"Here, eat this!"

Montgomery swats Lenny's hand away without looking. "Get that out of my face; I'm not gonna eat it."

"It's an oran berry. It'll help you feel better!"

Lenny keeps poking his face with the fruit, using a sing-song voice to try and coax him into eating it. Montgomery stares at the path straight ahead of them and wishes Zekrom would come and kill him.

As he anticipated, bringing Lenny along was a huge mistake. So what if Lenny knows how to cook better than Montgomery ever could? So what if these berries maybe, just maybe, soothe his aching? It's not enough to distract from how annoying Lenny is. Everywhere they go, Lenny has to babble on about how "amazingly perfect" everything is.

That rock? Fantastic!

The lake? Gorgeous!

The clouds? So fluffy!

Before this, Montgomery thought he was pretty good at tuning people out. He's had lots of practice, ignoring the dull prattling of his father's boring allies. But Lenny takes chattering to a whole new level. He always has something to say about something. It's driving Montgomery up a wall. Whatever happened to just being around each other in stifling silence? He does that with his family all the time!

Not only is Lenny annoying, he's already proven detrimental to his quest. Just yesterday, Lenny completely distracted them from their mission because he saw some flowers. They were supposed to be milling around town and gathering information on Zekrom's possible whereabouts—which, Montgomery was doing, thank you very much—when suddenly Lenny was gone. It took him an hour of racing around town frantically searching before he found Lenny making flower crowns with some kids in a field. It wasn't even a good flower crown.

After travelling with Lenny for a grand total of three days, Montgomery has come to a conclusion: he can't do it anymore. He has to get rid of Lenny, somehow, before he goes insane.

But how?

"If you eat the berry, I won't make you eat no more," Lenny promises. Hah! Fat chance of that. Lenny's been saying that all day, pressuring him to eat just one more berry each time. When Montgomery shoots him a look that says he knows better, Lenny grins sheepishly. "Well, maybe I won't."

"I'm not eating it."

"Why not? I know you like them."

Montgomery sputters. "I do not!"

Lenny holds the berry up to his mouth, making his tone light and cheery, like he's talking to an infant. "Come on, here comes the Zekrom! Nyooooooooooom…."

Before he can smack Lenny away again, the bushes alongside their path rustle. Out of the foliage leaps a drilbur with a bandana around their face, pointing a claw viciously at them. Montgomery shoves Lenny back to deflect the claw with a scalchop.

Lenny yelps and the drilbur looks just as shocked. It all happened so suddenly that he almost didn't realize what he was doing until it happened, but when his mind catches up to his body, he realizes that the drilbur in front of them is likely a bandit looking for someone to mug. And the poor bastard chose them: a water type and a grass type. This robbery won't go well.

Shooting power through his shell, he knocks the crook back. They stagger and fall in the dirt, the bandana flying clean off their face. Startled by the quickly turning tides, the bandit snatches their handkerchief and hastily flees the scene.

No use in chasing them. They're small fry, likely just some petty looter. Montgomery sighs, rolling his shoulders and sheathing his shells. The fight, over and done in an instant, wasn't really that remarkable. It was more of a nuisance than anything. But Lenny stares at him in awe, as if he just accomplished some heroic feat. In all honesty, he isn't sure how he feels about that. It swirls some feelings of confidence yet apprehension inside him, like he's waiting for Lenny to suddenly take it back. No one's ever looked at him with such pride before, not even his father.

That last thought comes with no end of bitterness, so he hastily squashes it down. Stray thoughts like these are just another reason he needs to get rid of Lenny, fast.

"Mott, that was fantastic!" Lenny gushes, eyes shining. "You didn't even hesitate, you just fought them off like it was nothing! You sure are talented with this sort of thing, huh?"

"Obviously," he replies, shrugging. What noble's son wouldn't be able to do at least that much? Years of tutoring and training weren't wasted on nothing, after all. "And my name's not Mott."

"You weren't even a little scared," Lenny proclaims, still amazed. Flushing slightly, he sheepishly admits, "It sure spooked me, suddenly getting jumped like that. Hopefully our whole trip ain't full of scares like that."

