Camila normally did not wear much to bed, but the amount of effort that had gone into getting her into a shirt made getting back out of it less attractive a concept.
It had been one of the rare pieces in her wardrobe- short sleeve, blue and white checkers, loopy frills scooping up along the collar. It was cutsey. Brought along in the event that she’d wanted to indulge herself with a ‘look’ on the trip. Dante had picked it out. She’d brought up reusing her bloodied shirt for the sake of keeping her fresh shirts in circulation longer. Dante’s arguments against that move had been infinitely fascinating. None of them had resonated, they’d all seemed petty and impractical, but Camila had agreed regardless. He didn’t want to be reminded of her being hurt. A pointless superficiality, but the softness of his eyes had sold it like she’d been a sucker.
They had shared a moment she cherished even now, maybe an hour or so later as night began to fall thick, smothering the horizon until it was only indistinct shadows. Camila was oddly comfortable here- this was what the farm looked like late at night, buried away from civilization in Chattanooga’s forested wildlands.
Dante had made her feel that comfortable, blathering on in his ramble. She could tell he’d been the sort to run cruise ships with his mouth alone back in school. Even with a questionably low amount of blood remaining in his body he could find some way to fill the silence.
She was possibly reading too much into it, but she’d felt rather… charmed, when he’d been fumbling through her wincing while they’d tried to work and hammer a shirt awkwardly over her broken arm. His warmth had lingered on her bare back with the heaviness of gravity. She’d been entertaining the idea of him holding firm against her, intimately whispering directly into her ear, low voice, hypnotic murmuring. Her muse for however long they’d spent together- the entirety of that time. It was utterly banal in the most comforting way. Camila could recognize those exceedingly rare moments she wanted a boy’s more personalized attention- normally they were idle distractions for down time, but now…
It was odd, how much downtime there was. They had a possibly dying boy among their ranks, they had guns aplenty lurking beyond where they could see- that being too close, their tiny lights couldn’t beat away much of the darkness. Yet nothing seemed to happen in abundance.
Camila had ultimately chosen to stay in an adjacent house, by herself. Tactical purpose- she believed it’d be easier if they couldn’t all be caught flat-footed. An intruder in one of the homes would be flanked by reinforcements from the other. Camila held her flashlight’s beam tight against her palm, hoarding the light to herself. She watched out of a second floor window half obscured by the chaotic gnarls of a tree’s slowly encroaching foliage, her elbows resting on the sill slowly made callous peace with rough tree bark. The room she was in was essentially bare sawdust, confirmed stable only by extremely careful tread.
Blaise and Dante had both agreed to the plan, anyways. Camila was positive she didn’t like the idea of Blaise and Dante together in one home, but she dismissed that as her own pettiness. Blaise had the good arms, they would be the most suited to handling any sudden medical emergencies. They’d call out if they needed. Camila would be there- jumping out of this window if she had to.
She switched her flashlight off and what little shielded her from the darkness was gone in an instant. Her eyes adjusted slowly- she could see the stars above unadulterated. Also like back home- and she remembered, she’d mentioned that to somebody, some long time ago. Back in DC, it must have been. She wondered who that girl had been- the name had been forgotten readily, and that was a shame. She wondered if that girl was okay.
The silence was deafening. Not a soul seemed to stir- Camila had to keep staring intently at the heavens to blot out the solitary thump of her own restless heartbeat. She was alone, left only with the consequences of her own actions.
Dormire
private
Dormire
V8 Vibes:
V7 Vibes:
It was a good night, Dante thought. Maybe not a great one, considering he couldn't walk and was in a lot of pain all of the time and was on an island where the people he cared about were going to be hurt. But right now there was a cool breeze in the air that smelled like the ocean, and there were stars in the sky, and he was with friends, one old and one new. It was a relative kind of good maybe, but as far as he was concerned that was what made it count.
