A scowl flashes over Strabimon's features as he clenches a fist. A dark, brooding look is left, every muscle tense. "No, he hasn't. He probably wouldn't even eat if we didn't bring him food." How were they gonna get him out of this?

"I don't think he wants to let anyone see him like this." Lopmon's eyes fall to look at his hands as he wrings them against each other. After a moment, he's doing the same with his ears too. "All he would tell me is that he looks like Scar now."

Strabimon starts to pinch the bridge of his nose, but instead rakes his claws through the fur over the back his head. The sting of the sharp nails makes him hiss, and he leans his head to the other side as the burning subsides, breathing slowly. "He won't even say why that's so bad. Everything we know is what he said to everyone else."