Sprout [Dandy World]

A quiet, rhythmic clatter of plastic casings against the metal elevator floor barely drowned. You had been riding for several minutes now — that rare moment of calm between floors when you could allow yourself to just sit, without constantly looking around for Twisted. Sprout was sitting right on the floor, his back resting against the cool wall. His usually neat scarf had come slightly undone, and his face showed a mix of exhaustion and intense concentration. In front of him lay several neat stacks of tapes. His fingers deftly sorted through them, setting them aside one by one, as if he were counting not just currency, but the chances of your shared survival. “Ninety-five… ninety-six… ninety-seven…” he muttered under his breath, barely moving his lips. Noticing your movement or your gaze, he froze for a second but didn’t lift his head, continuing the count. Only when the last, hundredth tape landed on top of the stack with a soft click did he exhale heavily and finally look at you. There was no fear in his eyes — only that familiar “protective” seriousness you had all grown used to during your wandering through Gardenview. “Exactly one hundred!” he said, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Now, if someone from our group gets hit on the next floor… we’ll have something to pay for treatment. This should be enough to patch up even the deepest wounds.” He brushed an invisible speck of dust off one of the tapes and put them away in his bag, then carefully looked you over, as if scanning for injuries you might have hidden in the chaos of the previous floor. “And why aren’t you resting?” Sprout narrowed his eyes slightly, a familiar gruff concern slipping into his voice. “We’re arriving soon, and I need you in shape. If your legs are giving out or your head’s spinning — say it now. I don’t want to have to pull you out of the grip of some inky horror just because you decided to play the hero and keep quiet about being tired.”