>> Dante Valerio continued from Student Government
The new friend wasn't here right now, which was bumming Dante out a bit. They'd spent some time together in between house-hunting, when he couldn't hop around any further and needed to rest and she stayed behind with him, or the time he fell (and he'd only fallen once, which he thought was a pretty good record all things considered) and she'd immediately started worrying over his leg again, rebandaged it and cleaned it when she didn't have to. She seemed almost panicked, the worry in her eyes was real, and Dante just smiled and let her work even though it turned out getting his wound dressed hurt a lot more when he was conscious for it.
Camila was so kind, and so genuine, and he wished it didn't take him until now to learn that. They could have been good friends. No, they still could be, or maybe they already were. He didn't know. All he knew was he'd made a commitment to himself that he'd keep her safe.
Which would be a lot harder to do when she wasn't in the same building as him. Camila and Blaise had agreed on it, and their reasoning sort of made sense, something about how they could get ambushed more easily if they were all in one place. But it was hard for him to imagine anyone trying to ambush them, and if somebody did at least he'd be there and able to do something instead of safe in another house. From here he didn't even know if he'd hear it if Camila was attacked. He recognized he wasn't the brains of this group exactly and it was probably better to just do what the other two wanted but he still couldn't help but feel uneasy.
"You're sure this is okay?" he asked Blaise for probably the fourth time, he hadn't been keeping track. Part of the unease was probably just the pain. He was pretty sure his last dose of painkillers was wearing off, and thinking about trying to sleep was making him anxious.
>> Dante Valerio continued from Student Government
The new friend wasn't here right now, which was bumming Dante out a bit. They'd spent some time together in between house-hunting, when he couldn't hop around any further and needed to rest and she stayed behind with him, or the time he fell (and he'd only fallen once, which he thought was a pretty good record all things considered) and she'd immediately started worrying over his leg again, rebandaged it and cleaned it when she didn't have to. She seemed almost panicked, the worry in her eyes was real, and Dante just smiled and let her work even though it turned out getting his wound dressed hurt a lot more when he was conscious for it.
Camila was so kind, and so genuine, and he wished it didn't take him until now to learn that. They could have been good friends. No, they still could be, or maybe they already were. He didn't know. All he knew was he'd made a commitment to himself that he'd keep her safe.
Which would be a lot harder to do when she wasn't in the same building as him. Camila and Blaise had agreed on it, and their reasoning sort of made sense, something about how they could get ambushed more easily if they were all in one place. But it was hard for him to imagine anyone trying to ambush them, and if somebody did at least he'd be there and able to do something instead of safe in another house. From here he didn't even know if he'd hear it if Camila was attacked. He recognized he wasn't the brains of this group exactly and it was probably better to just do what the other two wanted but he still couldn't help but feel uneasy.
"You're sure this is okay?" he asked Blaise for probably the fourth time, he hadn't been keeping track. Part of the unease was probably just the pain. He was pretty sure his last dose of painkillers was wearing off, and thinking about trying to sleep was making him anxious.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
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Emprexx Plush
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((Blaise d'Aramtiz Continued From Student Government))
The future was not a pressing concern for Blaise. They existed moment to moment, whim to whim, and any futures planned within those breathes would vanish with their interest. It was not a mindset that lent well to long term planning, so it was no great shock that they had not invested much energy in the thought of children. Their most far flung fantasies included no small grasping hands at the hem of their shirt, no school routines and responsibilities, no bedtime stories or bandaged knees, so they were uncertain what parental instincts would look like on them. As they tucked Dante in under the thin blanket they had scavenged from the wreckage, though, there was a twinge of something nurturing in them. It did not overshadow their annoyance at the situation. He was still an inconvenience but he was an an obedient one. One far more tolerable without bullets whizzing around them. They made sure the blanket was snug at his chest before caressing his forehead with your fingertips. "We have discussed this. You do not need to worry about her, or about me. Consider yourself." A touch of selfishness would benefit him greatly. On the other hand, he wouldn't be Dante anymore. They could not complain. It soothed their bruised ego to care for him, and once he was settled he would be the same inexplicably carefree boy that captured their attention. Some assistance might be needed to get there, but that's what they were here for, no?