Before Montgomery can remind him that they're tracking Zekrom, who is infinitesimally stronger than some petty bandit, a light pops on in his head. One insignifiant, uncoordinated surprise attack was enough to startle Lenny. What would a more serious, more intentional attempt do?

The gears start turning before he can stop them; not that he'd want to stop them anyway. If they're put in a dire situation, Lenny will get scared. If Lenny gets scared, he'll be hesitant to continue with their journey. Then, he might just resign himself off the mission. And just like that, Montgomery will be free!

It's a good plan. A really, really good plan, because he hardly has to do anything, he just has to wait for an opportunity to poke and prod at Lenny's fears. Which, shouldn't take long. How hard can it be to spook some clumsy, sheltered country boy?

Turns out, it doesn't take long at all. As they ascend the steep slope of the path they're on, a dull sound rumbles through the sky. Looking up, Montgomery sees heavy clouds culminating over their heads.

Lenny looks at the clouds with worry. "Looks like a storm is brewing. We oughta find someplace to take shelter."

"Shelter?" He says, incredulously. Facing Lenny with a grin, he states, "This is exactly what we're looking for."

Lenny regards him with equal parts confusion and reluctance. "What do you mean?"

Picking up his pace until he's practically charging up the hill, he calls over his shoulder, "We've gotta get in the middle of that storm; it could be Zekrom!"

It probably isn't. Most storm encounters with Zekrom happen in a flash of lightning; there's no warning. Chances are, this is just a regular old storm. He doubts Lenny knows that, so he's using it to his advantage.

Naturally, he's right. Lenny, anxious, asks, "You think so?"

"I don't think, I know," he declares, reaching the top of the hill. The storm rolls out across the land before them. Lenny eyes it nervously. "Come on, let's get in there."

He takes a bold step forward, but Lenny doesn't follow. Glancing back, he sees Lenny warily studying the sky, hesitant. He resists the urge to smirk. Easy as cake.

"Lenny, if this is too much for you, you can just say so," he assures oh-so-chivalrously. Lenny's eyes snap back to him. "I know hunting Zekrom can be pretty scary business. If you decide you don't want to do it anymore, I won't hold it against you."

Lenny swallows, staring at him. The seconds pass between them silently, the only sound being the distant growl of thunder. He can practically feel Lenny's nerves grow with the darkening clouds. Meanwhile, Montgomery is inwardly high-fiving himself. How did he not think about this earlier? This is going perfectly!

Just as he's starting to get comfortable in his triumphant throne, Lenny snatches his crown and says, "Actually, um. I'm fine. Let's go."

Montgomery stares at him, slack-jawed. Then, he quickly shuts his mouth.

"Awesome," he says through gritted teeth. "That's. So cool."

Maybe Lenny is going to be a little harder to scare than he thought. But no worries, no worries. He's got this.


He concludes, after two hours of trekking through the torrential rainstorm with Lenny still glued to his side, that he doesn't got this.


Three hours later, he gives up on his ruse and decides to find shelter. Unfortunately, the only adequate place seems to be some dingy bar on the outskirts of an even dingier town. The whole place looks just as dusty and rusty as Lenny's house.

Mud squelches unpleasantly between his toes as he stomps into the bar, Lenny right behind him. Stepping inside the equally muddy doorway, he shakes the water out of his fur. Lenny sputters and laughs when the water droplets hit his face. It makes him want to gag.

Somehow, in their treacherous journey through the storm, Lenny stopped being scared and started having fun. He caught raindrops on his tongue and jumped in mud puddles and laughed into the blistering wind. And with every growing drop of joy in Lenny's heart, Montgomery's plans to scare him off washed down the drain. It was a complete, utter failure. They exit the storm opposite of how they entered it: Montgomery displeased, and Lenny elated.

His irritation doesn't subside when they reach shelter. The bar is more of an over glorified hovel, with splintered wooden furniture and burlap material for tablecloths. The floor is dirt and the ceiling is dripping, the lights are dim and the windows are grimy. He would even go so far as to say this place is worse than Lenny's house, if only because of the company it hosts.

