Doll-sized (TomTord)

Home is where the alcohol is

Tom was surprisingly careful not to hurt Tord during his walk back home. It was baffling. Yes, he didn't slow down even a little bit, so Tord was getting shaken around a lot in his hand, causing him to get a little dizzy from all the constant movement. But at least he wasn't held upside down or stuffed into Tom's hoodie pocket like a doll. That was a plus. Tord would have expected him to be much more of a prick and be a lot more eager to hurt him. He still didn't trust Tom not to hurt him though. Tom's soft fingers shielded him from getting spotted by anyone, although he was sure he'd suffocate at one point if Tom squeezed his tiny body even a bit too much. It was just a matter of time before Tom accidentally killed him, he just knew it. Although Tom was feeling sorry for him, there was no way around it. If he didn't kill him deliberately, Tom would just get drunk and do it by accident.

The thought that Tom was taking him in still sounded so absurd in his mind. Tom wouldn't normally do that. He just wasn't the type to care about most people and things. It felt so out of character for him to bother helping someone, especially his enemy. The one he had fought with all the time, even before the robot incident. There really had never been an interaction between them that hadn't ended with many angry glares, sometimes a bloody nose or even broken bones. They had always been at each other's throats. And now he did it out of some sort of obligation for crippling Tord, back when he fired his harpoon gun at him. He was obviously pitying him and felt responsible for Tord's helplessness, even if it was just a little bit. Tom definitely had cost Tord his arm, his right eye and parts of his face that would look ugly and disgusting forever with those scars, but that didn't mean he was suddenly a complete mess and couldn't take care of himself anymore. He wasn't entirely defenseless. Maybe not as strong as he used to be, but that was more due to being shrunk than anything else. Tord could still manage on his own. He didn't need anyone's help.

It didn't take long for them to reach the building they had all moved into, Tord examining his surroundings with interest, already trying to plan his escape with the information he could gather just by letting his gaze wander around. Unfortunately, there seemed to be nothing that could allow him to open the door with his size, he realized to his annoyance. Unless he asked someone for help - and that would obviously not end well for him. Maybe he should just try climbing out through an opened window in Tom's apartment once that idiot turned his back towards him for more than a few seconds. That might work if Tom let his guard down.

Tom walked through the ground floor without greeting anyone he passed, directly heading for the elevator. He let out an exasperated sigh when he noticed the yellow 'Out Of Order' sign taped over the door at an angle, before he dragged his feet to the staircase with a groan. Tord couldn't help but chuckle. Tom had slept on a park bench which couldn't be a very comfortable sleeping place to begin with. His slumber couldn't have been very relaxing or pleasant either if he had been as drunk as Tord suspected him to be, so Tom would have a pretty exhausting climb ahead of him. If he wasn't so pissed off at more or less getting kidnapped, he maybe would have felt just the tiniest bit sorry for him. Instead, he felt rather happy about it.

Tord let his arm and legs dangle while Tom began making his way up the stairs. The movement was a bit like sitting on a swing if you had the imagination to think of it as such. He could pretend it wasn't so bad... Who was he kidding, if the constant movement hadn't gotten him dizzy already, he sure as hell was now. For an agonisingly long time, he was shaken around and he hated it. "Be more careful!" He growled, digging his nails into Tom's flesh, not just to get his attention but also in an attempt to somehow have something to hold onto. It didn't seem to affect Tom too much. Tord wasn't sure if he even noticed it.

"I'm trying!" Tom hissed, glaring down at him like all of this was somehow his fault. Typical. Unless Tord had somehow caused trauma that lead to Tom's drinking problem getting worse, he wasn't at fault. And it didn't seem like he had been affected too much. He actually seemed to have gotten better because the Tom he had tried to kill with his robot had started the day with two bottles of vodka. His drinking seemed to have lessened, if only a little. "I'm really trying, dumbass! But every stupid muscle in my body hurts!" And who's fault was that? Tord could only roll his eye.