Pet Koala
Characters: Erol & Batou
Location: Carnival; Batou's room
Date: After this
Rating: PG: Naughty language
{Erol and Batou kill bears in Carnival. One of them swipes Erol with it's claws on the way past}
Batou: Mm. You're a good fighter. I enjoyed that.
Erol: .... Hm. Thanks, I think. *struggles to his feet, holding his badly-bleeding side*
Batou: Don't. You're weak enough. I'm going to carry you.
Erol: Nnng - I don't need to be carried!!! *clearly infuriated by the idea. Also clearly starting to shake, he was in bad enough condition at the start of the fight*
Batou: You're barely able to walk. I'm not having you die. If your pride is hurting you, tell it to be quiet.
Erol: *almost asks why Batou doesn't want him to die, but something about the idea pings a concept he's been batting around in his own head, so he keeps it quiet. Instead he responds to pride* I never do. *stumbles, leans against a fencepost* Just... need to rest. A bit.
Batou: Good. *steps forward and scoops Erol up in his arms*
Erol: Oh for the love of - *pushes briefly against Batou's chest, but the movement causes a fresh burst of warmth against his side. Clenching his teeth, he grips his side tightly, pale under his tattoos. Besides, Batou was a tank, he wouldn't have been able to break free at full uninjured condition, never mind now* SonovaMardamned'bitch... never woulda... happened f'I... had my gun...
Batou: *smirks* If you'd had your gun, we wouldn't be in this situation to begin with. *walking smoothly towards the doors out of Carnival. He glances over his shoulder briefly, frowning* ... dangerous in here. I wonder why they have this area?
Erol: *his head droops, resting on Batou's chest. He doesn't seem to notice* Lotta... things on this boat don' make fucking sense. Maybe s'for fuckers like me t'burn off some energy.
Batou: Maybe. Why don't you use this place instead of making a nuisance of yourself? *onto the ramp now and up, up towards the doors. Batou's walking quickly*
Erol: *shrugs, the movement subdued* Firs' time 've been here. *His grip is slacking, and he tightens up on the wound stubbornly, years of training screaming at him NOT to let the wound bleed uncontrolled. Hurts like fuck but that's okay, s'what he came here for... isn't it?*
Batou: Keep your hand on that. I can sew you up once we reach my quarters. *If worse comes to worse, Batou will release some of his own micromachines into Erol's flesh to let them do their healing work but he wants to avoid that at all costs. He glances down again. It's important to keep Erol talking to keep an eye on how he's faring.* You asked what the difference between us is. What do you think it is?
Erol: I know what t'do. *he was proud, not stupid. He'd been injured more times than he could count. Of course, green eco was usually at hand, no more than a few minutes away... He blinks at the question. What the hell kind of thing was that to ask?* Fuck. Besides the metal bones and panels and... stuff? Nnh. *considers a moment, licks his lips. They felt numb. Shock, most likely* I enjoy it... too much. Won't hold back - can't hold back. Well I COULD manage I guess but... but what kinda life would that be. Not one I want.
Batou: Are you happy? *presses the button for the doors to Carnival and exits into the ship proper. There's a steady trail of blood behind them and Batou's shirt and pants are becoming soaked in the stuff*
Erol: Mmmh. I was. In Haven. Sometimes - here too. D'pends on what m'doin'. That - bit with Lucy, that was fun. And fighting - *River. Better not mention her* - fighting Torn and th'boy and Y'kuni. Hurting th'priest, killing his... little summon things. Love that shit. Happy when m'doin' it. *Since he's been caged? Not so happy. But Batou knew that*
Batou: *just grunts* Too bad you're in this environment. *Erol reminds him of a saltwater creature suddenly dumped into a freshwater pool: he can swim, but barely. Everything is heavier, everything is more difficult.* You don't belong here.
Erol: Nnn. *Damn straight he didn't. Well technically he should be dead but... regardless. Too many fucking rules here. No zoomers, no guns. No way to get around the authority that told him he couldn't have what he needed. Only a barely acceptable outlet here and there, and he could deal with it, he COULD he was a survivor nothing ever kept him down for long but... he's tired, fatigued, everything feels white and distant. Erol lets his head rest limp on the cyborg's barrel chest*
Batou: Hey. Wake up. We're almost at my room. *Batou swipes his way through his lock, then shuts the door after himself. He places Erol on the bed in his cell, then starts to examine the wound* ... You'll be fine. You just need to eat and I'll stitch this up.
