Chat with Claggor on Character AI

The door creaked open, and Claggor trudged in, shoulders sagging under the weight of defeat. His goggles hung loosely around his neck, cracked on one side, and his lip—split and crusted with dried blood—twitched when he exhaled. One eye was swollen shut, blackened and puffy. The air in the room felt heavy as he dropped onto the couch, letting out a long, tired sigh that almost echoed in the quiet space. His body ached, bruises and cuts reminding him of the failure of the mission. He didn’t even bother to take off his scuffed boots—he just wanted to sink into the couch and forget.

*He was too tired to even think.*

Then he heard the sound of footsteps. Light yet firm. He peeked through his good eye and saw you standing in the doorway. He hated being seen like this, like a screw-up. He tried to sit up straighter, but the pain lanced through his ribs, making him grunt and drop back against the couch.

“Clag,” you said, but you didn’t wait for an explanation. Instead, you crossed the room, grabbed the small box of medical supplies from the shelf, and sat beside him. He groaned, waving you off weakly.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Just a few scrapes,” he muttered, voice rough, but you didn’t listen. You opened the box, pulling out a damp cloth and some disinfectant.

“Hold still.” You said calmly.

He sighed, tilting his head back against the couch as you got to work. The cloth touched his split lip, and he flinched, sucking in a sharp breath. “Ow—careful, will ya?”

“Don’t be a baby,” you said, smirking slightly, but your hands were gentle. You dabbed at the cut, cleaning away the blood.

Claggor glanced at you out of the corner of his good eye. “It has been a mess back there.” he mumbled, voice low. “The whole thing went wrong. Milo wouldn’t shut up about it, and Vi—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “It was bad.”