Are you oblivious to the fact that he's damaged, broken, exhausted, destroyed or are you just uncaring, unfeeling and self-serving. Mostly the second one. You are high, true, but not that high, and a couple months of detox did nothing to decrease your tolerance. It is simply that you are on a mission and that mission will not be changed. Besides, it is not a warrior's creed to fight past injuries, to stand strong even when you are weak? You do not think that Pretty Boy would appreciate coddling, would accept a well placed hand of condolence and you would not respect him if he did. So perhaps he is broken, but perhaps it is better that you choose to ignore it.

Slow down a little. Rose Red? His speech, at least, is somewhat familiar, if the broken way he holds his his body is not. But you are both in the same boat- confused by Oxy. Because if he has no idea what the hell your talking about, you're not sure you can give him a name. Rose Red, Rose Red, the Lesbians.... you snort, and just start at the beginning, trying to figure out where you can start to make the story make sense, looking around you suspiciously to make sure nobody else is listening. It is not a secret yet and yet... you feel as though you mustn't share too much. They cannot know.

“Darkness drove the Asylum from the swamp, we moved a few times before ending up underground,” you try to talk slower, try not to patronize him, but perhaps you are still a little disgusted at his inability to remain with the group that he was supposed to be general of. Or perhaps you are still too erratically angry to maintain one solid emotional state. Your words betray some of your anger, but again not for Pretty Boy. Perhaps he will understand, as your story goes on. “Rose Red... I don't know where the hell she went, but I did her damn job, herding all the crazies around.” You never did really count yourself as one of them. You get high, but you're not really crazy...

Anyways, Rose Red. Who the hell is she? You don't know her name. Eris. It's probably been said twenty times in your presence and you couldn't repeat it if somebody threatened to spear your heart. “Rose Red, the leader... not the Glass Horn.” Not the Glass Horn Seele. Gods you're eloquent. It's the best you can do. Perhaps he will figure it out. “I was General,” kind of a lie- but nobody had ever bothered to refute your claim. Not the Lesbians, not the Phantom Seeker, not the other crazies. You were General but all in official title, there had just been a little too much going on to make it official.

“We were granted a herd, led by the Glass Horn and some Golden Asshole of a pegasus.” Good name. You're sure he probably told you his real one, but obviously you had better things to do than pay attention. “Anyways, who do they name General? Rose Red. Who hasn't fought more than one or twice in her whole damn life. I bleed, I sweat, I toil, and for what? To be put under her command and made to follow her around like a puppy? I don't think so. She's going down, Pretty Boy. And you and I deserve what she has.” Maybe you shouldn't have spilled so much of your plans so quickly. You're usually smart enough to contain these types of things, to wait, to be patient and yet... Anger seems to override any decision making capabilities you have. He has to know, because he has to help you, because even you cannot do this on your own.

You are stronger since you and him last met, you no longer fear you will lose to him in battle.