Wheeling Gull Isle She's spending every weekend at my place

Almost the moment he asked, Lucas regretted it. He may not have been good for much, but he could read a room with some reliability, and he felt this was a semi-inappropriate topic. It didn't help that opening his mouth to fix it around the stick made his stomach roil unpleasantly. He tried to keep his eyes on the sea, but that was tossing and turning too... and the blank socket was burned into his mind like a brand. Made some-bady mah. Wait are you serious?

Lucas dropped the stick without warning, working his tongue against the roof of his mouth as if it would do him any good, but bile was already rushing up his throat. He turned inelegantly away and with a pitiable blarf sound, expelled acid onto the sand. Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god. That was probably the rudest thing he'd ever done in his entire life, but that empty pocket of flesh may as well have been Titmouse's entire face to the queasy youngster... and someone had done that solely because they were mad?

Oh my god, he murmured weakly, I'm—bluh—so sorry.