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Yellow. Her new blanket is yellow, a soft soft yellow, with white stitches and flowers on it. Asha has never been happier. She loops it around her shoulders and does a few victory laps around the room, whooping and shouting at her success.

The happiness doesn't last long. Eventually, the energy runs out, the blanket soaks warmth into her bones, and she finds herself staring at the white ceiling and the stupid light embedded in it.

She liked yellow. She wishes it were brighter. She wishes it were more colorful. Rainbow. Or something like Trumpet's hat.

Her smile slowly faded as she stares up, black squares burning their way into her eyes. She missed him. She missed him alot. If he were here, he'd find a way to make this fun. She thinks she could be happy living in a stupid white room if her brother were there to tell her cool facts and sleep pressed against her side.

She doesn't realize she's crying until the yellow began to get dark. She wipes her face on her prize, but the ache doesn't dissapear.

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She asks for a different blanket.

The bots look at each other in confusion, then to her. "I'm sorry, A-1," One speaks, lowering itself down onto it's knees to meet her on her level. She clutches the plastic cup of water they had given her tighter. "I don't really understand the request."

"The blanket in my room." She tells it like it's stupid, scowling as the faceless creation whirrs and hums. "I want a bigger one. A colorful one. I don't like mine."

Two moves over, putting a paw on One's shoulder. They seemed to talk without talking. She bristles a little, feeling her temper rise. It wasn't that hard.

"Well it couldn't... hurt?" Two pipes up, the mechanical voice creaking. It seemed to have a hard time talking outside of the instructions for her tests. "What if we gave it as a reward?"

Her ears perk. A1 stands a little taller, heart picking up a little faster. Her spirits raise just a little higher.

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There's a really weird thing happening.

Asha has alot of energy. Way more energy than she's had before- and she doesn't know why. And she's hungrier than normal, too, expectantly waiting the bots to show up with her food, impatiently stamping her tail against the wall until it arrives.

It's weird. They put her back on the endurance test she had failed a bit ago. She does better this time. Hell- the bots even look happy. Their ears are all perked up when she does as she's instructed.

Something weird is happening. She can't figure out what it is.

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Her files say she's six. She asks the bot about it and they tell her just that. The file says you are about six.

She feels weird about it. She's a big girl now. She completes the parkour without falling and asks if she can be walked back to her room this time.

They actually listen. She laughs at how fucking absurd it was that they actually listen.

She felt stupid and insane. They changed all the rules. All of them. She didn't even know what was real anymore. How are you ever meant to feel safe if the rules keep fucking changing?

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She gets hurt. It wasn't parkour this time. It was some endurance test- running and moving and more running. She wasn't even totally sure how she fucked it up until her knees hit the floor, wheezing for breath.

She flinches when she's approached. She awaits being put back on her feet, dreads the moment she's ushered into continuing. Instead, she's gently gathered into metal arms. A second bot takes notes, the one holding her gently rubbing her back as she struggles to regain her breath.

They put... bandaids on her knees. Really weird, goofy bandaids. They've got cats on them.

She's never been more confused. They end up the most colorful thing in the white room.

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You wake up screaming.

You wake up screaming, the noise bubbling up from your throat like acid. Clawing, tearing, burning. You can't remember what the dream was about, but your heart is racing. Your chest hurts.

You don't cry. There's the lingering sensation of falling that clings to your body. An impact that never occurs.

The white room does absolutely nothing to comfort you as you slowly begin to suck breath back into your aching lungs. It's cold and it's unforgiving.

You still aren't fine when the tray of food arrives. You're not fine when they pick you up to take you to a new test. There's alot of stretching. You tell them your chest aches.

For the first time, someone listens.

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She's hungry enough to finally eat what they give her. It's alot of food. It's more than she's ever gotten from them.

It's got a sort of powdery taste. Her nose scrunched up, but she continued to eat. Lots of green.

Hm.

Yuck.

(She eats it all anyways.)

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Asha dreams in color.

Trumpet is smiling at her. His face is red and his scales are shiny and his cool hat is a little bit lopsided. He shows her more things she didn't know of, things she's only seen through Jeremy's computer screen.

(The white room never changes, even in the dim light for sleeping. Even her own hands hold nothing to give, nothing to brighten the space as she peers from beneath the metal bars of the bedframe.)

A1 wakes up in the dark.

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are you okay kid? ...kid?

In the dim light of her house, abandoned and tainted, a communicator lights up with a soft ping of noise. Nobody comes to answer it.

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They get her out in the morning. All of the people who handle her are robots. She's not dumb, she picks that up fast, her shoulder bumping hard metal plating as she's carried into the room with the metal table. The bears are all faceless, wordless- they talk through artificial voices to her, like recorded lines, but never to each other. It's like they all just knew what they were doing.

It meant this was fairly quiet.

She didn't like it. The people in white coats were always talking. They were rough and they were mean most of the time, tired of her maw snapping and her claws swiping, she had always just been an animal. These bears treat her like a little girl.

The rules changed, and it's devastating. She, for the first time in a very long time, tries to wrench away from the incoming. She smushes herself against the wall and bares her now human teeth, flat and gap-y and yellowing.

