And here the night began with little more than a few words. The Digimon was irritated, more and part from the fact of her things boxed up than any actual change. It was a brief irritation, one that settled from logic. She knew from the beginning, by any rate. Hiding things, even in the low key way it was done, was useless. There was nothing done that was not known about.
That was a bit depressing, and far too close to her previous trains of thought. She instead focused on putting things together.
The Digimon tested the movement limits of the uniform and found them at the least satisfactory. Something looser, or even tighter, would suit her better, but here was no place to be picky. She let out the shirt, took off the hat, and sorted through the box provided for the black jacket from Doyletown. It was there, seemingly untouched, and Renamon instantly moved to place scalpels and blades into various pockets and places. Perhaps this uniform was better for that, at least, holding the tools necessary for survival. The Digimon slid the bladed knuckle on, and without anything further, left her room.
That was a bit depressing, and far too close to her previous trains of thought. She instead focused on putting things together.
The Digimon tested the movement limits of the uniform and found them at the least satisfactory. Something looser, or even tighter, would suit her better, but here was no place to be picky. She let out the shirt, took off the hat, and sorted through the box provided for the black jacket from Doyletown. It was there, seemingly untouched, and Renamon instantly moved to place scalpels and blades into various pockets and places. Perhaps this uniform was better for that, at least, holding the tools necessary for survival. The Digimon slid the bladed knuckle on, and without anything further, left her room.
[to here]
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