Behind the bar, a mandibuzz fills dusty glasses with suspicious concoctions. She rasps and spits each word like it personally offended her. The few patrons at the bar are no less unsavory, with yellowing teeth and appalling stenches and repelling snarls. The air they breathe is sticky and hot and dusty, making his lungs ache for a breath of fresh air. He finds himself seriously considering walking back out into that tempest. Especially when every patron in the bar turns to glare at them.

Other than letting the cold air in, Montgomery doesn't know what they did wrong. Maybe they're just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and these thugs need someone to take it out on. Whatever it is, it makes his hackles rise in tingling suspense. He's just about to turn to Lenny and suggest they find another spot to camp out when he catches a glimpse of the pure terror in his buggy eyes.

And just like that, Montgomery is back in the game.

Maybe the storm couldn't scare Lenny off, but a bunch of violent vagrants can. It was the bandit from before that spooked Lenny first, after all. Perhaps Lenny's more scared of dangerous people, considering that he'd rarely have to deal with anyone he didn't know in his sheltered little village. A surge of confidence shoots through him with the reemergence of his grand plan.

Montgomery saunters up to the bar. He doesn't have the money for a drink right now, but that's not what he's after, anyways. He plops himself onto a stool like he owns the place, sitting himself right between two scowling patrons. Lenny, shyly, takes a seat by him and keeps his gaze on the ground.

"Pick yer poison," the mandibuzz grunts, not even bothering to look at him.

Beside Lenny is a gigalith with scars. She leers down at Lenny like she's resisting the urge to squish him. Lenny shudders.

"Oh, I don't have any money," Montgomery shrugs, earning himself a bitter glare from the bartender. Before she can snap at him to get lost, he asks, "But what've you got?"

The bartender eyes him up and down, suspiciously. Her eyes linger on his fur, matted down with rain and flecks of mud, but otherwise in perfectly healthy condition. Too perfect for a mere commoner, in fact. She narrows her eyes at him as if trying to decide whether or not he's tricking her.

"No money, huh?" She grumbles, wiping a glass off with her wing. It doesn't do much other than spread the smudge around. "Why do I got a feeling that ain't the case?"

"What've you got?" he repeats, smiling like he has some grand secret. "Then I'll decide if I have any money."

She sizes him up again. At Montgomery's side, Lenny shifts anxiously in his seat. The gigalith looms over him, leering viciously down on him. Nervously, Lenny jitters out a quick 'hello.' The gigalith pulls a face that Montgomery can't see. Hopefully something scary.

After a moment of maintaining his silent battle of wills with the bartender, she finally turns around. Gesturing to the measly collection on the shelf, she drones a list of what they have. It's very, very short. Gin. Some whiskey. A couple of other bland things here and there. Nothing that Montgomery would waste his money on—if he had any.

He scrutinizes the drinks like he's genuinely considering it. The mandibuzz watches him with an almost eager anticipation. It's the most emotion he's gleaned out of her other than abject spite. Then, he flops back in his stool, sighing, "Nope, I guess I don't have any money."

A displeased expression twists her features. "And why not?"

Waving a hand dismissively, he responds, "Nothing in this place is worth my time."

Her eyes flare. "Excuse me?"

That kind of anger would probably be enough to send Lenny into fits of shivering, but he's not paying attention to the bartender. His entire focus is still on the gigalith who towers menacingly over him. After having said 'hello' and not gotten a reply, most people would take a hint and give up. Instead, Lenny asks her if she likes games. Montgomery could swear her eyes glint with interest, but that can't be right.

With a smug smile, he returns the bartender's challenging glare with a look of nonchalance. "You heard me. Nothing in this place is worth my time. It's a shabby, pathetic little hovel in the middle of nowhere. Why would it matter to me?"

"If ya don't like it, leave," she snarls, her beak snapping sharply with her harsh words.

Montgomery kicks his muddy feet on top of the bar. The patrons around him scowl; the mandibuzz sputters with rage. "Make me."

She looks about ready to shoot steam out of her ears. The other patrons aren't far behind. At this rate, he'll provoke an all-out bar fight. Good. If anything can scare Lenny away, it's being ganged up on by a group of thugs. He'll run for the hills and never come back.

