Nate started when someone he recognized sat down at the bar. That damn poochyena again. What the fuck was he doing here?
Oh, good Christ. What had even happened in the, the fight? Had he even, like, attacked the poochyena, or--fuck. Nate just wanted to get the fuck out of there and never have to see one of his "teammates" ever again.
The feeling had changed by the time he'd finished off his drink, though. He was here first. Why the fuck should he have to leave because some asshole might have a problem with him? Nate glared while the poochyena made his order. A problem with something that obviously wasn't Nate's fucking fault in the first place, too. And now this dick had to show up here, couldn't fucking leave well enough alone and let a guy get some fucking peace, looking to start shit. And yeah, now he wanted to fucking talk, and Nate was entirely prepared to tell him where to stick whatever petty shit he wanted to whine--wait, he said what? What the fuck?
"I--I dunno," Nate said. "I think he's too scared to come out, but he doesn't like being in there, either."
Didn't like being around Nate, more like. All that shit about an empathetic bond or whatever the fuck had to suck when your fucking bondee wasn't--Nate tried to take another drink, only to realize the glass was empty. He shakily set it down on the bar and picked Rocky up instead.
The stone kept shaking like mad while Nate held it. The shade must be doing fucking backflips in there or something. What the fuck was he supposed to do? He couldn't just leave the stone somewhere and hope it'd be okay. Even if nobody fucking stole it, if Rocky did decide to come out and wander around, everyone could see him now. What the fuck might happen to him if some of the villagers caught sight of a nightmare slug oozing around?
Nate looked morosely down at the quivering rock for a moment, then gave the poochyena a wary sidelong glance. "Is... Is yours okay?"