[Along with the breeze from a cheery-tree courtyard comes the scent of cherry blossoms, and the faintly-metallic smell of blood. Someone is waking up from having
died.]
[A mop of brown hair pokes out the door and peeks both ways down the hallway just before a brownsprout stumbles out and leans against the opposite wall. Despite having to be pieced
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It seems, though, that the place was actually considerate for once. He freezes just down the hall - his senses tend to go dull when he doesn't eat, and he hadn't noticed the smell (either that or he was used to it, the dried blood smell that lingered in the courtyard) - and stares at the boy curled up just down the hall.
Far too real to be a ghost.]
Allen?
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[Only for a moment, though, and he lifts his head. Oh, that's his name.]
Al... Allen. [Blinks. Have an Allensmile.] Where are we?
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V-very obviously reaching a hand out, though. Not touching, though. Just. Closer. Warning. C-can he? >: ]
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[But he doesn't move away as Hobollen moves closer; he is as solid as they come - even if he's smudged with dirt and dried blood, and there are cherry blossoms stuck in his hair. He's not sure if you want to touch him, Hobollen, he's pretty nasty right now.]
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Taking slow steps toward him, shifting the sling around his neck.] Allen? You alright?
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[Something catches his attention, and he looks down at the inside of his wrists. Fresh scars, it looks like a bracelet made of teeth-marks.]
... I think I died.
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Yep, recognizes you now and hurrying over.] Are ya alright?
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