The Bear's ears shift down like mama's did. But this wasn't her Rucho, and she sees their paws coming, and it's not her mom she thinks about. It's her house and white-hot pain and being grabbed. She flinches away and starts to cry again as the robot pulls her forward. It's so very gentle, but she doesn't want to go. She tries to fight and she can't. It's stronger than her.

One of them holds her. A paw clasps to her shoulder, smushing her against it's chest, and the other is extended as the needle comes down. She never used to watch. It used to be so easy. It used to be routine. Everything is different and fur tickles her nose and she's really, really mad.

And then she's cold again. Motion starts, blurred as she forces herself and her mind back into her home. She tries to imagine it's a game. Her and Trumpet were playing a doctor game, that's all. Or Bad was taking care of her again- she's sick. That's all.

She only snaps back to reality when the buzzer turns on. Her eyes focus on the fluffs of white hair on the ground.

Oh.

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Nobody is listening and Nobody is coming.

Her throat is still raw, arms like honey when she's taken from the room. They don't make her walk. That's a weird one, usually they grab her by the wrist or hand and pull and guide her. The robot that carries her is holding her gentle. Not precious, not like Mama would, or Bad, but it doesn't hurt. And if she doesn't look up at the blank face, she's a little less sick to her stomach.

It reminds her of the body in the woods.

And then she's on her feet again and fear is stinging worse than it ever has. In front of her was Parkour. Again. Massive, heaving jumps and points on the wall to cling to, bars hanging, it was something akin to an obstacle course- and she recognized it. It was for the bigger kids.

Was this a punishment? She thought she was big enough and brave enough to go outside, so they're gonna treat her like the big girl she was, was that it?

She doesn't have the energy to cry when they put her on the starting platform and start the timer, but she doesn't have the energy to jump either. She just sits there, on her knees, on her hands, and doesn't look down.

She holds her breath when she jumps.

One, two. Platform on the left, the right. She doesn't have to use her arms until she's crawling along the wall, getting higher, and then free-falls to catch a hanging bar. Her heart thuds and thunders in her chest, tired arms shaking under her own weight.

She's not big enough. She doesn't feel like a big girl. She feels so so so small.

Her feet land on the next platform. Habitual steps, a rythmn, but she knows how to preform. Her weight swings the platform, chains rattling, and she waits for the momentum to swing before she jumps for the next one.

It slides under her feet. Her heart lurnches as her knees abruptly give out, weak from all the fighting, and she barely catches the edge. Too-small wings flatter and flutter, terror welling up- and she's falling before she can even know she would. Her grip just didn't stay.

She's too small for the course. Too weak from the fight.

She's going to die here.

She's going to die here. She's going to die. She's going to die. She's going to die. She's going to die and the Lady isn't here to save her and She's going to die and Bad isn't here to save her and

She's drowning.

She's going to die,

And the burning starts, and she's burning, she's burning, she's going to burn alive, she's only been here for one day and she's already too weak, she's already fail, and she's going to die. She's going to die. She's burning alive. She's going- she's-

She's drowning.

Her eyes snap open, a sharp breath snapping open, cold, cold water rushing into her lungs.

That wasn't right.

A big, white paw pulls her from the pool. She's coughing and sputtering, gagging as chemically-tasting water pours out from her nose and mouth and eyes. The world muffles, blurrs, cold sticking to every part of her body. She's cold. Why was she cold? That's not right. That's not how these experiments go.

A paw brushes the hair out of her face and she whimpers, reaching to grab and push it away, eyes wide. The thing- the thing that wasn't her mom, wasn't even lose, didn't have their eyes, didn't smile- stares down at her with flattened ears.

This wasn't right.

This wasn't right. This wasn't right.

This wasn't right. This wasn't right. This wasn't right. This wasn't right. This wasn't right. This wasn't right. This wasn't right. This wasn't right.

The rules changed again.

That's not fair.

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It's fucking cold.

That's her biggest gripe right now. She's got a mental list going, fingers curled into Minirucho's now wet fabric. It starts with the fact that they took her dress-coat thing. Her clothes. Her clothes, because they were hers and she wore them all the time, and they were stolen from her. So now she's cold in the itchy, itchy and thin dress they need her in, stupid boney arms sticking out all wonky and her scars and burns on display. And she's cold.

Her room wasn't decorated- but neither was the last room in the facility. At least this one was bigger. The bedframe had room to fit under, to smush herself against the wall as much as possible and pretend to be back home. Everything else was a bore.

Another irritating thing: the door sounded different. She claws and yanks and when that doesn't work she listens and waits. Nothing budges- not like the last one- and when they open and close it, it makes this real loud click and hiss noise. She can't slip out like last time.

She's mad. She's so mad it's become blinding, tearing apart whatever she could. Digging her sore fingers into grout, trying to wrench the drain from the floor. Nothing works and it makes her hands hurt, which makes her so mad- so so very mad. Her sore teeth leave sore marks in her hands and wrists as she looked for any way out, anything to do, something to help-

-and when she finds nothing, wailing is the only option left. She screams and kicks and sobs, smacking her feet against the door, banging her head against the frame until all the energy is gone and she's exhausted and wet with tears and sore.

