Emotions; Insane Craft AU

Chapter Fifteen

Ian really hated monsters.

He pressed the ice pack to his forehead and grumbled. The savory scent of his home was almost calming. It reminded him almost of an antique store.

"On the bright side, we have the Cane of Venoms," Jerome nudged Ian's shoulder. The purple and black scythe rested against the wall beside from door of Ian's house. It pulsed with a strange yet familiar energy.

Ian was sitting on his brown leather couch, it's surface both cold and warm. He shot a look at Jerome.

Biffle pinched his nose bridge. He was slumped in a separate black leather chair, he, just like Ian, suffered from multiple cuts and bruises. Jerome was the only one who look presentable.

"Hey, I heard that," Jerome shot at Biffle.

"I was just thinking that you did nothing of use," Biffle mumbled in response.

"True," Ian leaned forward and pointed at Biffle. His coat weighed against his back and his scarf scratched at his neck, "Both Biffle and I destroyed whatever those might creatures were while you walked up to the scythe like you were talking a leisurely stroll through the forest."

"You guys clearly had it handled, and someone needed to get the scythe anyways," Jerome flattened his fuzzy brown ears. His hands were in the pockets on his soft brown coat and his golden scarf and beanie nestled perfectly in their spots.

"I hate to agree with Jerome, but he did get us the scythe, so," Biffle stood and shrugged. His white shirt was crossed with thick, black lines and a few tears in the fabric. Over it, he had a large fuzzy black trench coat. His scarf had been discarded on the coat hanger on the opposite end of the door as the Cane of Venoms.

"Won't argue, I got hit in the head too hard," Ian growled, "Someone get me a drink," Ian waved his hand, his other still holding the ice pack that was pressed to his forehead. Biffle wondered off to a separate room and retrieved a glass of milk. Ian didn't complain, he just drank it.

"This tastes expired," Ian said numbly after the first sip. He drank a bit more to confirm that, yes, it was expired.

"You seem awfully calm about drinking expired milk," Jerome raised an eyebrow.

"Eh," Ian mumbled again, "I think I got hit to hard in the head."

"You've mentioned," Jerome nodded quickly.

"I hate to agree with Jerome, but you probably shouldn't drink any more of that," Biffle added.

"You've mentioned that too," Jerome nodded towards Biffle.

"I have? Must have hit my head too hard," Biffle rumbled.

"Right, well maybe you two should go to bed?" Jerome asked firmly yet politely, making it sound more like an order rather than a suggestion.

Both Ian and Biffle began protesting and talking over each other, insisting that they were fine.

"Okay, okay, okay," Jerome waved and the two quieted, "Well if you don't go to bed, I'll let you try this drink I made."

Jerome slipped away and returned with two glasses filled with a shimmering pink-red liquid.

Ian drank it quickly. It was quite sweet, but not fruity like he had expected. Ian felt the cloud of jumbled thoughts slip away and he instantly began to feel more energetic and alive.

"You gave us a healing potion, didn't you?" Ian asked him.

"You wouldn't otherwise," Jerome replied, attempting to defend himself, "You both are really stubborn."

"Alright, alright," Biffle waved.

Ian stared at the Cane of Venoms, still pulsating.

A matter of time, pet.

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Word Count: 597

A/N: *panically runs around and tries to find any trace of inspiration I can*