Erol: 'Course I will. Jus' a scratch. Had a hellova lot worse. *frowns* Not h'ngry. *And he wasn't. Tired, nauseous, shocky, dizzy - yes. He could sleep for a week probably. Or even eight hours, which he hadn't done since he was in single digits.*
Batou: You'll eat soon enough. *Batou's thinking of the future now, thinking that after today's little adventure he might start using trips to the Carnival as a way to encourage Erol to eat--if Erol's capable of thinking in the long term. The elf is an interesting mix of adult intellect with infantile impulse control. He should have just been a garden-variety sociopath, but he'd managed to make something of himself. Interesting.* Hold still. *Batou simply rips Erol's shirt off him and starts wiping away the blood*
Erol: Mmm. *He'd eaten a little bit here and there, but more and more he simply wasn't interested. He'd always only ever eaten to keep himself going, not for the pleasure of it or on a regular schedule like some. In here, the fact that his captor wanted him to eat was motivation enough not to do it, and he was too upset and focused most of the time to really consider it. He frowns at the destruction of his shirt; ah well, at least it hadn't been clothing from Haven. He never did get that shirt back. Holding up a bloody hand, he examines it listlessly, then licks one fingertip. Hm. Copper.*
Batou: "Wolves which batten upon lambs, lambs consumed by wolves, the strong who immolate the weak, the weak victims of the strong: there you have Nature."
Batou: You are a wolf, and here you are slowly dying, like a plant in the wrong soil. How quickly the strong, fearsome wolf becomes the lamb. *he rises and goes to fetch the sewing kit he got from Deck 12. He returns with a bottle of antiseptic, water, the sewing kit and some bandages, then crouches down*
Erol: *smirks in appreciation of the quotation - if that's what it was - but feels a growl build in his chest at the implication Batou derives from it.* M'not a fucking lamb. *struggles to prop himself up on his elbows, completely ignoring his injury* Just 'cause I know it's no fucking good to try t'hurt YOU. Toss me a real lamb an'I'll show you who's predator 'round here soon enough.
Batou: *if he could eye roll, he would. Batou places one massive hand on Erol's chest and pushes him down as easily as blades of grass under a car tyre* I recognize that you're in pain, Erol, but that's no excuse to be so stupid. *Batou begins to sterilize the wound, talking unconcernedly. He's sure that Erol has functioned with much worse in the way of injuries, and he's really not interested in babying a man like him* You're not a lamb because I've captured you. There's always someone stronger that you are--I know several individuals who could wipe the floor with me.
Batou: *wipe wipe wipe, splash, wipe, now thread the needle with blind eyes, perfect on the first try* You're a lamb because you're sputtering out. You're a strong man, but one who is over-specialized. On my world there are creatures called koalas. They can eat plant matter that would kill any other creature--but they died out many years ago. Once the poisonous plant they consumed disappeared, so did they. Once your conditions aren't perfect... *Batou starts to stitch Erol's wound* ... Hmph. You fade away. Like the koalas.
Erol: *pushed back with ridiculous ease, he raises his head with teeth bared in a stubborn snarl. But he wouldn't fight medical treatment; he was just being stubborn. And he'd been called stupid before, it was annoying but false. He just had different priorities - and he was hardly an intellectual. Erol simply didn't work like that. His brainpower went to other things, manipulation and scheming and weapons and deriving the best way to make someone break and ferreting out information from reluctant donors. Other things.* Well. Sucks t'be me then, doesn't it.
Erol: *He knew he was probably supposed to ask Batou how to adjust, but he wasn't interested in it. As he'd ranted to Celeste, the ultimate power in Erol's world view was the one you gave others over yourself. Erol made compromises to obtain an end goal he desired more than what he sacrificed, but no more. He could only be made to change if he let them change him, and he refused to hand over that power. And there was not a damn thing they could do about it. Except perhaps kill him, but that had no lasting power here, and in the end, he still won because he retained who he was. Far worse to let the world change you, mold you into something acceptable. He let his head rest back down, fatigued from blood loss and shock* Yeah. Sucks. So I'll fade away, will I.
Batou: Looks like it. Pathetic.