They paused and guided his arm out of the blanket, pressing the whiskey bottle to his palm. "Not too much, but it will help you rest. I will fix that after I check your things." They were uncertain which painkillers Camila had given him earlier. Oh well, they might give him both if he couldn't remember. It was not as if they could hurt more than Violet had. It was also possible she had overlooked something in the hurry; the girl seemed competent enough, but there room for error roughly equal to the diameter of Dante's wound.
Could she hear them? No, not at this distance, not unless they yelled. They could speak freely. If something were to happen in the night they were sure Dante would want to go to her, and they were sure they could make a case that she was already dead. She would want him to live, she'd worked so hard for him, it would be a waste to throw that away when he could hardly stand let alone fight, etc. etc. etc. It would most likely not be necessary, but if nothing else mapping the conversation passed the time. It would not be so terrible to lose her whether there was danger or not. They had seen the way she looked at him, and even if Dante did not have a far more useful paramour somewhere in the wind it was a doomed dynamic. It would only cause them strife. If it could not be withered with distance, they would have to pluck it out themself later. Not now, though. Now he needed to rest, and Blaise was not inclined to seek her out.
Dante's bag contained much of what theirs did, but it was far less organized after all the messy packing and unpacking it had been through. The first aid kit would stand out enough that they could chat while they found it. "Do you think you can make it to the house on the hill tomorrow? It is a long way. I can find another camp on the map." If they happened to miss the fallout of whatever ill-constructed meeting a desperate Faith had thrown together, well, more favor to them.
The future was not a pressing concern for Blaise. They existed moment to moment, whim to whim, and any futures planned within those breathes would vanish with their interest. It was not a mindset that lent well to long term planning, so it was no great shock that they had not invested much energy in the thought of children. Their most far flung fantasies included no small grasping hands at the hem of their shirt, no school routines and responsibilities, no bedtime stories or bandaged knees, so they were uncertain what parental instincts would look like on them. As they tucked Dante in under the thin blanket they had scavenged from the wreckage, though, there was a twinge of something nurturing in them. It did not overshadow their annoyance at the situation. He was still an inconvenience but he was an an obedient one. One far more tolerable without bullets whizzing around them. They made sure the blanket was snug at his chest before caressing his forehead with your fingertips. "We have discussed this. You do not need to worry about her, or about me. Consider yourself." A touch of selfishness would benefit him greatly. On the other hand, he wouldn't be Dante anymore. They could not complain. It soothed their bruised ego to care for him, and once he was settled he would be the same inexplicably carefree boy that captured their attention. Some assistance might be needed to get there, but that's what they were here for, no?
They paused and guided his arm out of the blanket, pressing the whiskey bottle to his palm. "Not too much, but it will help you rest. I will fix that after I check your things." They were uncertain which painkillers Camila had given him earlier. Oh well, they might give him both if he couldn't remember. It was not as if they could hurt more than Violet had. It was also possible she had overlooked something in the hurry; the girl seemed competent enough, but there room for error roughly equal to the diameter of Dante's wound.
Could she hear them? No, not at this distance, not unless they yelled. They could speak freely. If something were to happen in the night they were sure Dante would want to go to her, and they were sure they could make a case that she was already dead. She would want him to live, she'd worked so hard for him, it would be a waste to throw that away when he could hardly stand let alone fight, etc. etc. etc. It would most likely not be necessary, but if nothing else mapping the conversation passed the time. It would not be so terrible to lose her whether there was danger or not. They had seen the way she looked at him, and even if Dante did not have a far more useful paramour somewhere in the wind it was a doomed dynamic. It would only cause them strife. If it could not be withered with distance, they would have to pluck it out themself later. Not now, though. Now he needed to rest, and Blaise was not inclined to seek her out.
Dante's bag contained much of what theirs did, but it was far less organized after all the messy packing and unpacking it had been through. The first aid kit would stand out enough that they could chat while they found it. "Do you think you can make it to the house on the hill tomorrow? It is a long way. I can find another camp on the map." If they happened to miss the fallout of whatever ill-constructed meeting a desperate Faith had thrown together, well, more favor to them.
