he had a sneaking suspicion it was marcel behind that door. still, elijah practices the same curt, skeptical welcome. a stiff and restrained pull of the door frame: a gap like the slot between cell bars.

"every time you come to me, you look worse." elijah says. he opens the door enough so that marcel can follow his tired voice into the room. "what if i'm slowly killing you instead of helping you?"

and like marcel's supposed slow decay, elijah too, moves slow. his heavy palm presses against the door and shuts it close.

"comfey cream made from its flowers." he answers. "but have you ever heard of an icepack?"

marcel maeda

"maybe you can be eva's next experiment." elijah says, rolling words around his mouth lazily. "bet she knows how to stitch on machamp arms."

he squats. knees crack. elijah pays no mind to it. as he opens up a mini fridge, a breath of cold air rushes past their ankles. the crisp scraping of an icepack on a frosted rack sounds like a demon's claws.

elijah extends the icepack. its designed like a frost rotom, the raised plastic ridge emulating its small frown.

"want me to apply the icepack for you?" elijah asks. "because i won't." quickly, he adds. "how's the ugly dog doing?"

marcel maeda

elijah is unaware of what had transpired on the cycling road. he imagines the creature, struggling against its restraints before circe crowley that fateful evening. grimacing, he pats his rough hand on his pants. half to warm it and half to dry it of the residual moisture clinging to his skin.

"i called it names. stole its lunch money." elijah says dryly. "i'd say to keep the helmet on if it's that hideous— but that thing doesn't budge anyway."

he closes the mini fridge. the frosty breeze ceases like a final breath.

"why? does it miss me?"

marcel maeda