Erol: *growls and sits halfway up again* FUCK you. What d'YOU think I should do then, eh? Pretend t'be something I'm not for the rest of th'lambs? THAT'S pathetic. Pathetic is hiding, pathetic is lying about what you are so they won't lock you up, pathetic is ranking safety over truth. If - WHEN I die - I mean for good - it'll be as what I am, not as what THEY'VE molded me into. *blinks, fatigued from the outburst, and lays down again of his own volition, dark eyelids shuttered. The stitches stung, but it was nothing he wasn't used to. The pain was good, sometimes it felt like it was the only sure sign he was alive. Especially in this cage*
Batou: When did I say anything of the sort? *gently pushes Erol back down again and continues stitching* You're terrified of change. See it as a threat. See it as malevolent. Good for you, I'm not here to change you, I don't care to. You're my prisoner, and-- *Batou pauses, looks at Erol* --you're my pet. *he resumes stitching* I'm interested in you in a psychological standpoint, but more than that, I'm interested in me. Call me an egoist, I've been called worse. *He smirks a bit, fascinated by his own emotions. Batou observes himself, how he changes, how it seems that wherever he goes, he always wants a pet. The Tachikomas, his dog Gabriel, and to a certain extent, his human partner Togusa. Now, here's Erol. Fascinating.*
Erol: Not... scared of anything. Just don't want to. *Of course Erol would never admit it or even realize it on his own behalf, but Batou was spot-on. The one thing that would have terrified him more than anything else would be the idea of someone messing around in his head, changing him - one reason he was heartily glad he did NOT have cybernetic interfaces like his captor. The earlier suggestion of interfacing and re-wiring his neural input had unnerved him quite a bit. He'd far, FAR rather die than let someone mess around with him like that.*
Erol: NOT your pet. *His reply has less energy than he'd like - for one thing, the blood loss, and for another - ... for some reason the comment made him think of the Baron. He'd felt sometimes like a pit-fighting crocadog, wound up and pointed in the right direction to terrorize Praxis' targets. He never minded because the Baron gave him what he wanted in return, it was a favorable arrangement. This? This was not a trade. Batou kept him locked up, gave him little of what he needed and nothing that he wanted. His situation on the boat had been had enough to start with, but now his own head was driving him steadily mad with the effects of captivity.* Not yours.
Batou: My pet. Mine. Perhaps the Captain's if you want to go to prime causes, or even further back, God's or destiny's. *Batou inclines his head down and--snip! Bites off the thread with his teeth. He straightens up, a smudge of Erol's blood on his mouth and chin* You've changed hands, Erol. You're now in mine.
Erol: *narrows his eyes, a dangerous, violent light coming through* In your KEEPING doesn't mean SHIT. You provide the bare necessities for life because you've taken my freedom, nothing more. You couldn't buy, wrangle, bargain for or finagle my loyalty. That belonged to one man who's now dead and the proof of it is in my skin. Keeping me here through force means NOTHING.
Batou: *leans in, his deep voice soft* I'm not going to force you. And you might one day not be in my keeping, but you will still be my pet.
Erol: *his eyes narrow to slits of pure hatred and he bares his teeth. The set of his body indicates he's about to strike, but he pulls back with one of his remaining shreds of restraint to ask* And what exactly do you suppose puts me into that category. Define it for me.
Batou: *he reaches up, touches the pads of his index and middle fingers to Erol's thin, pale, sweating cheek* This is a prison you're going to build by yourself. And I'm going to stand outside and watch.
Erol: *tenses and bats at Batou's hand with all the strength he can muster, for all the good it would do against that titanium skeleton. If the cyborg's hand is pushed away Erol knows very well it's because he let it be* Don't touch me. Stop crossing metaphors and tell it straight, or stop filling the Mardamned air with this intellectual bullshit.
Batou: I think we're done for now. *Batou rises to his feet smoothly, more smoothly than any biological being could possibly do and he turns, exits the cell and twists the steel rebar lock on once more* I'll feed you later. Rest now.
Batou: The sooner you rest, the sooner we can go back.
Erol: Tch. I was planning on it in the first place, round-ear. *A pet, was he. Well Batou would learn that when you tried to make a pet out of a wild animal, they would turn on you first chance they got. Could never be tamed, try as you might, not completely. Gingerly he curled onto his uninjured side; exhaustion, blood loss, shock and fatigue putting him to sleep quite quickly. Every 2, 3 hours he'd sort of shake himself, move as if to get up and continue pacing; but then he'd wince, remember he was injured, and lay back down easily. In the end, he really did sleep a good 8 hours, perhaps more*
Location: Carnival; Batou's room
Date: After this
Rating: PG: Naughty language
{Erol and Batou kill bears in Carnival. One of them swipes Erol with it's claws on the way past}
Batou: Mm. You're a good fighter. I enjoyed that.
