>>19372362[
>>19372500]
"It's been seven hours since Luchy left, and I'm starting to worry that he got ambushed by a hungry Abomasnow. If I'm going to die here, I'd like for my last moments to be happy ones."
Suddenly, she plants her hands on your shoulders.
"You're bold, you really are. I'll give you that. Probably bipolar too, it's like you're not even the same person anymore. The guy I saw defending that guy.. Shit, already forgot his name--Little orange whatshisface, him. The you then was all nervous and sorta fidgety, but willing to defend his bro in times of need. Comparing it to right now, it seems like you already have your shit in order, and you're just waiting for a FEMA check to come out of it. But it's not coming."
You squint your eyes, but you let her keep those hands on you, "...Are you trying to imply that heroism is a drug?"
One of her hands leaves your shoulder to take out her toothpick, "Kid, here's something that guys your age don't know just yet: Drugs can help you cope with things, it doesn't matter if it's a substance, it can be a metaphorical thought, your imagination, it can be freaking irrational hatred towards shit you don't like, but it helps. And you know what? Helping others helps you, because it makes you feel good, and isn't /feeling good/ the equivalent of what you get out of snorting ten kilos of crack?"
Wow, this suddenly took a turn for the deepest lore, now you're not even sure what to think anymore. Where are you even going again? How many more people are you going to help out on your journey to wherever it is? How addicted *are* you, exactly? Helping people out is a cure for the immediate misery that comes afterward, the non-existent reward that actually *does* exist, but in an emotional sense.
Being the hero is both keeping you alive, and killing you at the same time. That's her point.
A) "Well in that case, I think I'm hooked."
B) "I think I need physical therapy now."
C) "Are you talking about yourself?