It was a strange feeling, being tucked in under a blanket while lying on a wood floor. The blanket was scratchy and had holes in it and was comforting, anyway, something Blaise had gone out of his way to find for him, and that made him feel warmer than the blanket itself. He'd felt too cold all day, he'd kept his hoodie on even though Blaise and Camila had seemed perfectly comfortable shirtless, and some part of him was aware that that meant something was wrong, but it wasn't something he knew how to stop. The blanket helped a bit, anyway.
It reminded him of home a bit, of his sisters, but he pushed those thoughts aside. He thought he'd done a pretty good job of not crying too much today and he didn't want to start now.
He was honestly kinda surprised when he found himself holding Blaise's bottle of whiskey. Camila had said it was a bad idea to drink it, right? He remembered because at the time he'd wanted anything at all for the pain and the whiskey was something and for a moment he'd resented her for saying no. He frowned at the bottle, guilty over that fleeting thought. She'd probably been right, but it had been some hours, and he wasn't bleeding anymore, and he remembered how warm he'd been at that party when he'd had a few beers. Being warm sounded nice.
He took a gulp of whiskey and coughed as it burned all the way down. That party felt a million miles away. Safe and warm in Aurelien's arms. He barely remembered it, but it had felt like a miracle.
"I can make it. Just gotta go slow." His smile was toothy but didn't reach his eyes the way it should. "I wanna see Faith again. And I don't... dunno if I can do much exploring. But I gotta find Aurelien. Probably she can search better than us. She'd find him first."
He wasn't sure what Blaise would want to do, given their own choice. He knew they had people they loved, too, people they needed to find. He'd do whatever they wanted, if they had other plans, he knew it was selfish of him to ask them to do what he wanted when he'd be lost without their help. Camila, too, he didn't know her well enough to hazard any guess as to who she cared about, but she'd set them aside to help care of him. He'd talk to her in the morning, he decided. Maybe he could help her find them. If he couldn't, the least he could do was cut her loose. He couldn't drag two people down with him. The guilt about the one was weighing on him enough.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, his smile fading. "Isn't really up to me. I'd like to go. But I'll follow you anywhere."
It reminded him of home a bit, of his sisters, but he pushed those thoughts aside. He thought he'd done a pretty good job of not crying too much today and he didn't want to start now.
He was honestly kinda surprised when he found himself holding Blaise's bottle of whiskey. Camila had said it was a bad idea to drink it, right? He remembered because at the time he'd wanted anything at all for the pain and the whiskey was something and for a moment he'd resented her for saying no. He frowned at the bottle, guilty over that fleeting thought. She'd probably been right, but it had been some hours, and he wasn't bleeding anymore, and he remembered how warm he'd been at that party when he'd had a few beers. Being warm sounded nice.
He took a gulp of whiskey and coughed as it burned all the way down. That party felt a million miles away. Safe and warm in Aurelien's arms. He barely remembered it, but it had felt like a miracle.
"I can make it. Just gotta go slow." His smile was toothy but didn't reach his eyes the way it should. "I wanna see Faith again. And I don't... dunno if I can do much exploring. But I gotta find Aurelien. Probably she can search better than us. She'd find him first."
He wasn't sure what Blaise would want to do, given their own choice. He knew they had people they loved, too, people they needed to find. He'd do whatever they wanted, if they had other plans, he knew it was selfish of him to ask them to do what he wanted when he'd be lost without their help. Camila, too, he didn't know her well enough to hazard any guess as to who she cared about, but she'd set them aside to help care of him. He'd talk to her in the morning, he decided. Maybe he could help her find them. If he couldn't, the least he could do was cut her loose. He couldn't drag two people down with him. The guilt about the one was weighing on him enough.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, his smile fading. "Isn't really up to me. I'd like to go. But I'll follow you anywhere."