Erol: .... Hm. Thanks, I think. *struggles to his feet, holding his badly-bleeding side*
Batou: Don't. You're weak enough. I'm going to carry you.
Erol: Nnng - I don't need to be carried!!! *clearly infuriated by the idea. Also clearly starting to shake, he was in bad enough condition at the start of the fight*
Batou: You're barely able to walk. I'm not having you die. If your pride is hurting you, tell it to be quiet.
Erol: *almost asks why Batou doesn't want him to die, but something about the idea pings a concept he's been batting around in his own head, so he keeps it quiet. Instead he responds to pride* I never do. *stumbles, leans against a fencepost* Just... need to rest. A bit.
Batou: Good. *steps forward and scoops Erol up in his arms*
Erol: Oh for the love of - *pushes briefly against Batou's chest, but the movement causes a fresh burst of warmth against his side. Clenching his teeth, he grips his side tightly, pale under his tattoos. Besides, Batou was a tank, he wouldn't have been able to break free at full uninjured condition, never mind now* SonovaMardamned'bitch... never woulda... happened f'I... had my gun...
Batou: *smirks* If you'd had your gun, we wouldn't be in this situation to begin with. *walking smoothly towards the doors out of Carnival. He glances over his shoulder briefly, frowning* ... dangerous in here. I wonder why they have this area?
Erol: *his head droops, resting on Batou's chest. He doesn't seem to notice* Lotta... things on this boat don' make fucking sense. Maybe s'for fuckers like me t'burn off some energy.
Batou: Maybe. Why don't you use this place instead of making a nuisance of yourself? *onto the ramp now and up, up towards the doors. Batou's walking quickly*
Erol: *shrugs, the movement subdued* Firs' time 've been here. *His grip is slacking, and he tightens up on the wound stubbornly, years of training screaming at him NOT to let the wound bleed uncontrolled. Hurts like fuck but that's okay, s'what he came here for... isn't it?*
Batou: Keep your hand on that. I can sew you up once we reach my quarters. *If worse comes to worse, Batou will release some of his own micromachines into Erol's flesh to let them do their healing work but he wants to avoid that at all costs. He glances down again. It's important to keep Erol talking to keep an eye on how he's faring.* You asked what the difference between us is. What do you think it is?
Erol: I know what t'do. *he was proud, not stupid. He'd been injured more times than he could count. Of course, green eco was usually at hand, no more than a few minutes away... He blinks at the question. What the hell kind of thing was that to ask?* Fuck. Besides the metal bones and panels and... stuff? Nnh. *considers a moment, licks his lips. They felt numb. Shock, most likely* I enjoy it... too much. Won't hold back - can't hold back. Well I COULD manage I guess but... but what kinda life would that be. Not one I want.
Batou: Are you happy? *presses the button for the doors to Carnival and exits into the ship proper. There's a steady trail of blood behind them and Batou's shirt and pants are becoming soaked in the stuff*
Erol: Mmmh. I was. In Haven. Sometimes - here too. D'pends on what m'doin'. That - bit with Lucy, that was fun. And fighting - *River. Better not mention her* - fighting Torn and th'boy and Y'kuni. Hurting th'priest, killing his... little summon things. Love that shit. Happy when m'doin' it. *Since he's been caged? Not so happy. But Batou knew that*
Batou: *just grunts* Too bad you're in this environment. *Erol reminds him of a saltwater creature suddenly dumped into a freshwater pool: he can swim, but barely. Everything is heavier, everything is more difficult.* You don't belong here.
Erol: Nnn. *Damn straight he didn't. Well technically he should be dead but... regardless. Too many fucking rules here. No zoomers, no guns. No way to get around the authority that told him he couldn't have what he needed. Only a barely acceptable outlet here and there, and he could deal with it, he COULD he was a survivor nothing ever kept him down for long but... he's tired, fatigued, everything feels white and distant. Erol lets his head rest limp on the cyborg's barrel chest*
Batou: Hey. Wake up. We're almost at my room. *Batou swipes his way through his lock, then shuts the door after himself. He places Erol on the bed in his cell, then starts to examine the wound* ... You'll be fine. You just need to eat and I'll stitch this up.
