Cato takes some swigs from the bottle and spits them out the window to clean out his mouth. Then when the taste of copper is mostly gone from his tongue, he pours the rest of the bottle out, trying to shake every last drop.
What he does next is...odd. Holding the empty bottle between his knees, he shrugs off his dress shirt and tries his best to squeeze the liquid out of it into the bottle. Then he tries to wring out the front of the t-shirt underneath, too, while still wearing it. Given they're moving, the top of the bottle is narrow, and there's barely any liquid left, it's somewhat impressive that he manages to wring out maybe a few caps full. He quickly screws on the cap and then wraps himself up in the blanket, clutching the bottle tightly.
He's not blind to the fact the way he's acting must come off worrying to an adult who doesn't know what's going on.
"I just need to know," he says, staring straight ahead. The words come slowly, like they're being excavated rather than formulated. "She tricked me. She got me alone by saying she was gonna give me art supplies. I didn't think I had to be paranoid about a old lady, especially with the party outside."
He doesn't want to talk about this, not with the place it's put him in, reminding him of other arms that dragged him off, even as he fought the whole way.
It doesn't matter that he got away.
It doesn't matter that he was willing to bite harder this time.
But he knows he can't just not talk about it and tell Crowley to take him random places.
"I think she put something in my cocoa. She kept getting weird about how I wouldn't drink it, and tried to get me more when I spilled it. And when I just tried to book it, her servant guy grabbed me."
no subject
What he does next is...odd. Holding the empty bottle between his knees, he shrugs off his dress shirt and tries his best to squeeze the liquid out of it into the bottle. Then he tries to wring out the front of the t-shirt underneath, too, while still wearing it. Given they're moving, the top of the bottle is narrow, and there's barely any liquid left, it's somewhat impressive that he manages to wring out maybe a few caps full. He quickly screws on the cap and then wraps himself up in the blanket, clutching the bottle tightly.
He's not blind to the fact the way he's acting must come off worrying to an adult who doesn't know what's going on.
"I just need to know," he says, staring straight ahead. The words come slowly, like they're being excavated rather than formulated. "She tricked me. She got me alone by saying she was gonna give me art supplies. I didn't think I had to be paranoid about a old lady, especially with the party outside."
He doesn't want to talk about this, not with the place it's put him in, reminding him of other arms that dragged him off, even as he fought the whole way.
It doesn't matter that he got away.
It doesn't matter that he was willing to bite harder this time.
But he knows he can't just not talk about it and tell Crowley to take him random places.
"I think she put something in my cocoa. She kept getting weird about how I wouldn't drink it, and tried to get me more when I spilled it. And when I just tried to book it, her servant guy grabbed me."