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
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Emprexx Plush
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Blaise chuckled and rolled their eyes. "Don't be so dramatic. Of course we will go." It was good to reaffirm where his loyalties lay, but they had no need to exploit that for now. Who could object if plans changed in the heat of the moment? Certainly not Dante. There was even an appeal to following through with his plan. Aurelien would be motivated to protect Dante, and he could probably stand up to the likes of Lorenzo or any other classmates who had already gone full psychopath. On the other hand he came with his own opinions and a temper Blaise had heard about all too recently.. He likely wouldn't care for Blaise's priorities. There was a possibility he could encourage Dante to leave, but they could take that risk. If he became too inconvenient, they would think of something. Until then he could scare off trouble, it was not as if they were well armed enough to do it themselves.
There would be others he'd want to find. Not a mood Blaise shared but they understood they were in the minority. Most of their classmates would be looking for this person or that person; whereabouts might become a valuable currency over the next few days. It was odd. They wouldn't mind Beryl's company, or Julien's. Parker would be...mm, interesting? Demetri might be fun to make squirm. They wouldn't be upset if any of these options presented themselves, but they felt no compulsion to seek them out. They did not miss them, or if they did they did not allow themself to wallow in it. Mourning absent company would not fill the absence, and it gave their return a power over you they did not care to grant. Unless they had an impulse only a particular person could fill, they were out of mind as soon as they were out of sight, only existing when some aspect of the present demanded them.
The medical kit had been stuffed near the bottom of his bag, and it was hanging open. They had already seen contents mixed through with the rest of his food and supplies. They sighed. "This is a mess. You must be better about organizing, what if you start bleeding and we need to redress your bandages? I cannot patch your leg with crackers." Half annoyed, half playful. It was a frustrating sight, but it provided opportunity. They set to work emptying his bag out. "I will handle this, and show you how I packed it when we stop tomorrow, okay?" Push the others to the periphery; he needed to remember who he should be most grateful to, no matter how obedient he seemed in the moment. They would organize his bag, just as they had guided him here and they would staunch his wounds. Every problem would be solved at their hands, and in turn he would lend them the peace he radiated once he was in good health. A simple, mutually beneficial proposition. It needed no acknowledgement, and no one outside it would be able to interfere.
There would be others he'd want to find. Not a mood Blaise shared but they understood they were in the minority. Most of their classmates would be looking for this person or that person; whereabouts might become a valuable currency over the next few days. It was odd. They wouldn't mind Beryl's company, or Julien's. Parker would be...mm, interesting? Demetri might be fun to make squirm. They wouldn't be upset if any of these options presented themselves, but they felt no compulsion to seek them out. They did not miss them, or if they did they did not allow themself to wallow in it. Mourning absent company would not fill the absence, and it gave their return a power over you they did not care to grant. Unless they had an impulse only a particular person could fill, they were out of mind as soon as they were out of sight, only existing when some aspect of the present demanded them.
The medical kit had been stuffed near the bottom of his bag, and it was hanging open. They had already seen contents mixed through with the rest of his food and supplies. They sighed. "This is a mess. You must be better about organizing, what if you start bleeding and we need to redress your bandages? I cannot patch your leg with crackers." Half annoyed, half playful. It was a frustrating sight, but it provided opportunity. They set to work emptying his bag out. "I will handle this, and show you how I packed it when we stop tomorrow, okay?" Push the others to the periphery; he needed to remember who he should be most grateful to, no matter how obedient he seemed in the moment. They would organize his bag, just as they had guided him here and they would staunch his wounds. Every problem would be solved at their hands, and in turn he would lend them the peace he radiated once he was in good health. A simple, mutually beneficial proposition. It needed no acknowledgement, and no one outside it would be able to interfere.
Would Blaise be mad if he drank too much of their whiskey? Probably. He wasn't really sure how much was too much, though. He'd only taken a gulp but the fire it had set in his stomach felt pretty good, both for the warmth and for the distraction from the pain. He could probably take another sip, at least, so he did, even though it still made him cough. He figured whiskey was the kinda thing you just got used to drinking when you were an adult, if you were the kinda adult who drank whiskey. Though Blaise had been drinking earlier and they were totally fine, so he was probably the weird one. Or maybe they were just more adult than he was, which made sense, since they sounded kinda like his mom, complaining about how disorganized he was.
