Depollute me, pretty baby

Redrum's long ears flicked at the sound of her giggle, the easy lightness of it catching him off guard. His gaze narrowed as she spoke, her words rolling over him—soft but persistent. Sort of like trudging over a hill in the rain. He didn’t miss the glint of mischief in her eyes, nor the deliberate impishness behind her description of him. "Pretty like—the ocean?" he echoed lowly, as if the comparison was a riddle she’d delivered to him. His brow furrowed deeper when she dared to call him pretty again, the word settling awkwardly in his mind like a thorn he didn’t know how to remove. He’d never been called much of anything positive, let alone pretty. And here she was, telling him he was akin to waves from afar, dangerous yet somehow pretty so long as you weren’t swept up within them.

“Danger… is not—pretty,” he muttered, his golden eyes flicking to the side as though the ground might offer some clarification. What was with her? Her compliment about his red fur made him shift uncomfortably, unsettled really. Red meant danger. It meant blood. It meant death. “The red is—blood, Lea. It stains. Not—beautiful.” Yet even as he said it, the denial in his voice wavered. Maybe she knew something he did not know. Maybe she was crazy.
When she asked about his name, Redrum hesitated, claws flexing briefly into the earth again. The talons drawing long trenches into the dirt. "Yes. Redrum is Redrum," He left it at that, not elaborating further, though his jaw clenched repeatedly, a sign he was fighting off the clacking of teeth he’d usually experience.

Her calm response to his question—or what passed for one—made his ears twitch and swivel towards her again. Resting, enjoying life, curiosity… these things sounded foreign to him, like luxuries he’d never been afforded. Her ease with the words confused him, but not in an entirely unpleasant way. He tilted his head, mirroring her previous gesture unconsciously, the intensity in his gaze softening into something closer to intrigue. "Day-dreamer…" he murmured, his tone steady and low. “Leora is… strange. Still—dreaming?” Yeah, that would explain it.

As she gestured to the spot beside her, his movements stilled entirely. Pretty boy, she’d called him again, and her lack of fear—her utter ease—only added to the tension that snaked into his chest. Her words invited him closer, somehow daring him at the same time. He lowered his skull again, slightly, studying her for any crack in her confidence, any sign that she wasn’t as steady as she seemed. As true. He peered up at her for many moments, the flicking of his tail behind his hocks lending him a feline’s characteristic for the time being.

Finally, he moved, a cautious step forward. “Not afraid…” he repeated, his voice carrying a note of skepticism. His golden eyes lingered on her, tension rippling through his muscles, under his vermillion coat. Slowly, he lowered himself into the space she had indicated, his posture rigid despite the proximity. “Redrum doesn’t—sit with strangers.” he said awkwardly, though he had, indeed, done just that. His claws flexed idly against the ground as he watched her, his sideways gaze wary yet curious. “But Lea—is not a stranger anymore, yes?” he added after a moment, the faintest hint of something like amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Murder"