But Lenny still isn't paying attention. Irritatingly. Lenny has pulled over the gigalith's napkin and is drawing a tic-tac-toe board. Drawing an 'O,' he hands the pencil to the rock-type. She taps it against her face in contemplation.

The mandibuzz's feathers ruffle indignantly. At Montgomery's other side, a gurdurr glowers at him through the thick smoke of his cigar. Montgomery wrinkles his nose in distaste. It doesn't escape the gurduur's attention, who blows a ring of smoke in his face in retaliation. He coughs and waves it away.

"As I suspected, your trashy bar only attracts trashy customers." He sneers, directing his disdain at both of them. They swell up like balloons, as if their rage is literally expanding. "This is the kind of place I wouldn't even want to take shelter in from a storm. Right, Lenny? This place and all the people in it are complete—"

In a flash, the gurdurr cracks a fist over his jaw, hard. He reminds himself, with equal parts pain and regret, that this is what he wanted.

He topples off his stool and hits the ground with a loud crash. Other patrons who had been ignoring the scene now shout and laugh, crowding around for some more sick entertainment. Someone beside him yelps in fright and worry, but he doesn't have time to process who because the gurdurr is upon him in seconds.

Raising a meaty fist, the gurdurr slugs him straight in the nose. It's a miracle it doesn't break, but the hit certainly makes his face feel like shattering. Hell no! Not the face!

Montgomery throws the fighting-type off, following up with a burst of pressurized water. It strikes the target dead in the chest, knocking his foe straight through several sets of chairs and tables. Before he can boast his victory, another patron dives for his ankles; a rufflet. Pecking at his feet with all the righteous fury a puff of feathers like that can muster, the rufflet squawks with indignation with every attack.

Montgomery stares. Then, raising a foot, he kicks the bird aside. It flops over like a squeaky toy.

Unfortunately, it seems the rest of the brawl isn't going to be that easy. The gurdurr returns with a vengeance, slamming a fist down to crush him. He barely evades it, watching in horror as the ground where he once stood shatters. That could've been him! Where the hell is Lenny; why isn't he helping fight back?!

Did he leave him?

Before he can turn to check, a meaty hand grips him by the back of the neck and lifts him into the air. He scratches at the claws throttling this thoat, struggling in vain to pry them off. In the corner of his eye, he spots the druddigon who has a vice grip on his throat. The grin on their face is dark and sinister.

Shaking him once, they hold him out to the gurdurr and order, "Punch."

The gurdurr dons a nasty grin of their own, rolling their shoulders to warm up for a devastating blow. It occurs to Montgomery, right as the air is being choked out of his lungs, that he might've just signed his own death certificate. He needs air; the druddigon isn't inclined to let him go soon. And if he survives near strangulation, he's going to get beaten within an inch of his life by the gurdurr.

He struggles. This time, fear pounds through his veins. The grip on his neck only tightens, and with it, black spots begin to form in his vision. He can barely see the gurdurr as they wind up what's sure to be an organ-rupturing punch.

But when the gurdurr finally strikes, the howls of agony aren't his own.

He's dropped, suddenly. He hits the ground, air rushes back into his airways like a flood, and he gasps and coughs in the dusty air. Before he can gather his bearings, he's picked up again, but not by the scaley hand of the dragon-type. The hand is small and soft.

"Mott!" Lenny exclaims, hauling him up as Montgomery hacks out his lungs. Hastily, he's dragged away from the fight and sat in a crooked stool. Lenny dusts him off. "Shucks, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he lies, his voice raspy. Breathing properly allows him to think properly again. Getting rid of Lenny. Fighting thugs. Right. He tries to stand back up, but Lenny ushers him down. "I need to get back in there."

"Oh, I wouldn't. Hilda will take care of it."

"Hilda?"

"My new friend, Hilda!" Lenny gestures excitedly to the gigalith, who's currently stomping the gurdurr and the druddigon into the dirt. "She's not very good at tic-tac-toe, but she's awfully good at fighting! And baking!"

Montgomery stares at Lenny. Then at the gigalith. Then at Lenny again.

"...Hilda? You made friends with some crummy bar thug?"

