mourn in technicolor ; wolf & emerson | d3 suite, day 1

She freezes when Emerson wraps his arms around her, taken aback by physical affection. Affection at all. It's a different feeling than Arcadia taking her hand - maybe because Wolf had been the one to initiate, offer it up for someone else to decide. But Emerson Emberstatt is still smiling from his eyes to his shoulders, despite the blood. Despite the dead girl's body they had left behind. Despite--

"I'm glad you're here."

Wolf tenses, unsure of what to say. The bullet wound in her shoulder does instead, a muffled "Ow..." into his clothes in response. His demeanour doesn't harden at her abrasiveness one bit, not even when they seperate. Those twinkling eyes get softer, somehow. Wolf doesn't understand how he was raised in a family of survivors haunted by these games and turned out so... comfortable with it all. The equation is not adding up.

Or maybe it is. Sheltered middle child, just happy to be here. Wolf's whole thing is to be quiet and unassuming but she's done her research. Emerson Emberstatt has all the makings of a brooding boy in the shadows of his lineage, and yet he somehow conjures his own light in spite of it

And yet. And yet. She's tired of being surprised in here already. People are supposed to be categorically simple. Broken down into estimations and percent-chances based on variables such as nature and nuture and environment and things that make sense, like innate human reactions. Like fear. Like a survival instinct.

Wolf acts on hers, making quick use of the medical kit she finds sitting in a bag upon her bed. A clear 3 stitched into the side, she stitches up her own whilst biting down on a pillow to muffle the groans of pain and shuffles into the uniform that seems will do at least half a better job of protecting her skin from bullets that pyjama pants will.

Wolf hurries back, trying to hide the limp in her left leg, and follows Emerson's plan to search the rooms for anything useful. The buzzing and whirring and chug chug chug chug chug of the little toy train calm her nerves, feeling at home with a task at hand and a challenge to create.

"Here," she gestures, twitching her fingers at the hunk of junk Emerson pulls from the booths. "Gimme that. You'd be surprised at what you can do with a little imagination."

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