Erol: 'Course I will. Jus' a scratch. Had a hellova lot worse. *frowns* Not h'ngry. *And he wasn't. Tired, nauseous, shocky, dizzy - yes. He could sleep for a week probably. Or even eight hours, which he hadn't done since he was in single digits.*
Batou: You'll eat soon enough. *Batou's thinking of the future now, thinking that after today's little adventure he might start using trips to the Carnival as a way to encourage Erol to eat--if Erol's capable of thinking in the long term. The elf is an interesting mix of adult intellect with infantile impulse control. He should have just been a garden-variety sociopath, but he'd managed to make something of himself. Interesting.* Hold still. *Batou simply rips Erol's shirt off him and starts wiping away the blood*
Erol: Mmm. *He'd eaten a little bit here and there, but more and more he simply wasn't interested. He'd always only ever eaten to keep himself going, not for the pleasure of it or on a regular schedule like some. In here, the fact that his captor wanted him to eat was motivation enough not to do it, and he was too upset and focused most of the time to really consider it. He frowns at the destruction of his shirt; ah well, at least it hadn't been clothing from Haven. He never did get that shirt back. Holding up a bloody hand, he examines it listlessly, then licks one fingertip. Hm. Copper.*
Batou: "Wolves which batten upon lambs, lambs consumed by wolves, the strong who immolate the weak, the weak victims of the strong: there you have Nature."
Batou: You are a wolf, and here you are slowly dying, like a plant in the wrong soil. How quickly the strong, fearsome wolf becomes the lamb. *he rises and goes to fetch the sewing kit he got from Deck 12. He returns with a bottle of antiseptic, water, the sewing kit and some bandages, then crouches down*
Erol: *smirks in appreciation of the quotation - if that's what it was - but feels a growl build in his chest at the implication Batou derives from it.* M'not a fucking lamb. *struggles to prop himself up on his elbows, completely ignoring his injury* Just 'cause I know it's no fucking good to try t'hurt YOU. Toss me a real lamb an'I'll show you who's predator 'round here soon enough.
Batou: *if he could eye roll, he would. Batou places one massive hand on Erol's chest and pushes him down as easily as blades of grass under a car tyre* I recognize that you're in pain, Erol, but that's no excuse to be so stupid. *Batou begins to sterilize the wound, talking unconcernedly. He's sure that Erol has functioned with much worse in the way of injuries, and he's really not interested in babying a man like him* You're not a lamb because I've captured you. There's always someone stronger that you are--I know several individuals who could wipe the floor with me.
Batou: *wipe wipe wipe, splash, wipe, now thread the needle with blind eyes, perfect on the first try* You're a lamb because you're sputtering out. You're a strong man, but one who is over-specialized. On my world there are creatures called koalas. They can eat plant matter that would kill any other creature--but they died out many years ago. Once the poisonous plant they consumed disappeared, so did they. Once your conditions aren't perfect... *Batou starts to stitch Erol's wound* ... Hmph. You fade away. Like the koalas.
Erol: *pushed back with ridiculous ease, he raises his head with teeth bared in a stubborn snarl. But he wouldn't fight medical treatment; he was just being stubborn. And he'd been called stupid before, it was annoying but false. He just had different priorities - and he was hardly an intellectual. Erol simply didn't work like that. His brainpower went to other things, manipulation and scheming and weapons and deriving the best way to make someone break and ferreting out information from reluctant donors. Other things.* Well. Sucks t'be me then, doesn't it.
Erol: *He knew he was probably supposed to ask Batou how to adjust, but he wasn't interested in it. As he'd ranted to Celeste, the ultimate power in Erol's world view was the one you gave others over yourself. Erol made compromises to obtain an end goal he desired more than what he sacrificed, but no more. He could only be made to change if he let them change him, and he refused to hand over that power. And there was not a damn thing they could do about it. Except perhaps kill him, but that had no lasting power here, and in the end, he still won because he retained who he was. Far worse to let the world change you, mold you into something acceptable. He let his head rest back down, fatigued from blood loss and shock* Yeah. Sucks. So I'll fade away, will I.
Batou: Looks like it. Pathetic.
