[ a party sounds cool and all, but it felt out of place to participate. miles wasn't here to party, like— he shouldn't even be here! he needs to get home before other people from other worlds are doomed because of him and because he's got the goober (which, maybe the spider gang could just make another one if they have the data to, but then who was going to send everyone home? if it wasn't him, someone was going to die. and he just. he just.
he just can't have that. if this was his fault, he was the one that had to fix it.
so there's a certain urgency in talking to people left and right in aldrip once miles has gotten some better attire for him (and kept his costume, just in case), but every time is a frustrating letdown. something along the lines of you can't just leave and that he has some . . . crime to pay for.
he knows which one. every time he thinks about it, it feels like his heart is earning a stab.
one conversation led to another, which led him to somewhere quieter and better suited for talking, until that place was too quiet and miles was roped into helping around at the infirmary. he's seen not doing much, then promptly given a tray and some goods and would gladly appreciate his help despite miles' attempt to explain but i don't know how to—
and here they are.
but it's then that miles complies that he realizes . . . the injured resting here, needing help, and well. maybe he wasn't expecting to help people in this manner, but he quickly accepts the task. each person he stops by to, to dab their wounds and change their bandages, he asks with a soft, quiet concern: ]
PLEASE PARTY RESPONSIBLY
he just can't have that. if this was his fault, he was the one that had to fix it.
so there's a certain urgency in talking to people left and right in aldrip once miles has gotten some better attire for him (and kept his costume, just in case), but every time is a frustrating letdown. something along the lines of you can't just leave and that he has some . . . crime to pay for.
he knows which one. every time he thinks about it, it feels like his heart is earning a stab.
one conversation led to another, which led him to somewhere quieter and better suited for talking, until that place was too quiet and miles was roped into helping around at the infirmary. he's seen not doing much, then promptly given a tray and some goods and would gladly appreciate his help despite miles' attempt to explain but i don't know how to—
and here they are.
but it's then that miles complies that he realizes . . . the injured resting here, needing help, and well. maybe he wasn't expecting to help people in this manner, but he quickly accepts the task. each person he stops by to, to dab their wounds and change their bandages, he asks with a soft, quiet concern: ]
What happened here—?