"Come on, now, she's no thug. She just had a long, hard day at the mines and needed to relax. She hasn't seen her wife in three months because of some big fight they had, so she's pretty down on her luck, and—"

Montgomery drowns him out as the true gravity of his situation settles on him. Scaring Lenny away with a bar fight—that was supposed to be his grand plan. That was his ticket to freedom and finding Zekrom, alone, as it should be. And instead of getting scared off by dangerous thugs, Lenny made friends with them.

How is Montgomery supposed to beat something like that?

Just as his mind is racing and caving in on itself, the gigalith smashes her opponents into the ground for the last time. She lumbers away from them, leaving a puddle of blood and spit and tears behind. She marches to the bar counter, her every step quaking through the building. Anxiously, the bartender shirks back into the wall.

The gigalith glowers down at her. "My small, helpless little bug friend and his pathetic companion will rest here for the night."

The mandibuzz's neck shrinks into her body, eyes wide and terrified.

The gigalith stares. "Do we understand each other."

Frantically, the bartender nods. Several, several times.

The rock-type turns toward Montgomery and Lenny, a pleased expression on her face. "I got a room for Little Lenny." Lenny beams at her, and her face glows. Somehow, her expression of joy is even more intimidating. Montgomery can't suppress the shudders that course through him.

She adds, "We will share the room. I will protect Little Lenny. And his weakling companion."

"Hey!" Montgomery protests, his voice cracking. She barely offers him a dismissive glance before nodding for Lenny to follow. Eagerly, Lenny bounds after her, but Montgomery is much less inclined. This lady is downright terrifying. And he's expected to sleep in the same room as her? Hell no, she'll kill him in his sleep!

Strangely enough, this new plight of his gets his gears turning. The storm wasn't enough to frighten Lenny, and neither was the bar fight. Everytime, he's found some way to twist the negatives into an aggravatingly cheerful positive. But what if there was no way to twist it? What if the object of his fear was constant and unchangeable? The only way Montgomery could ensure that was if he himself was the object of Lenny's fear.

Just as Hilda terrifies him, he can terrify Lenny. If he can convince Lenny that he's a dangerous person, there's no way Lenny will be comfortable enough to hang around. Maybe he'll even take off with Hilda and Montgomery will be free of both of them.

Newfound determination courses through him as he makes his way up the stairs to their room for the night. Tonight, he's gonna convince Lenny that he's a murderer.


Obviously, Montgomery isn't actually a murderer. Killing someone would've been an incredibly difficult thing for even his father to cover up, and Montgomery has never been able to stomach the thought, anyways. But if he can play the part, it won't matter. Lenny is gullible; he'll believe it and take off for the hills by sunrise.

"Yes," Montgomery mutters to himself, tapping his fingers together and leering into the fireplace, "it's all coming together."

Lenny pauses his stitching to blink oddly at him. "What was that?"

"Huh? Oh, nothing, nothing," he laughs. Turning back to the flames, he mumbles just loud enough for Lenny to hear. "Soon, they'll all be dead. Just like she is…"

Lenny looks vaguely uncomfortable.

Honestly, Montgomery is kinda having fun. Plays were one of the only proper aristocratic activities he enjoyed growing up. He used to force Torquil and Florian to partake in ragtag backyard productions of his own all the time growing up, so he's got some experience in creating characters. The one he's playing now, he's dubbed as Murderin' Montgomery.

Murderin' Montgomery is a deranged killer who lost his marbles after watching the woman he loved die at the hands of some bandits. Now, he travels the world, gruesomely flaying every criminal he sees in an attempt to find the solace he desperately craves. Yet, with every life he takes, he only grows more restless and begins killing indiscriminately. Thus, he tragically perpetuates the cycle of death that spurred him into murdering in the first place.

Mongomery hasn't worked out all the kinks with Murderin' Montgomery, yet, but he's pretty proud of his impromptu creation. It's gripping! Tragic! Besides, it doesn't need to be a perfectly developed character to work for him. As long as it makes Lenny uncomfortable enough to run away, then it'll do the job. And right now, Lenny is subtly shifting away from Montgomery and closer to Hilda, so Montgomery would say it's working great. Even Hilda watches him warily.