Erol: *growls and sits halfway up again* FUCK you. What d'YOU think I should do then, eh? Pretend t'be something I'm not for the rest of th'lambs? THAT'S pathetic. Pathetic is hiding, pathetic is lying about what you are so they won't lock you up, pathetic is ranking safety over truth. If - WHEN I die - I mean for good - it'll be as what I am, not as what THEY'VE molded me into. *blinks, fatigued from the outburst, and lays down again of his own volition, dark eyelids shuttered. The stitches stung, but it was nothing he wasn't used to. The pain was good, sometimes it felt like it was the only sure sign he was alive. Especially in this cage*
Batou: When did I say anything of the sort? *gently pushes Erol back down again and continues stitching* You're terrified of change. See it as a threat. See it as malevolent. Good for you, I'm not here to change you, I don't care to. You're my prisoner, and-- *Batou pauses, looks at Erol* --you're my pet. *he resumes stitching* I'm interested in you in a psychological standpoint, but more than that, I'm interested in me. Call me an egoist, I've been called worse. *He smirks a bit, fascinated by his own emotions. Batou observes himself, how he changes, how it seems that wherever he goes, he always wants a pet. The Tachikomas, his dog Gabriel, and to a certain extent, his human partner Togusa. Now, here's Erol. Fascinating.*
Erol: Not... scared of anything. Just don't want to. *Of course Erol would never admit it or even realize it on his own behalf, but Batou was spot-on. The one thing that would have terrified him more than anything else would be the idea of someone messing around in his head, changing him - one reason he was heartily glad he did NOT have cybernetic interfaces like his captor. The earlier suggestion of interfacing and re-wiring his neural input had unnerved him quite a bit. He'd far, FAR rather die than let someone mess around with him like that.*
Erol: NOT your pet. *His reply has less energy than he'd like - for one thing, the blood loss, and for another - ... for some reason the comment made him think of the Baron. He'd felt sometimes like a pit-fighting crocadog, wound up and pointed in the right direction to terrorize Praxis' targets. He never minded because the Baron gave him what he wanted in return, it was a favorable arrangement. This? This was not a trade. Batou kept him locked up, gave him little of what he needed and nothing that he wanted. His situation on the boat had been had enough to start with, but now his own head was driving him steadily mad with the effects of captivity.* Not yours.
Batou: My pet. Mine. Perhaps the Captain's if you want to go to prime causes, or even further back, God's or destiny's. *Batou inclines his head down and--snip! Bites off the thread with his teeth. He straightens up, a smudge of Erol's blood on his mouth and chin* You've changed hands, Erol. You're now in mine.
Erol: *narrows his eyes, a dangerous, violent light coming through* In your KEEPING doesn't mean SHIT. You provide the bare necessities for life because you've taken my freedom, nothing more. You couldn't buy, wrangle, bargain for or finagle my loyalty. That belonged to one man who's now dead and the proof of it is in my skin. Keeping me here through force means NOTHING.
Batou: *leans in, his deep voice soft* I'm not going to force you. And you might one day not be in my keeping, but you will still be my pet.
Erol: *his eyes narrow to slits of pure hatred and he bares his teeth. The set of his body indicates he's about to strike, but he pulls back with one of his remaining shreds of restraint to ask* And what exactly do you suppose puts me into that category. Define it for me.
Batou: *he reaches up, touches the pads of his index and middle fingers to Erol's thin, pale, sweating cheek* This is a prison you're going to build by yourself. And I'm going to stand outside and watch.
Erol: *tenses and bats at Batou's hand with all the strength he can muster, for all the good it would do against that titanium skeleton. If the cyborg's hand is pushed away Erol knows very well it's because he let it be* Don't touch me. Stop crossing metaphors and tell it straight, or stop filling the Mardamned air with this intellectual bullshit.
Batou: I think we're done for now. *Batou rises to his feet smoothly, more smoothly than any biological being could possibly do and he turns, exits the cell and twists the steel rebar lock on once more* I'll feed you later. Rest now.
Batou: The sooner you rest, the sooner we can go back.
Erol: Tch. I was planning on it in the first place, round-ear. *A pet, was he. Well Batou would learn that when you tried to make a pet out of a wild animal, they would turn on you first chance they got. Could never be tamed, try as you might, not completely. Gingerly he curled onto his uninjured side; exhaustion, blood loss, shock and fatigue putting him to sleep quite quickly. Every 2, 3 hours he'd sort of shake himself, move as if to get up and continue pacing; but then he'd wince, remember he was injured, and lay back down easily. In the end, he really did sleep a good 8 hours, perhaps more*