Setting: The shelter room
Time: Night 013, a while after 6's intro.
Summary: 9 and 6 have a lot to talk about. A lot. Suddenly, Johan! Also, Shilo discovers the cuteness of stitchpunks.
Warnings: Stitchpunk angst, mention of blood and violence, a metric shitton of bromance, and spoilers! Beware!
9 sat in the floor of the shelter, lenses trained on the little striped stitchpunk; he wasn't sure just how long it had been since either of them had arrived anymore. It was so difficult to keep track of time in that place, if not impossible. The night had gone on for entirely too long-- it felt like days had passed, but that was impossible, wasn't it?
Then again, 9's world, no matter what world he happened to be in, had a nasty habit of stretching the limits of what was and wasn't possible. For example, that house-- the ghosts, the boy. The human. None of it made any sense, and he couldn't help the nagging feeling that that wasn't going to change anytime soon.
But at least there was one thing that made sense to him now-- ironic, considering he seemed to be the thing that made the least sense to all of the others. 9 wasn't alone anymore; not separated from his kin, at least, not completely. Although he still wished that 6 would've been left out of that place, he couldn't help but secretly feel relief at his presence, if not a selfish happiness to see him back alive at all. He'd felt so helpless that day on the bridge, only able to watch... and 6 had been brave. More brave than he would've been. He didn't seem afraid of the machine, didn't truly struggle before...
... it was almost as though he'd been expecting it. Which was a strange thought, but... not impossible, not by any means. But he couldn't ask that. Not then. It was the wrong time, the wrong place, the wrong... everything, if there even was a proper place or time for that question.
Instead, he asked, "How's your leg?"