[Alas, as a human he actually has to sleep these days, so the text wakes him up. Henry squints at his screen, but to his credit, it doesn't take long to reply.]
Maybe no one expected you to die so quickly. You just got here.
[Burden, huh? Henry's only ever gotten perfectly harmless ones, but he supposes it was a matter of time before someone on Pride... did not.
Well. He can ask more questions later.]
Pleasant. On my way. Hang tight.
[Not that he has a choice.
Give him a bit. He's going to make his way over to the morgue, and when he arrives he opens up the mortuary cabinet that is presumably making some noise. It slides open with a metallic creak.
[ He sure is in there. It's probably a very big drawer to accommodate his stupid proportions. He blinks a couple of times, squinting. Blue sparks run up the side of his head. ]
[Yeah, he totally meant thanks, that's why Henry responds with a smile and a-]
You're welcome.
[He blinks at the sparks, though, which light up the gloom and doom of the morgue. Given the time of day, it's particularly spooky in here, but to his credit, Henry seems pretty unbothered.
He steps away to give Vox some room to get his bearings and stand.]
Diving right into the Shadowpeaks experience, aren't you.
[ It is spooky here. Normally Vox wouldn't be bothered, but the events at the pizzeria have him a bit on-edge. He's quick to sit and swing his legs over the edge of the drawer to get to his feet.
[If he notices that tension, he's kind(??) enough not to say anything about it right now. (See: yet.) So Henry nods, gesturing at the way out, and leads on. Their footsteps echo in the dreary, run-down building.]
[ He goes still a moment, electricity lancing up his body. You're going to have to get used to that, Henry. ]
On edge? I was just sta̷̠̔l̴̢̿k̷̨͆ed through a p̸̨̀i̸̘͒z̵͈̾z̸̳̑a̶̱͠ ̸̡̄p̴͙͠a̸̢͐r̸̲̈́l̷̠̆ö̸̭r̶̻͐, captured, tortured, dismantled piece by piece to the sounds of pop music and c̸̪͗a̸̪͠t̵̲̂ ̷͓͂p̶̱͌u̴̱̽n̶͎͗s̸̙̈. Why would I be on edge?
[Yeah, no thank you. When he goes still, Henry pauses, too, just clasping his hands behind his back. He tilts his head slightly.]
No. It's not that kind of "on edge." You seem like the kind of person who wouldn't let death get under your skin. Angry about it, yes. But bothered? ...I'm not so sure.
[This is his way of asking: is something bothering you?]
[ there's little in the way of rest at Pride, tonight—at least not for Sprezzatura Vaux. what a cruel mistress, sleep... always so cold to her on those nights she longs for her most.
but once the house has fallen silent, and she's truly, truly sure...
she finds herself in Henry's doorway; frozen in Henry's doorway. blue light spills in through the window and bathes the room. her heart throbs painfully in her fingers, ears, throat.
she can't tell from here without her glasses... if he's truly, deeply, asleep. ]
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