He laughed a little, sheepishly. It was a familiar complaint. He wasn't good at keeping stuff in order and he'd gone through his bag a bunch of times for food and water and painkillers over the course of the day and he'd maybe forgotten to close his first aid kit a little. He didn't really mind it since he basically knew where everything was but it was pretty funny, watching Blaise worry over his belongings in the dark.
"You don't have to do that," he said, scratching the back of his neck. He knew they were gonna do it anyway, but he felt pretty bad about making them do his work for him and also about finding it funny just now. "You gotta sleep too."
Sleep. He didn't expect he was gonna get much sleep tonight. The pain wasn't unbearable anymore but it was bad enough that it was all he could think about when he wasn't talking or moving or doing anything else. That was okay, though. Once Blaise fell asleep he could get up and keep watch or something, maybe go check on Camila if he thought he could make it on his own. They wouldn't approve if he told them, so he wouldn't tell them, and then in the morning he'd just say he didn't sleep well and that's why he was so tired, and no one would ever know. Except Camila if he visited her, he guessed. Or Blaise if they woke up during the night. He hadn't really thought this through all that much honestly but it still seemed like a good plan so he was still gonna do it.
He could give them the blanket, once they fell asleep, too. He was pretty sure the cool breeze wasn't only cold to him, and with their shirt off they had to be getting chilly by now. He wished he'd brought an extra hoodie they could borrow, but he knew they wouldn't let him give them the one he was wearing. He might need to take it off soon, anyway. The burning from the whiskey spread to his fingertips on a third drink.
He laughed a little, sheepishly. It was a familiar complaint. He wasn't good at keeping stuff in order and he'd gone through his bag a bunch of times for food and water and painkillers over the course of the day and he'd maybe forgotten to close his first aid kit a little. He didn't really mind it since he basically knew where everything was but it was pretty funny, watching Blaise worry over his belongings in the dark.
"You don't have to do that," he said, scratching the back of his neck. He knew they were gonna do it anyway, but he felt pretty bad about making them do his work for him and also about finding it funny just now. "You gotta sleep too."
Sleep. He didn't expect he was gonna get much sleep tonight. The pain wasn't unbearable anymore but it was bad enough that it was all he could think about when he wasn't talking or moving or doing anything else. That was okay, though. Once Blaise fell asleep he could get up and keep watch or something, maybe go check on Camila if he thought he could make it on his own. They wouldn't approve if he told them, so he wouldn't tell them, and then in the morning he'd just say he didn't sleep well and that's why he was so tired, and no one would ever know. Except Camila if he visited her, he guessed. Or Blaise if they woke up during the night. He hadn't really thought this through all that much honestly but it still seemed like a good plan so he was still gonna do it.
He could give them the blanket, once they fell asleep, too. He was pretty sure the cool breeze wasn't only cold to him, and with their shirt off they had to be getting chilly by now. He wished he'd brought an extra hoodie they could borrow, but he knew they wouldn't let him give them the one he was wearing. He might need to take it off soon, anyway. The burning from the whiskey spread to his fingertips on a third drink.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
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Emprexx Plush
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It was going to be impossible to put this together from scratch, especially one-handed by the light of their flashlight. They had dragged their own bag over beside his to compare: the base would be the medical kit with its contents rearranged in as much order as they could manage, followed by the other weight resistant items. The flashlight, the tins of crackers, the useless "survival guide". Their bottles had been refilled at the well earlier. Blaise had one tucked in this layer as reserve and another closer to the top, but they only needed to worry about Dante's reserve. The other would stay by his head in case he should need it in the night. They would leave one of the energy bars with him as well, the rest they could pack around the bottle. The bread would go next to last, followed by the map and compass for easy navigation access. Everything had an easily accessible place where it was in the least danger; Dante likely wouldn't understand until they had explained it to him four or twenty times, but he would learn. They understood the system, and they would be handling his supplies for him. Their bags looked more or less the same now, and the differences...well, Dante was not attentive enough to notice a few things missing. It would be better for all of them if they controlled certain resources. If they did not need them, he would never know they were gone. If they did, he would be glad they thought ahead.
