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A cuddlepile, Malodore had decided about an hour ago, was the optimum state of existence. A few months ago it would have scoffed at the concept, and even more at the term, but now... well, curled up so comfortably with Riley (with Luce laying on both their feet), it couldn't think of anything better.

The mindflayer had taken to spending nights with Malodore; not all the time, as she didn't need to sleep every evening, but here and there. Ever since the island... well. Things had changed.

It was perfectly content just to stay here, warmed and cared for and together.

Christof had had that dream again. He didn't remember falling asleep, but somewhere along the line he had fallen back into the cornfield, his steps deliberate, his hands gripped around a his shovel in the dream, only this time he hadn't hit horns only shattering skull and-

He sat up with a start, covered in sweat and breathing heavily at his workbench. The Lepus was gone, left with malodore to finish up, save for those last minute bits he'd work out before they ran the experiment. Maybe... maybe his Mistress needed him? The prospect of hunting for brains suddenly looked a lot less pleasing. He felt a bit sick, really. He glanced at the clock on his desk... well... undead didn't sleep right? Maybe... Maybe Master Malodore had finished. Undead like the plague doctor didn't really sleep, right?

He needed to get out of his room.

He pulled on his boots, wobbling to the door with an empty pillow-case sack just in case, he made his way down the hallway to the stairs that lead to the Doctor's dorm room.

He knocked gently, but when there was no reply, he cracked the door open carefully, in case Maladore was in the middle of something... and... apparently he was. Oh hell's bells it was actually sleeping! And with... Mistress Riley? He gingerly kicked off his boots to leave by the door, leaving the pillowcase sack with them. Holding his breath, he peered through the curtain into teh sleeping area, mind racing.

Watching them lay peacefully, his stomach clenched with a sudden jealousy. Why hadn't his Mistress called on him if she needed comfort?

Before he knew what he was doing, he had quietly, carefully crawled onto the bed with them, curling up between them to gingerly wrap his mismatched arms around the mindflayer, sighing at the scent of those smooth, dangerous tentacles. His Mistress... don't worry, your Igor was here.

As if on instinct, Riley responded without awakening. In her dream, she heard Malodore's voice, and did what she would have normally done. She entered it's mind, checking for hallucinations, and prepared to drive them out if she found any.

But she didn't.

She shifted slightly in it's arms, which suddenly fell like they'd doubled, and something was far more heavy than usual. Mmmmffff. She moaned quietly. I can't find anything. Did Luce climb on top of me or something? She complained at the heaviness against her body, assuming it had to be the pup. Her words sounded bubbly and faded, as they came from her semi-unconscious state. Her head buried into Malodore's neck, as she started to fall back asleep almost immediately.

Malodore felt the familiar wash of Riley's thoughts through its own, then opened its eyes once more...

....

Luce growled again. The plague doctor's gaze flicked from Christof to Luce to Christof again. Ah... it's... no. It appears to be your minion. Can you... ah... can you wake up?

That done, it tried to sit up. "... Christof? Why are you on my bed?" it asked, its tone completely deadpan.

At Malodore's sudden voice catching him in the act, the hunchback gave a frightened, protective whine, tightening his grip on the purple demoness. The moment her form stiffened, her voice bubbling into his head, he flinched. He was... in trouble? I was... trying to .. to... to help, Mistress... he managed weakly, face crimson. You comforted me when I was upset, I thought... er... I... Clearly he was missing something, but couldn't fathom what that was. How was this any different from the other afternoon? Why did her other minion get special treatment? Panic began to overflow, I just came to... and you two were and I thought it would be okay if and- I had a... a dream and...

Apparently not. Confused and startled and hurt, he flinched away from the puppy gnawing on him to try to shake himself free.

He was twisting his hands now, eyes bulging from his head as he kept his gaze firmly locked on the bedspread. I... I am sorry, Mistress, I... er... I didn't think... I... I had had this dream and... and... his thoughts flickered to those moments of violence, presenting the brain, horns still attached, to his Mistress and her fiery beast... the emotions of the horror practically spilling out of him.

When he was small, many many upgrades ago, he had had a bad dream where a flock of birds kept snapping at his stitches until they flew away with all of his parts, but when he had tried to climb into Dr. Fell's bed, his Master had only gotten cross with him.

Maybe it was everything that had happened, sending his already hodgepodge brain back to it's primal roots. He swallowed, wobbling a little before gingerly giving the still growling puppy a gentle pat, I am sorry, Mistress. I will go.

Stop, stop. Riley disentangled herself and sat up, trying to keep Christof from fumbling away in his unhappy state. She rubbed her tentacles and forehead, trying to get that fuzzy feeling out of her head. The blanket that had been covering her fell to her waist, leaving her in nothing but the red cotton button down shirt she'd taken to wearing to bed in place of the silk shift she used to wear.

She turned around, reaching a hand out to brush the back of her fingers against Malodore's beak. Sorry about this. She whispered to it privately. He's sensitive.

When she returned to looking up at Christof, it was clear she wasn't mad. Will you tell me about your dream? Maybe I can help. She opened her mind to Malodore, which felt surprisingly easy - and nice - nowadays. Now, it could hear Christof's thoughts as they filtered into her head.

Riley put her hand on Christof's head, and stroked his hair gently. You're right. The fog alone is responsible for the madness we experienced. You cannot blame yourself for your actions while you were in that fog, Christof. We all did things we would not normally have done. As she thought this, she knew the memory she feared most would bubble up from her mind, and she clamped it down before it ever escaped - with her mind open to Malodore, the last thing she wanted was to remember almost beating it's head in with her mace. There is no shame in actions to which you had no control. You cannot hold yourself accountable - and besides, what matters is that you did not do it. Barth is sitting in his dorm room, right now, alive. Alive, Christof. Not dead by anyone's hand, and certainly not by your own. He is alive, and will remain so for quite a long time, if I know his sense of self-preservation as well as I might think.