You live up in a mountain. Most of the people that know of your existence call you a 'hermit'. So, you were excited when two men went knocking on your door. Though, they weren't there to give you some company. They were there to recruit you for some...
Another good sleep. My sleeping schedule has been more stable once I was 'hired'.
Probably because all of my stress about some random animal ransacking my home in my sleep is over.
I slowly raise my upper half and take a look at my surroundings.
Of course, I'm in my and Toby's bedroom. Though, things in the room look slightly like a jar.
More messy than usual.
I move over to the side of the bed I sleep on and slip my legs over the edge.
That's when I felt my bottom soles grow and an odd sense of coldness to it. I inspect it by laying my leg over my lap. Whatever I stepped on- it was a liquid. A red liquid.
Please be Kool-Aid. (It's not Kool-aid).
I look around the room again- this time with more awareness. The room looked like a crime scene. Blood and dents riddled the floor and walls.
Seeing as Tᴏʙʏ isn't here- I'm guessing it has something to do with him.
Please don't be dead! I just got a friend, he can't be dead!
Before I set off to find out what happened- I should at least tidy up this mess.
It won't take too long. Plus, I'm sure Tᴏʙʏ's fine! Some people might not realize it- but Tᴏʙʏ has some immense power to him.
I've read some of the books he's left out while doing 'late night studying'.
They all stay on one theme; physical illnesses. From 'What the color of your skin means', to 'Brain damage and its physical side effects'. (In alphabetical order you'd like to add).
From what I've gathered- Toby has a lot of physical problems. He twitches and cracks his bones with hard jerks, not to mention his odd appeal to making repeating sounds.
Which would appear to be something called 'Tourette Syndrome.
But, from what I've read- nothing about having Tourettes explains why he doesn't seem to notice injuries- or pain for that matter.
That would also explain the lack of reaction when things touch his open scars.
Not my problem though. Unless Toby says he wants my help, I'm taking a step back on this.
It's not right for me to bombard him with useless assistance when he doesn't need it.
The man's been living with it for years, I'm sure my pestering will only bother him more.
.・゜゜・
While finishing cleaning up, I take great notice of a large black envelope with red wax pressed neatly into the middle. The wax seal had a simple design on it; A fancy 'B' written in cursive.
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