Work Text:
You whisper to crikeymikey123 : sheltering in your base for the night
crikeymikey whispers to you: omw
"Hey, Lops! I got your whisper!"
The familiar voice brought Lops out of his reverie, static shooting up his spine as Mikey enters through the front door of the Hobbit Hole. (A door he could've easily trapped. Wasted opportunity.) Immediately Lops' senses became on edge, the prickly, shaky urge for bloodshed almost overtaking his common sense. As it was, he managed to get out a low "hey Mikey" before falling silent, willing his limbs to fight against the need to kill, maim, cure the curse. His companion (ally? Friend? Acquaintance?) seemed none the wiser, and went into some ramble about how sad it was that now everyone knew Lops was boogey, and would it be better to find someone to kill or to just take it and go red like Ellios had?
Not that Lops was listening, though.
He knew there would be the perfect moment, where Mikey was distracted and vulnerable. His hands itched with the pins-and-needles heat of the curse, head full of burning cotton wool, and killing would be the remedy. So he nodded, he mumbled a few words here and there, and he waited for the optimal moment to strike.
The moment came soon enough.
Mikey turned to get something or other out of a barrel in the wall, and Lops saw his opportunity to strike. Itchy hands grasped the familiar weight of his iron sword and swung at his ally TARGET, satisfyingly sinking into flesh.
Mikey doubled over in pain, sinking onto the floor, and looked pitifully up at Lops, now standing stone-faced above the helpless sheep. Lops' face cracked into a narrow, mirthless smile.
"L- Lops… I thou- [coughing] I thought we were friends…"
Lops' smile fell, and the sword swung one last time.
crikeymikey was slain by lopsidedhead using [Psythe]