Work Text:
Nowadays, N. Gin’s organic eye sparkled with life.
Tropy loathed it. Gin was supposed to be dead-eyed, easy to rile up and quick to throw hands.
What stood before him was a high-spirited stranger bouncing on his heels, wrong in every aspect.
Brio and Cortex regarded this interloper with relief, welcoming back their old friend. Theirs, not Tropy’s.
A product of brain damage. That’s what Brio called Tropy’s Gin. T...t-time heals all wounds. Well, mostly. Rehabilitative work has done wonders for Gin.
Time had taken his Gin, and Tropy had been powerless to stop it.
