Entry tags:
- we the lost: !ic,
- we the lost: eliza owens,
- we the lost: emily kaldwin,
- we the lost: kd6-3.7,
- we the lost: meulin leijon,
- we the lost: montague "monty" navarro,
- we the lost: phillip gray,
- we the lost: renart,
- we the lost: royce melborn,
- we the lost: the psiionic,
- we the lost: toriel,
- we the lost: zangetsu
IC contact for
wethelost

Solomons & Melborn
1108 Sweet Cream Street
[Feel free to use this space for letter/package deliveries as well as visits/knocks on the front door!]

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Not my name. [ Royce says, in a low voice, ground down and raw. ] Go away. Not helping you with anything.
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I'm Alfie. I don't want your help. Eh? I just got here.
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And? What do you want me to do about it? [ He's twitchy, jittery. Like he's getting ready to bolt. ]
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[He glances down at Royce's wrists.]
Let me help you pick that lock.
[Royce is far better at lockpicking than he is, but this Royce doesn't know that.]
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What do you want? [ He insists - he's out of the crevice, and he's looking like he's going to take off, still, but. For some reason, he doesn't move. ] Don't touch me.
[ There's no way Alfie's just going to help him with no strings attached. Royce knows that. ]
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Running isn't a good idea. Too noisy. And Alfie hasn't attacked yet. But Royce does know that there's a gang roaming nearby and that Alfie would make good fodder for them if they decide they want a piece of Royce, so - Royce doesn't go anywhere. He just huddles down, continuing to pick the lock.
Now that Alfie's closer, he's going to see how unhealthy Royce looks. It's similar to Norfinbury, honestly - he's bony and all sharp angles, pale and worn out and the poster child for malnutrition. He looks like a stiff breeze could knock him out for good. ]
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[He mutters, moving to sit down on the ground, hunched over next to the wall.]
Who locked you up, then?
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Them. Down the way. [ Royce hisses, nodding his head in the direction of the voices down the corridor. ] The favorites.
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I got out.
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[He pulls his body in a little tighter, glancing around warily despite himself.]
-- that I'm gonna die.
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[ He pulls in closer, shivering, staring down the hall. There's a pause - and then the voices start to get louder, and Royce's head snaps up. He stares down the hallway - and then he gets up and takes off. Bye. He's leaving. ]
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cw: cannibalism
Nice clothes, one of them says, and another giggles and comes up to yank at his shirt. Mine, she says, and a third one shoves Alfie, eyeing him. That same third one says, almost thoughtfully, take clothes, I want an arm. Leg.
A fourth one whispers right against Alfie's ear as they surround him like a pack of hyenas, giggling and yipping at him: meat good, you're going to taste good, fresh! ]
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