Two Months

Big Brother Clay

Floyd somewhat recalls what happened those two months he was in Velvet and Veneer's hold.

It is not a fun time.

--

Two months.

Floyd had been trapped in a diamond bottle for two whole months.

And apparently he'd missed a lot.

For starters, a whole "World Tour", as he's heard it be referred to, broke out. Rock tried to take everyone's strings (which apparently those were a thing), Pop fought back, Bounty Hunters were involved, as were Rock Zombies, and just a whole bunch of other stuff Floyd was struggling to remember. All the tribes lost their music and color for a few minutes, but then all was swell and everyone was happy. Friends with their enemies, even.

If only it were that easy for him.

Because he had his music, his talent, his very being sucked out of him many, many times a day.

For two. Whole. Months.

And, man, was it painful.

But that should be a thing of the past, now, right?

I mean, sure, he was constantly tortured - tortured, for crying out loud! - during his time with the two Mount Rageons, but he had managed to pull through just fine, thank you very much.

And, yeah, he was still in constant pain from said torture, as well as having frequent nightmares about his captivity, but he was fine.

Even his hair was fine! The fact that most of his hair from the roots up is now an irreversible white is just a tiny inconvenience. He'd get used to it. And if anyone who doesn't know what happened to him asks, he'll just play it off as a fashion statement.

Yeah, that'd work.

Right?

Come to think of it, maybe Floyd wasn't okay. At least not as okay as he'd originally thought.

He could feel his chest start to rise and fall a lot quicker than it had been before. And his heart felt as though it was speeding up as well. Everything started to look slightly blurred around the edges, and Floyd could no longer tell what his surroundings were.

Where even was he to begin with?

I'm in my room. In Bitty B's - no, Branch's bunker.

I was - am? - sitting on the bed. Or was it the chair in the corner? Or was I on the floor? For the love of - where am I?!

Come on, Floyd, now is not the time to panic. Someone might hear you, and then you're for sure screwed. Everyone thinks you're fine, there's absolutely no need to make them worry.

I'm fine.

I'm fine.

I'm fine.

I'm -

"Floyd? You in here, bro?"

Clay. Oh, please not now. Please go away. Leave me alone to sort this out myself.

Please, Clay, Please.

"Oh, Floyd, are you okay? What's the matter?"

Nothing. Nothing's the matter because I'm fine. Definitely not thinking about the past two months. Nope. Not at all.

"Floyd, please talk to me."

Despite not being completely aware of anything other than his thoughts, Floyd could almost feel himself shake his head.