"So, Hilda," Lenny says, clearly trying to break the tension. "You work in them mines? How long you been doing that?"

Reluctantly—very, very reluctantly—Hilda drags her eyes away from Montgomery, who's still whispering to himself in the ominous glow of the fire. "Not long. Been job hopping. Used to work in a bakery, got fired for stealing the bread."

Lenny nods, resuming his work. "I know a lot of people back home who got fired from their jobs for stealing, but it was all they could do to keep their family fed. Was it the same for you?"

"No." Her eyes are cold, distant. As if she's watching her past flicker by outside the window. "Was a poor, hungry, homeless kid. Worked hard, learned to bake. Moved up in life. Met my wife, started a family. But that hungry kid inside me never left. Even though I was under a roof and fed, I was afraid. I was afraid of losing it all again."

Lenny leans against her. "So you kept stealing."

A grim nod. "I couldn't stop. My fear was too strong. I was so afraid of losing the life I made for myself that… that I threw it away for a couple loaves of bread."

What the hell? Who gave her the right to be so tragic? She's distracting from Murderin' Montgomery's very important character!

Even worse, she starts to cry. No loud wails or sniffling, just silent tears tracking down her jagged cheeks. Lenny sighs with utmost sympathy, patting her side consolingly.

"There, there," Lenny shushes, adding the finishing stitches to… whatever he just made. It looks like a long, narrow stretch of pink fabric. Gesturing to Hilda's head, he requests, "Lean down for me?"

She blinks in confusion, but bows her head to his level. Fluidly, he wraps the pink fabric around one of the jutting edges of rock on her head, tying a dainty ribbon on her head.

"There," Lenny says, proud. "A fancy little bow to cheer you up. I'll teach you how to make them if you want; we can make a matching one for your wife. Does she like pink?"

Hilda stares at Lenny so long that Montgomery worries she's gonna squish him. "...Yes."

"That way when you go back home to her, you'll have yourself a new skill that you can use to make a living. And you can give her the bow you make and promise you're gonna do better. But you have to promise, and you have to mean it! Okay?"

Determined, Hilda nods. She takes the weaving supplies when they're offered. Lenny sits close beside her, gently instructing her on how to start and guiding her clumsy maneuvers. From the corner of the room, Montgomery stares, suddenly feeling as though he's being ignored.

What the hell!

No, this won't do. Not one bit. He's supposed to be scaring Lenny away; how is he gonna do that if Lenny is too busy playing teacher? He needs to get the focus back on him. Or, on Murderin' Montgomery.

"Sewing, hmm?" He muses, as if he's in a whole other world. Lenny turns to him while Hilda refuses to spare him even a glance, too focused on her work. "She used to sew, before they killed her. Sewing always makes me think of what they did to her… and what I did to them."

Lenny looks like he's wondering if Montgomery got hit on the head really, really hard. Hilda, brow furrowed over her work, looks like she's considering hitting him on the head really, really hard.

After a while, Lenny pipes up. "...Actually, it's weaving, since we're creating the fabric right now. No sewing, yet!"

Montgomery glares at him. Hard. It still takes thirty seconds longer than he'd like for Lenny to start looking uncomfortable.

What the hell!

Why is Lenny so impossible to scare? Is he stubborn? Dumb? All of the above? Montgomery has been dropping hints all night that he's gruesomely murdered people, and he knows they're landing. Even Hilda has her guard up around him constantly. So why can't he scare away one simple country bumpkin like Lenny?

He's tired. He's frustrated. He needs to get out of this room before he flips a table over.

Grumbling under his breath, he shoves himself off the floor and states, "I'm getting a drink." Before Lenny can offer to go with him or talk to him about the power of a joyful attitude or something stupid like that, Montgomery stalks out of the room.

When he gets down to the bar, the lights are all off and no one is there. He's only confused for a few moments before he catches a glimpse of the moon outside. It's a few hours past midnight. Of course no one is down here to get him a drink.

This time, he actually flips a table.


By the time he trudges back up the stairs (which takes about an hour, considering he went outside to hit trees and shout angry curses at the sky) he's more tired and frustrated than he was before. His plans to get rid of Lenny have failed him left and right. It's infuriating. Failure seems to be a common theme with him, lately.

