Kabedone With You

"Artoria? Is anything the matter?"

She catches herself on his sleeve as she stumbles. Fuck. She hates his princely gettup with a passion (he's two-faced regardless of form, but that specific brand of deception makes her skin crawl) still she has to admit it's quite useful in that specific situation. Clumsily, she reaches up. "I," her fingers find his collar "I, I,"

The fire in her blood only flares brighter. Her mouth feels filled with cotton. As such, what she intends to say is brief and to the point: I need your help. Carry me to my room. I need to be alone.

(What she wishes she could say, if she weren't diseased to the bone by hard-learned paranoia, is thus: I am not feeling well. My skin has been set ablaze and my body is craving touch. That thing poisoned me earlier. I'm weak. Protect me.)

And what she means is, really: I trust you. I trust you. I trust you.

Alas, Artoria has never been good at being honest; right now, veins full of toxins, head full of needss, some truth makes its way out, but only partially, convolutedly, like an hungry snake twisting left and right to find its way out, and that's why when she slams him against a wall and takes a peek at his surprised face what actuallly comes out is: "I need cock now."