After the text for help from Pickles, it doesn't take long for Ava to track them down. Through the dissipating fog, the wrecked displays that maybe slowed their pursuit but not hers. The animatronics cackle brokenly as they sense her passing by in a flickering but purposeful path through the Spirit Halloween. That alone would lead her right to the scene, but the shouting and grunts and scuffling truly give their position away.
There's no shock at the brutality, she's seen far worse. Caused far worse. Just a sad tilt of her head as she watches them desperately get whatever blows in that they can, her quiet presence unnoticed. Because she doesn't yet interfere, doesn't call out for them to stop. Doesn't think they'd listen.
It wouldn't take much to knock them both out. They're just two regular humans, after all. And this isn't cold and efficient, it's an outlet for pent up raging emotions that... she can't quite argue with on either side and so won't bother. No, stepping in too early wouldn't solve anything, it's best to allow them to exhaust whatever fight they have left. Make them feel the consequences of the action better than her own disappointment could.
Pratt doesn't like an imposter living within his best friend. Would do anything to rip him out and bring Sharky back. She wants that too. And Pickles has his entire existence on the line, and she's been in such a position before to know the very real fear. He deserves a chance. But she has no solutions.
None of this is right. But this isn't her fault, she has to remind herself. She told Pratt. But he deserved to know. She wouldn't feel any better if she'd withheld this from him. And she knows asking Pickles not to hurt Pratt could only go so far. Still. Still, she's almost tempted to let this play out to the end, because maybe it's not her call to make. Who deserves to win.
But she cares too much. About all three of them. She silently asks Sharky to forgive her, as she sweeps in from behind to wrap an arm around his throat to hold his head in place before shoving a hand right through the back of his skull, fingertips poking out the other side through his eyes. Unlike the hand in his chest, this time she allows it to hurt. "Playtime is over, boys," she hisses against his ear. "Let him go."
And if Pratt thinks he can get cute and take advantage of her holding Pickles back for him. No, he has both her feet planted into his stomach, a twist of her heel to make sure he feels it. "And you. Stay down."
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There's no shock at the brutality, she's seen far worse. Caused far worse. Just a sad tilt of her head as she watches them desperately get whatever blows in that they can, her quiet presence unnoticed. Because she doesn't yet interfere, doesn't call out for them to stop. Doesn't think they'd listen.
It wouldn't take much to knock them both out. They're just two regular humans, after all. And this isn't cold and efficient, it's an outlet for pent up raging emotions that... she can't quite argue with on either side and so won't bother. No, stepping in too early wouldn't solve anything, it's best to allow them to exhaust whatever fight they have left. Make them feel the consequences of the action better than her own disappointment could.
Pratt doesn't like an imposter living within his best friend. Would do anything to rip him out and bring Sharky back. She wants that too. And Pickles has his entire existence on the line, and she's been in such a position before to know the very real fear. He deserves a chance. But she has no solutions.
None of this is right. But this isn't her fault, she has to remind herself. She told Pratt. But he deserved to know. She wouldn't feel any better if she'd withheld this from him. And she knows asking Pickles not to hurt Pratt could only go so far. Still. Still, she's almost tempted to let this play out to the end, because maybe it's not her call to make. Who deserves to win.
But she cares too much. About all three of them. She silently asks Sharky to forgive her, as she sweeps in from behind to wrap an arm around his throat to hold his head in place before shoving a hand right through the back of his skull, fingertips poking out the other side through his eyes. Unlike the hand in his chest, this time she allows it to hurt. "Playtime is over, boys," she hisses against his ear. "Let him go."
And if Pratt thinks he can get cute and take advantage of her holding Pickles back for him. No, he has both her feet planted into his stomach, a twist of her heel to make sure he feels it. "And you. Stay down."