasn't let anyone dress her wounds. Or, perhaps rather—

There hadn't been anyone who would, until she got so used to doing it herself that she pushed those who came along away.

A chilly Something runs up her spine; it reminds her of Billy, of a quiet question in a quiet kitchen, her metaphorical outstretched hand that he slapped away.

Max watches a Basil the whole time. She doesn't take her eyes off him, in fear that if she looks somewhere else, her own ghosts will have moved in with his. ]

I was- it was my own fault. I thought... I got cocky. Like, since I don't need to breathe, or...since I had something to block out the music... [ Had. Very lightly she shakes her head. ] It was stupid.

[polarvoid]

[Oh cute...Basil will very gently set him down onto the floor once the signal has been given, taking a moment to dust the sugar off his hands and onto his overalls. They're like, in constant need of washing anyway, so it's fine.]

There are some, like Venus Fly Traps...I've really never seen anything like these, though. They're amazing...

[Basil can really get a good look at them now that he's put Lavender on the floor, and though he's tempted to dig up one of the Jellyragora, he's afraid he might damage it without his proper tools. He'll have to examine it later, when he's taken them back home.]

O-oh, um! I brought you a flower, too....I've been growing some daisies, and these ones I have are a really bright white and yellow, so...they reminded me of you.