She lays flat on the floor and sniffles, fingers curling into Minirucho. Their little leg was starting to fall off. She was too rough.

That makes her feel so much worse.

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Content Warning: Physical Violence and the intense distress of a child.

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Asha was cleaning a little. Not really enough for it to matter, but enough so she could walk and her feet didn't bump everything. Minirucho weights her coat pocket down as she kicks crayons to the corner and pulls blankets back under the bed.

There's still warmth all around. She can't help but smile a little bit, her body heavy with the remaints of yesterday's fun with Trumpet. She's happy, moving little stuffed friends onto pillows and kicking clothes into the corners.

And then there's a noise.

It's heavy and rhythmic. Asha blinks, eyebrows tucking in, listening close to the thump, thump, thump of what sounded like incoming feet, before her heart stopped and restarts in a sudden and hysterical beat.

There was whirring. She could hear it. Heavy mechanical feet and the noise of fans. She peeks the door open further than it was and waits, but can't see. She opens it more, leaning out.

It was closer than she expected, her heart launching into his throat. They're back. They're finally back to get her.

"Mama?" She calls out softly to the bot that's looking down at her. They're only a few feet away, a bit stiff and a bit strange, but smile set just like Minirucho. Same ears and paws, same fur. And if something felt wrong, she couldn't pinpoint it. All she could feel was her eyes brimming with tears all over again. Good, happy tears. "Mama..."

They come closer. She reaches out a little. It almost feels like a dream.

Then a paw clasps around her wrist.

It hurts. It really, really hurts, and she was sure her mom didn't mean to hurt her but instantly she's yelping and trying desperately to pull away. "Ow! Ow- stop! Rucho!"

The bot twitches and it's ears start to shift down. Her heart thuds at how they flatten like Rucho's did when they got sad, but now- they didn't seem sad. They seemed... angry. Really angry, pulling Asha closer and attempting to pick her up.

She starts to scream. She didn't understand what was going on, but her mind races to the bot in the woods and she knew something was wrong. She flails and twists and turns, wrenching herself around at the expense of pain shooting up to her shoulder. Her teeth, one still missing, latch onto the protected crease of the robot's fingers. It doesn't do anything but her her and annoy the thing.

Her wings beat. She hits it in the face a good few times, twisting enough to lodge her feet against it's midsection, and she starts to wail.

"Help!" She kicks, her feet thudding against metal and rubbing dirt and blood into beautiful white fur, staining it. "Tr- Trumpet! Bad- help!"

She needed to reach the bell. She needed to reach the bell, lifting her leg. She kicks the bot in the neck and watches it finally let her go, unable to properly hold her in a way that wasn't annoying.

She hits the floor with an aching thump, whimpering at the contact between her neck and wings. She turns onto her stomach quickly, turning to scramble back into her cottage. Her nails scrape on the floor and she winces when she sees drops of red dripping from her mouth, iron against her tongue as she spits a gross glop onto the floor. Her teeth hurt.

She doesn't get a chance to get to her feet. Not-quite-claw-Nails scrape against the floor as she's grabbed by the wing and dragged back and up.

"Mama!" She screams, sobbing, before white-hot pain jolts through her body and she locks up. She didn't know what that was. She couldn't see. She can't tell. But it's blinding. She can't breathe-

And it very quickly all goes dark.

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She winds her arms under his and hugs him back, pressing all the love she can into the hold and burying herself into him. "I love you too."

Evidence of a Good Fucking Time abounds in Asha’s tiny hut.

Stuffed animals, pillows, blankets, and toys are strewn about the room, casualties of games started and dropped just as quickly. Dozens of new drawings litter the ground, the crayons used to make them still scattered in their wake. One of the walls has been turned into a mural, psychedelic in the way that only two kids under ten can manage.

The current crime scene is a blanket fort built with Asha’s bed. The excitement has petered out, leaving them lazing in the cushions with Minirucho and Hand Grenade. Trumpet has the latter held in the air in a tired recreation of the Lion King. He stares into its resin eyes and gives a big yawn.

“Hey- Asha,” he asks, rolling onto his side to look at his sister. “Rucho- and Sr. Jeremy and Tio Bad- and. Tallulah and Flippa and them. Did they tell you about- um. Love? At all?”

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Trumpet makes his way to the coordinates that Bad specified and introduces his waystone to the waypoint there.

It's a cute little hut, simple and brightly colored in the middle of the woods. Asha through and through. Despite the circumstances, Trumpet grins to himself as he knocks on the door.

[@yaaay-propellerhat]

There'd a bit of shuffle and scuttle behind the door, the sound of paper being moved and heavy thumps before the door creaks open a sliver. A big eye blinks from down below, before the door swings open and Asha stands there, delighted.

"Hi." She greets, excited, her wings fluttering. "Hi!"

[egg-a1]

Also boops you!

GUH

[egg-a1]

stpo hittign theb button.