It was dark in the dressing room Floyd was trapped in, presumably night now that it was quiet. His captors had seemingly gone to bed, and their assistant was also nowhere to be found. Still, when it should have been a time for Floyd to relax and rest for the next day of more torture- he found himself wide awake. His body ached, and he felt utterly exhausted from having his life force stolen from him day after day by the spoiled Rageon Teens that had kidnapped him. Floyd was laying on his side, facing towards the wall as he rotted away in his diamond bottle prison. His colors were growing muted, and after the last time the teens had stolen his talent- slowly his limbs were turning transparent too. At this rate, he wouldn't have long if this continued. He knew that.

The worst part about all of this though? When he did die, no one that he knew would know. Not his friends, not his brothers... Floyd never got to see them again after their last show. And though he had wanted to come back to Pop Village, he was almost scared to what he would come back too. For all he knew, Bergens still ate trolls. What if he came back and Branch was... Floyd drew in a trembling breath, curling into the fetal position. He wasn't there. And now, no one would be here for him. At least... that's what he thought.

Just as drowsiness began to wash over him, Floyd felt like he was being watched. It didn't feel like anything he was used too, either. Not the cold and greedy gaze of Velvet and Veneer- or the nervous wreck that was their assistant Crimp. This feeling made his fur stand on end, yet felt.. comforting? Was that the word he was looking for? Hesitantly, Floyd turned his head and glanced over his shoulder to meet the gaze of whoever was looking at him. His eyes widened at what he saw.