"Your comparison is more accurate than you may realize."
>Scratch returns the button to the jar and replaces the lid.
"I imagine that to be a rather harrowing experience. I would shudder to imagine the sheer bedlam that would be unleashed if my cohorts were given access to such things."
>Droog shuddered at the thought of the Felt with explosives. Deuce may have been absent-minded, but he was at least competent when it came to explosives. Even if he did leave them lying around. They were always disarmed. Though it was still a stressful situation.
"Those guys, they seem like maybe they’ve huffed a bit too much gasoline."
"I suppose you could call this a slice of history. In the early days of my cooperation with the Felt, I saw fit to dole out rewards when they completed minor tasks. I utilized this jar to store small trinkets that would strike their fancy. When they became slightly more competent, I discontinued the reward system."
>Scratch takes the lid off of the jar and pulls out a glittery green button.
"They are very easily bribed, you see."
>Droog considers the button, light bouncing off of the green glitter here and there, and he arches a brow. Green. Not a color he could say he enjoyed, particularly, but the Felt seemed to live around it. His eyes focus back on Scratch.
"Like training a pack of dogs."
>He gives a shrug, crossing his arms across his chest.
"I used to have to do something similar with my Deuce though. So he would learn to clean his room. It’s not very fun to trip over explosives."
>Despite the fact that he expected this development, Scratch is still a bit surprised. He isn’t exactly the type of person that people typically extend offers of companionship to, after all.
"I will keep that in mind. Considering the type of situations that will be taking place in the immediate future, I may have to take you up on your offer."
>He takes a large jar of assorted green objects out of one of the boxes and examines it for a moment, seemingly contemplating its contents.
>He senses that Scratch is…surprised? Maybe? And for that, Droog is a bit proud. It was hard to surprise an omniscient being. He considers Droogs offer, and examines a jar of some sort of green objects. Droog wonders absent-mindedly what he’s thinking.
"What is it?"
Reblog if it is okay if your muse is hurt, severely injured or tortured in RPs.
>Scratch pauses in his rearranging to face Droog again, but only for a moment. Sometimes not establishing eye contact isn’t such a bad thing.
"If you are speaking in reference to my emotional state, I am not entirely sure that there is anything to be helped. I assume that being uncomfortable with one’s mortality is standard fare with individuals who are indeed mortal."
>Scratch faces him for a moment, before going back to rearranging, speaking as he moves furniture. Droog watches him, listening, before crossing his arms over his chest, nodding acknowledgement.
"That’s true. But, you know…"
>He shifts slightly, standing up straight.
"…I’m here if you ever need to vent or, you know, you need company."
>Smooth Droog, real smooth.
>Scratch nudges his box of limbs into the middle of the room to make space for a slightly larger box. He might as well be testing how many combinations of objects he can swap in the course of a conversation.
"Fear stems from the unknown or what is not understood, so I would most likely not use that exact wording. I am not looking forward to it, that much is certain."
>Droog watches him move boxes around, walking around the couch and approaching him, hand sliding over the fabric on the back of the couch. He stood beside it, blue eyes scanning over the smaller man.
"Hm. I understand."
>He cleared his throat, fingers sliding over his lapel. He leaned against the back of the couch, crossing his legs.
"Would you like help with anything, Scratch?"
>Scratch continues to move furniture and boxes around, despite the fact that everything ends up in its original spot eventually. It’s mostly just something to do while he talks so that he doesn’t make Droog uncomfortable by staring at him the entire time.
"Quite the opposite, actually. My universe’s timeline seems to be in perfect condition. My unease stems from the fact that if the universe continues to proceed as smoothly as it has been, then quite a few metaphorical boxes on the temporal to-do list will be checked off relatively quickly."
>He knows that Scratch doesn’t really need to reset any of the furniture, but he doesn’t mind. They both can look like they’re doing something instead of staring at each other. He takes a licorice swedish fish out of the candy bowl, examining it curiously before eating it, looking back over to Scratch. After making sure to swallow, he arches a brow, smoothing his suit jacket down.
"So you fear for the end, er, your end, I suppose?"
>Scratch watches Droog for a minute, then goes back to moving things around the room. It’s always amused him that no one seems able to fully accept the fact that there’s nothing to look at.
"That’s not the unsettling part; this sort of escapade does take place occasionally. What troubles me is the fact that these events are all unfolding perfectly, paradoxical as that may be."
>Droog and Scratch stare at each other for a moment, it’s silent, and a bit longer than it should have been. But he could feel, sense that Scratch was looking at him, and that was enough to offer him a bit of relief when Scratch returned to moving things about. He walked over to the table, fingers trailing over the wood.
"Hm. You think that perhaps there’s been some damage done to the Time Space continuum? Or do you worry of other things?"