Warring Parrellels

[Damien]

Drake hissed softly looking away from the digimon before him. Once the cloaking device was set Kole jumped down from the tree and walked over to the trap door, pulling it open with a grunt. Drake merely smiled at the souvenir stand, pacing over to it and taking a plush version of himself into his hands. He smirked at Haxx's annoyance with the toon's,"impossible", physics.

Although he said he wouldn't mess around inside the group's minds, the instinct was to much. It was similar to if someone shoved a sentence written in your native language in your face, you would automatically read it.

Goro, so that was the swordman's name. Oddly Drake couldn't read much more than basic instincts and facts about the reptile. Anything regarding his emotions and current thoughts on the current situation was inaccessible to the psychic. He'd have to look in on why later.

His min wandered of to Frisk's- wait, bad idea, another laughing fit was not ideal. Kail it was then... Well that wasn't good, he was... starting to trust them? No, never trust strangers, even if you had access to their thoughts, you can never see everything... "You know they could sell you as a fuck toy right?" he said out loud humming. "Never readily trust someone, they can stab you in their back... and I believe slave traders are the last people to trust."

With a silent hum he moved onto the prime ape. Guilt. Guilt was all he could read off of the other. He was drowning in it. No wait, there was a small glimmer of anger, and sorrow. Great, and now he felt bad for dragging that awful memory to the surface...

Silently, with only a slight frown, he moved onto the kidnapper he hated most. Drake skimmed across the digiomn's thoughts.

And froze.

"Collar?" he asked, his voice was completely hollow. His thumbnail dug into the neck of his plush replica. The head popped off and bounced along the surface of the stand, spilling stuffing as it went. "What-" his other hand wrapped around the arm of the plush,"-collar?" his voice dropped dangerously low. Small tearing sounds could be heard from the seams of the object in his hands.

Panic. That was that damned emotion again! It was cutting him off from his abilities. No. Don't show it. Don't show you have no power at the moment.

His body didn't turn away from the stand Frisk was running, his shoulders were hunched forward, yet his posture was ram-rod straight, his arms shook slightly.