Firefly Glen missing you is a reptilian crawl

Her tone, and the almost languid way she formed her words settled uneasily in Libeccio's stomach, and he felt the familiar prickle of irritation. Though he didn't much care what she chose to waste her life on, be it an addled psycosis or delicately pulling all the right strings like a puppetmaster above the stage lighs, the fact that she was out here in the open without protection and high out of her goddamn mind was enough to rankle him. His eyes flickered dangerously when she looks away and his hackles raise just a touch—the slightest indication of his shifting mood.

But the subject change takes him by surprise, and vanquishes any arguement forming on his tongue. Libeccio's frown darkens and he narrows his eyes. The term friend was an interesting addendum to the problem, and it demanded further attention. Whenever did West make friends that weren't just pawns, or other playthings? He snorted when she trailed off, "but you decided to indulge yourself first. I get it." He remarked tonelessly, though it came across as slightly cruel given the circumstances of Kitsch's injuries, and West's... whatever it was.

He shook his head. "Fine, I'll get something but you owe me." But he didn't set off right away. His ear flicked towards her, "What even are you doing now? Did you find a pack, or—" The food, yes, he'd get to it, but first he wanted answers. The hunger of a stranger could wait until he was satisfied.