Ever since he was banished from the Alcott family, bad luck has followed him like the plague. From muggings to electrocution to fistfights, he's faced crippling failure at every corner. Every step forward is swiftly followed by three steps back. He's constantly on square one, but the squares keep changing and he can never get his footing right. Why did this bad fortune have to start now, when he needs success now more than ever? He's never failed so much in his life… has he?

He failed to beat Florian all those weeks ago. He failed to promote his family name. He failed to prove himself to Father, again. His lack of a family pendant grows more glaringly obvious with every passing year. He's enough of a failure to bring Father's hatred down on himself. If he wasn't such a failure, would he have gotten kicked out? Saddled with an impossible task that even the greatest of heroes wouldn't dare to dream of? Maybe—maybe he's always been a failure.

Needless to say, his mood is pretty sour when he returns to the room. It doesn't help that the firelight still flickers under the crack in the door, meaning someone is awake. He prays to any deity listening that it's not Lenny. The last thing he needs to deal with on top of his bitter failure is a stark reminder of it. When he opens the door, he's not one bit surprised to see that it is Lenny awake. That's just his kind of luck, lately.

Hilda is asleep. The pink bow Lenny made her is still tied to her head. Her own misshapen work is complete, folded carefully in her hands, clutched like it might disappear in the night. Lenny sits closer to the fire, holding red fabric in his lap. His eyes droop, weary and exhausted. But when he sees Montgomery, he perks up in the slightest.

"There you are, Mott."

Montgomery drags his feet over to a straw bed, flopping down on it. "I'm not in the mood to talk."

"Okay, we don't gotta talk. But here, I made you something."

Montgomery surprises himself with how quickly his head lifts off the pillow. He sits up as Lenny shuffles over to him, holding out the red fabric. As he gets closer, Montgomey realizes there are actually two matching pieces of red fabric. Lenny hands one to him. Sorting it out in his hands reveals a bandana.

"You can wear it around your neck." Lenny ties his own around himself to demonstrate. "See? Tah-dah!"

Montgomery stares at the fabric in his hands, uncomprehending. He looks up at Lenny, who's grinning eagerly at him. "What—what is this for?"

"They're adventurer bandanas, for the both of us! Since we're pals now!"

Montgomery absolutely loathes the way that makes him feel.

All day, he's been trying to chase Lenny off. All night, he's been throwing a fit and bemoaning his lack of success, trying to figure out why Lenny keeps sticking to him. And the answer, all this time… was because Lenny sees him as a friend?

That's… he doesn't…

He doesn't understand.

"I don't deserve this," he says, swallowing whatever is climbing up his throat. How could he deserve it? He fails in everything he does, he deserves nothing. "I haven't earned it."

Lenny laughs, carefree. "It's a gift. You don't gotta earn it."

Lenny urges his hands to his neck, helping him tie the bandana. It settles softly around him. It's still warm from being near the fire.

"There!" Lenny proclaims, nodding with satisfaction. "It suits you, Mott."

Montgomery looks down at it, hesitantly, like it might disappear. It's still around his neck, and Lenny's not making a move to snatch it back. Carefully, Montgomery reaches a hand up and clings to it. Wordlessly, he nods in agreement.

"Well, we oughta get to bed. Hilda's all tuckered out," Lenny remarks, as if Montgomery couldn't hear her snoring like an earthquake. Settling into his own straw bed beside Montgomery's, he whispers, "'Night, Mott."

"I've never actually killed anyone," he blurts, like an idiot. "I just wanted to scare you."

Lenny blinks at him, surprised. Then, his features soften.

"I know," he says, gently. "It's okay; I knew you couldn't be a killer. You're too nice."

Montgomery swallows, and wants to say, No, no I'm not. But the words are trapped in his throat.

"Besides," Lenny adds, closing his eyes, "I know what a real killer looks like, and it ain't you. It's me."

Montgomery's heart nearly leaps out his throat.

Lenny rolls over. "Welp, goodnight!"

By the time morning comes, Hilda wakes to find Montgomery huddled in the corner, dark circles under his eyes, while Lenny sits in bed and laughs at him for falling for his prank.