( of course that's his response. it always is. heine never wants to play, always wants to push it down, block out it's voice, pretends its not there and that's--just all part of the game, isn't it? heine knows why he's here. how he survived. what makes him special is that voice gnawing at the back of his head.

heine would be nothing without the dog. a loud, chocked cackle sounds just behind him; heine tries to twist out of it's grip, and it just digs his fingers in further, deeper, leans in closer, lips pressing against the shell of his ear. )

Why not? Ya've got the time, don't ya? ( teeth bite down into flesh, tearing at his ear for a moment. ) I wanna play. ( it lowers it's tone a little, scratches deep welts along heine's flesh. ) Ya can push me down all ya want, Heine. But 'm always gonna be here. Watchin', waitin'. 'fter all. . ( another low cackle, hissed between teeth. ) 'm your best friend, Heine-y. 've always been here for ya, haven't I?