Shine Razor Eyes

[Emprexx Plush]

((Blaise D'Aramitz Continued From A Nightmare And A Wet Dream))

Blaise did not consider what they had done murder. You can't kill someone who is already dead. If, however, their captors saw fit to reward them for their mercy they would not object. Whatever they thought of them was as of little consequence to them as the accusatory tone of...what was her name again? It existed within their mind at convenience, and in this moment it was more convenient to their point to forget her. Her name would play shortly, they were certain of that, and when it did they would not recognize it.

When they reached the top of the waterfall, their meal had been waiting atop a metal case. Blaise lacked the firearm fetishization to identify the black metal frame inside by name. It looked similar to many guns they'd seen in film, video game traileers, and strapped across the back of overcompensating activists. An assault rifle did not need a fancy name to be recognized in modern society, but the instruction manual it came with gave one anyway: "Rock River Arms LAR-15 Elite Operator 2."

They ate, and they read. If they had the patience there would be many hours free for consuming their guide. Stealth was still the name of the game and Carl was still their first line of defense, this did not change that. It would be vain even for them to assume they were a competent threat because they had picked up a firearm. That acknowledged, one did bolster the other. How many righteous idiots would run away when they would have otherwise accosted them after catching sight of this in their arms? If anyone were to doubt them would they voice those doubts with a weapon in view? If anyone was both close and foolish enough to challenge them...

Mm. A low profile was preferred. It would be nice to go a day or more without hearing their name. If, say, Aurelien came barreling around the corner searching for revenge, however? Blaise turned, following the diagrams in their operations guide. The stock pressed into their shoulder and the weld to their cheek as their knees bent. They leaned forward, squinted. Held their breath. Pulled the trigger.

The shot went wide down the path, though they did not notice. Some flaw in their stance put their face and the stock in conflict that ended with stumbling back clutching at their cheek. The shock did not last nearly as long as the resulting welt would. It was not the first time they had been struck by a new lover. With any luck it would not be the last.

More practice would come later. They did not wish to wear out their window of opportunity. As they descended Carl's anxious mannerisms came creeping back over their own. Carl, they decided, had held guns like this before but never fired them. They made him uneasy. Carl lacked the spine to hurt anything or anyone. No one had any need to fear him.

All the more reason to leave whatever threat you might glimpse below his shallow surface slumbering, no?

((Blaise D'Aramitz Continued In Woody Harrelson wearing a red wig in the Stinger of Venom saying “There’s Going To Be Carnage”))