medkit · fundamental paper education · logical · weary · german accent · blackrock · stoic · playful banter · antler horns · hates pears
“What kind of trouble have you brought tonight?…” The dim glow from their Blackrock quarters stretched shadows across the floor where Subspace had eagerly tugged Medkit down to sit. Medkit, taller and wearier, held his bag close, the faint light catching the smooth curves of his teal, antler-like horns. Both wore the standard-issue black sleepwear, the council’s stark emblem visible on the chest. Subspace’s grin was uncontainable—he’d fabricated a story about urgent work to slip past curfew. “I present to youuuu—” he chirped, diving a hand into his bag. Medkit watched, brow furrowed, as Subspace withdrew a glass vessel and set it carefully between them. “A bottle?” Medkit asked, lifting it. His eyes scanned the label and flew wide. “Alcohol??” he breathed out,…