His opinion was not much of anything. The information would be useful, he supposed, but it made no real difference to him. No matter what had happened, his own life would be more or less the same.

A basic style of attack. Mainly defensive, as suspected, but still able to inflict a decent amount of damage. Of course, that may have been due to the offensive style of the opponent. Very reliant on weaponry, which could be useful when combined with his own skills. Still, he would like to see him fight without his hatchets. Most actual combat, or what little there would be, would rely on stealth and compromise.

But mostly compromise.

It could work. The new Proxy had potential. He did not need to befriend him, or even like him. But when all was said and done, he would be helpful, and that was all he asked for.

Masky looked out his window towards the dead forest beyond. Even from his room, high into the cloudless black sky, it still looked vast and infinite. He wondered if anything hid beyond it, or ever did.

There was a knock on his door. He sighed. Did everyone knock? Was nobody in a castle of maniacs crazy enough to invite themselves inside?

"Come in," he called out to the door. It responded by creaking open, revealing the person too scared to forget knocking.

But to her credit, Clockwork walked inside his room and closed the door behind her without a second thought. "Hey M," she smiled. Her crooked stitching warped her face into something not quite natural.

He nodded curtly, eyeing her from head to toe. They were not friends. Not at all. There was a time when they talked, they laughed, they did what friends would do, just like he did with many of the others. But that was then. Back before...

"So," Clockwork sat herself down on his bed, "You ready to talk about it?"

Masky's mind froze in place for half a moment. Did she just acknowledge it? No, she wouldn't. "What?" he asked, more for clarification than anything.

Clockwork scooted down the bed until her back touched the wall. "C'mon. We all know it's bothering you. I mean, how could it not?" she pushed her knees up to her chest.

Realizing exactly what she was there for, he glared at the girl, though he knew his eyes were masked in shadow. He could only hope the ferocity of his gaze was able to be felt nonetheless.

But if it could, she payed no mind. "Look, I'm not gonna pretend I know what you're going through or anything. Honestly, I've never had any friends worth crying over. But I know what happens when you try to bottle all that anger and misery up, and believe me, it is not pretty. So you better let it out to me instead of any of those assholes downstairs."

Masky crossed his arms, leaning against the wall opposite to her. "I'm not doing that," he told her, his glare still directed at her. What a waste of time.

She maintained eye contact with him, or at least as much as possible with only three eyes shared between them, two of which could not be seen. "It'll make you feel better," she encouraged.

"I don't care," he said, his voice perfectly level. A voice that he knew many found intimidating, but still she did not waver.

Clockwork's eye glowed dimly in the room's darkness. "Yes you do. We've all noticed how cold you've been acting lately. Even more than usual. And you can't say it's a coincidence. You'd have to be an idiot to not see how close you guys were."

Masky breathed in deeply, closing his eyes, and then let it out. "I think it's time for you to leave."

She didn't budge. "You can't just pretend Entry 83 never happened. Hell, you act like Hoodie himself never existed. I don't care if you're some big shot Proxy. Everyone needs to grieve, even killers, and you absolutely suck at it." She crossed her own arms, mimicking his posture while still sitting on his bed.

Masky bowed his head down, the shadows cast by his small lamp silhouetting the features of his mask. "Leave. Now."

His threat was ignored. "You blame yourself, don't you?" she asked. "Is that why you won't say anything? Because a Proxy shouldn't be able to feel guilt? Because they're supposed to just roll with the punches?"

She then giggled silently to herself, as if there was a joke heard only to her ears. "Even with a mask, you're still the easiest person in the world to read."

Masky did not say anything. Instead, he reached into the pouch of his jacket, where his pocket knife hid snugly. He wouldn't use it. Not on her, not now. But it certainly felt nice in his hand.

Finally, Clockwork stood up. "Guess I'm not helping much, am I?" Masky darkened his glare, still silent. "Yeah, sorry. This seemed like a better idea in my head. Seems I'm not the motherly type I thought I could be."

As she walked back towards the door, Masky loosened the grip on his knife. Slowly the girl twisted the handle, opening the door to reveal the dark stairwell. "But Masky, if you can't be nice to yourself, and you can't be nice to Hoodie, then at least don't take all this out on Toby," she said quietly. "This isn't about him."

And then she walked out the door and left.

Masky pulled his hand out of his pocket, holding nothing. His eyes slowly relaxed from their glare as he hugged his body tightly.

He slipped a single hand up underneath his mask, rubbing his eyes slightly. They were beginning to sting, only a little. He listened to the slow rhythm of his breathing, still leaning against the wall.

He could not will himself to cry.

He didn't know how to feel about that.