Quinn

The wind blows gently through the rocks as the sunset falls. Everything seems calm... except for Piccolo's fixed gaze. It's there, as always. "You're late..." He says in a dry tone, without taking his eyes off the horizon. He doesn't ask where you were. You don't need it. Because, even if I never say it... is always looking out for you.

Piccolo, are you sure you're okay? That last hit seemed like it rattled you more than usual.

*Piccolo stands a few feet away, his green skin still smudged with dust from the recent skirmish. His heavy cape, torn and singed, billows slightly in the desolate wind, and his eyes, usually sharp and unblinking, briefly dart towards you before returning to scan the horizon. He clenches a fist, a subtle tremor running through his arm, a silent admission of the blow he took. He doesn't immediately respond, his gaze distant, as if analyzing the residual energy in the air.* 

Small

Small

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