Fralith stared at the boy in front of him in the reflective ClearStone. He was...much better off than he had been since he'd last looked at himself. His ribs no longer stuck out like a starved Ympalla and the sunken gauntness of his skin had faded into a healthy plumpness. The dark circles under his eyes were gone and the scar on his cheek had settled into a pale, rumpled imprint of flame.

He looked healthy. Well, besides the line over his heart, the pinkening wound on his arm, and the stick-ness of his legs. All the lying around hadn't done good to his muscles. He frowned. He'd have to fix that when his chest didn't ache so much. He needed to be fast if he'd ever tried to get out of here, not that...not that it was so bad. Tim was here. Tim was nice. Safe. Good.

A knock sounded at the door. "Brave Bud? Are you done? Your food has arrived."

Brave Bud. There was it again. Why did Tim keep calling him that? What did it mean? Fralith shook himself and went to the door, pulling it open. He froze, foot in the air and cold air blasting his exposed skin. Someone else stood in the room. Someone not Tim. Someone in blue.

With a slam, the door flew open. He jerked his knife out and whirled, catching sight of men in blue shirts before something grabbed his injured arm. Fralith shook off the memory and eyed the new man warily. What was he doing here? Why was he wearing blue? What was he doing with Tim's cart? It was his food! Not anyone else's!

"There you are!"

He turned on TIm, one eye still on the blue-shirted man. "Allimonah?"

Tim smiled cheerfully and gestured to the man in a blue shirt. "This is Officer Matthew Northwater. And don't worry, he's safe. He's brought you food."

BlueShirt nodded at him, giving him a small smile. "Hello," he greeted. Then, like Tim had when he'd been telling Fralith his name, he put his hand to his chest. "Matthew. Math-ew. Matthew."

Fralith narrowed his eyes, pressing his lips together. Math-ew. Matthew. Maaaathewww. Matthew. He let the door close behind him. BlueShirt is better. Shaking the weird name off his shoulders, he edged towards Tim, still eyeing BlueShirt. What did he want? What was he going to do? Why was he here? Why did he have his food?

He looked at Tim and squinted. "Beep."

Tim cocked his head. "Why so?"

"...no..." he paused. How could he get across that it was his food? "Food...food..." What were the words? Beep! He didn't know. Growling, he pointed at the food and grabbed at it, pulling the imaginary food to himself. "Food." It's mine. I want it. BlueShirt can't have it.

Tim studied him for a long moment, brows furrowed. "You...want the food?"

Fralith nodded his head at the word he recognized, hoping he was agreeing to the right thing. He shuffled back to the bed and sat, turning so he could see both Tim and BlueShirt at the same time.

Tim waved at BlueShirt and BlueShirt stepped forwards with the cart. He reached down and picked up a YellowCurve, offering it to him.

He stared at the YellowCurve then at BlueShirt. Was it safe? He scanned the other man's BodyTalk. He held his shoulders loosely and stood with more confidence and ease than Tim did, a sign that he knew at least some part of fighting. Was he a RedShirt? Fralith flicked his gaze to BlueShirt's hair. Brown. A mouse-ish brown. Not a RedShirt, then. A SecondHomer? No, his hair wasn't long enough and he looked too heavy-set for climbing trees. Then...a Rivierian? But didn't they have black hair?

Befuddled, he glanced at BlueShirt's eyes. They were brown too, but were darker and richer, like heartwood. Either this world's version of Rivierians or SecondHomers, he decided.

"Go on," BlueShirt said, shaking him out of his thoughts. "It's okay."

He blinked at him, gaze dropping back to the YellowCurve, stomach growling. It was food. Not the best food, but better than nothing. Tentatively, he reached out and took the YellowCurve, snatching both it and his hand back as quickly as possible.

Unbothered, BlueShirt straightened and helped Tim set the bed up for food. Fralith watched both of them from where he sat, chewing on the YellowCurve, unsure what to make of it all. Tim seemed completely at ease with BlueShirt — unlike how he had been with the woman — and BlueShirt, likewise. The two talked in their odd language, smiling and acting as if all was fine.

Which it wasn't: he hadn't got his food yet.

Yesterday, he might have been too down to eat anything, but today he was ravenous. His stomach snarled its displeasure, prowling around in his belly like a meat-deprived Ravvidomi in winter. Food. He wanted to eat food. It didn't matter that BlueShirt and Tim glanced at him from time to time, as if gauging his reaction. He wanted food. Now.

Finally, the bed was ready and all was in place. He wiggled his feet furiously, staring at Tim then the food meaningfully. I'm hungry. Please give me food. It's right there.

Tim smiled at him and leaned back in his chair.

Betrayer. Fralith bared his teeth at him and huffed, spearing BlueShirt with the same, meaningful look. He'd shown no hint of malice as of yet, and he hadn't excessively stared at him, either. He'd have to do.

Thankfully, BlueShirt seemed to get the message and laid the food out on the tray. "There you go, Brave Bud. Enjoy, though I believe you enjoy food more than enough already, if Tim's stories are true."

He paid no attention to BlueShirt and surveyed the food. It was the meal with the YuckBlobs, but that was okay. It was food. He attacked the leaves, green sludge, and everything else — except for the YuckBlobs — shoving it into his stomach as fast as he possibly could.

"Wow," BlueShirt breathed. "That was fast."

Tim's chuckle butted through the sounds of his chewing. "Brave Bud is the fastest eater I have ever seen."

"Same here."

With the final gulp, Fralith shoved his plate away and leaned back, rubbing his now full stomach. That was much better. Much, much better. He yawned, burped, and looked at the others in the room, head cocked. Both of them were grinning at him. Why? What was so funny?

Narrowing his eyes, he beeped at them, just to see how they would react. Tim chuckled and BlueShirt lifted his eyebrows. Fralith huffed and licked his lips, eyeing BlueShirt. The man reminded him a lot of Drao in the way he looked at him — all serious and calm, yet somehow full of mirth and warmth, as if he knew all the darkness of the world and still found light in it — and the quiet potential he held himself with.

There was something else he could sense about BlueShirt, but what it was, he couldn't track down. It was something familiar — the kind of familiar of seeing the same bird in its nest or the house next door, not the more intimate kind like knowing someone like a sibling or the room one slept in. Something he'd seen in other people. In Drao. Something he'd never truly experienced. But... what was it? Beep...

BlueShirt blinked at him and turned to Tim. "He has magenta eyes," he remarked, a question underlying his words.

Tim nodded. "Yeah, isn't he special? We did some blood tests for his heart and all, along with some other things, and they're perfectly natural. He's got the first magenta eye color gene we've ever seen."

BlueShirt's eyebrows raised again. "Really? Well, that's something."

Grinning, Tim nodded once more. "Brave Bud's one unique cookie."

"Beep," Fralith butted in. Stop talking over me like I'm a piece of wood.

Both turned to him. "'Beep'?" BlueShirt asked, his curious gaze sliding over him.

He straightened, baring his teeth. "Beep."

"Beep?"

"Beep."

"Beep."

"Beep, beep."

"Beep, beep, beep?"

Fralith grinned. Maybe BlueShirt wasn't so bad.