She punches him. "You hungry, Tommy?"

He gasps a little, when she punches him. He's always had a shit pain tolerance, and Paramin's armor has thorns. He punches back anyway, because he's not a pussy; his hand comes away bleeding. "Nah, I'm full. No hunger here."

She clucks her tongue. "Tch. Let me see that." She reaches for his hand, another slipping into her pack for a potion.

“‘M not a baby. You’re worse than Wilbur.”

Her hand is gentle and steady, reassuring though she manages to grip his hand tight enough that the skin rips a little more. "You let Wilbur baby you?" She presses the potion to his lips before he can answer.

…That’s a potion of harming. What the hell, Paramin. 

He drinks it anyway. (That reminds him of Wilbur, too, of when they did harming pots together in the camarvan. Raise a glass to freedom, something they can never take away.)

“Didn’t take you for the big on drugs sort, Big P.”

Well, if he wants to play along, she will as well. "Oh, you know, I like to make sure you have what you need."

Fuck that hurts. The dolphins or whatever it was hit a moment later, though, and then he’s riding high. High as a kite, baby. That’s him.

“Mhm. Gotta—provide drugs to minors. Absolutely gun to your head. There was simply no alternative. Is it still drug dealing if you give them out for free?”

"No cops here, Tommy!" She throws back her head and laughs, a. little unhinged. She's suddenly close to him, one arm around his back in a tight hug, the other tilting his face up to meet her gaze, inches away. Her hot breath is on his face as she hisses "Tubbo said that because he's. Not. Your. Friend."