CUMBERSOME AND HEAVY BODY && Attack

[RED]

[align=center][div style="text-align:justify;width:55%;font-family:verdana;"]Once upon a time Red had known a man that carried something vicious, something restless in his heart. Though just as he shouldered a burden, he carried himself as a leader, as a defender too. But he knew what lurked under the surface, and kept the world at arm's length, too fearful of the beast inside him to let anyone in too close. One night he slaughtered two humans and left the rest scattering for cover, skin flayed by razor-sharp claws and faces wrought with horror. They'd never seen it coming. Nobody had known but him.

Red sees the blood, the limp bodies, and thinks distantly of an old friend. He sees the fresh blood staining Wormwood's chest and thinks of bodies in a field, chests caved in, the last flickers of life fading fast from their eyes. He sees a monster in Wormwood and does his best not to fear it. "Jesus." He's not as quick to arrive as the others, working at a steady limp with only half the lung capacity he used to have. But when he does, he moves in briskly in spite of the pain, watching Wormwood drop Moth's broken body to the ground and another figure beside her. Selby's already taken control, and Worm can only watch like the rest of them. They're children waiting for the father to get home; wherever Crow is, they need him here now. Red wants to do something in the meantime, to help, or at least try to reconcile the chaos, but the most he can muster is a pensive wheeze of a sigh that whistles out from his near-broken nose. It's all he can do, really; what's done is done.

He takes a few steps forward, the rank scent of the Pitt leaving him uneasy as he stares down at a stranger's flayed body. A sharp pain hits him as he forces another intake of breath, and Red clutches the bandages wrapped just below the center of his chest. He leans a little, resting a hand on Wormwood's shoulder; just as they stood when Red returned, one body seeking the support of another. How unfortunate it was that when Wormwood needed someone to lean on, only a broken body remained to bear the load.

The bickering, the tension, it's a recipe for disaster - if all he could do was keep Wormwood grounded in this vicious state, so be it. It comes as instinct when he gives his shoulder a small squeeze. "...I'm not up for fighting over whether or not the Pitt deserves a break. But, screw you too."

He almost calls out to Roy when he sees him, only because the boy looks hurt, frightened in a way that said he knew this would happen all along. This isn't his father at Red's side, but something else, blood-matted and feral, a creature that could kill in a way that Wormwood never would, never could. What trust he'd put in Wormwood was surely gone now. Heat fills the air, sparks crackling among the cacophony of shouting voices, and Red realizes it's too late to try and make amends. He doubts he could convince Roy that the man before him was the same who went looking for him, offered a home to him -  he doesn't expect Roy to understand. The boy runs, and Red doesn't try to stop him.

It's Worm, though, that worries him. The aura hanging over his body is a fragment of its former self, carrying an intensity and anger that he'd never associated with the Chaser before. "It's alright... Moth's alright. We're gonna figure this ou-" A metallic taste lingers on the back of his tongue as he forces the words out through the sharp pangs that claw at his chest. The Chaser doesn't seem to hear him, though, already giving chase after Roy and disappearing into the brush before the last syllable leaves his lips. Red sputters through a rough cough as he charges forward a few steps, unable to give chase. "Wormwood - Worm!"