He was quiet. Five minutes, perhaps ten since he last spoke. The task consumed their attention enough for time to pass unnoticed. Hopefully he had finally fallen asleep, they weren't about to leave him awake and in pain. Rest, real rest, would do him good. The pain would become familiar and his resolve would return with the hope of finding his friends. He might be his old self as early as dawn, hobbling over to rouse them with the excitement of a toddler waiting to open his presents. It would be so refreshing, so baffling to see his brand of ignorant joy again in this place that they might not even mind the lost sleep.
They turned to check on him, the edge of their beam playing over his face. A half-formed question dying in their throat. What they saw was incomprehensible. They hadn't turned their back on him long enough to explain it. It was late, and dark, and their eyes were strained. A trick of perception, a worst fear brought to life by an overactive and underfed imagination, yes, that's all. It had to be, for there was nothing to mark the transformation. He had made no sound. They had heard no struggle. Yet as they stared they found no way to deny what they refused to process.
They were staring at a dead man. They just couldn't accept it.
He was quiet. Five minutes, perhaps ten since he last spoke. The task consumed their attention enough for time to pass unnoticed. Hopefully he had finally fallen asleep, they weren't about to leave him awake and in pain. Rest, real rest, would do him good. The pain would become familiar and his resolve would return with the hope of finding his friends. He might be his old self as early as dawn, hobbling over to rouse them with the excitement of a toddler waiting to open his presents. It would be so refreshing, so baffling to see his brand of ignorant joy again in this place that they might not even mind the lost sleep.
They turned to check on him, the edge of their beam playing over his face. A half-formed question dying in their throat. What they saw was incomprehensible. They hadn't turned their back on him long enough to explain it. It was late, and dark, and their eyes were strained. A trick of perception, a worst fear brought to life by an overactive and underfed imagination, yes, that's all. It had to be, for there was nothing to mark the transformation. He had made no sound. They had heard no struggle. Yet as they stared they found no way to deny what they refused to process.
They were staring at a dead man. They just couldn't accept it.
Dante had maybe had a little too much of the whiskey.
He hadn't really been paying attention, he'd figured Blaise would yell at him before he had too much since it was theirs and not his, but he kept sipping and sipping and now he was here. Here like in his brain, not here like here, in the same spot where he'd been the whole time, because he was already there here. It felt familiar but not really in a fun way. It felt off. Like seeing your teacher at the grocery store. Wrong thing in the wrong place at the wrong time.
He shivered because he was cold but he was hot, also. Sweating. That felt familiar, too. Like earlier today, before he lost consciousness. His leg felt... well, not fine. It hurt and he couldn't use it and that was pretty not fine, but he hadn't started bleeding again. He just felt shitty all of a sudden and it was maybe the whiskey or maybe the blood loss or maybe it was just that nothing else was happening, it was just him, lying here, alone. Shivering under covers. Wondering how he was gonna get up and help Camila like this. The whiskey was a bad idea. It was Blaise's idea. But was a smart idea if he was actually going to sleep he guessed so it was him being dumb as usual.
It was okay, though. Things were always okay, if he looked ahead. Maybe he just needed sleep, and some bread in the morning, maybe he could share that danish he'd been saving with the others, that would be nice. Rest always helped. Whenever he'd been sick or injured he always told himself every time he slept he was one day closer to feeling better and maybe that wasn't the most realistic way to think here but he felt it, anyway.
There was light, suddenly, but he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to ignore it.
Tomorrow would be better.
He hadn't really been paying attention, he'd figured Blaise would yell at him before he had too much since it was theirs and not his, but he kept sipping and sipping and now he was here. Here like in his brain, not here like here, in the same spot where he'd been the whole time, because he was already there here. It felt familiar but not really in a fun way. It felt off. Like seeing your teacher at the grocery store. Wrong thing in the wrong place at the wrong time.
He shivered because he was cold but he was hot, also. Sweating. That felt familiar, too. Like earlier today, before he lost consciousness. His leg felt... well, not fine. It hurt and he couldn't use it and that was pretty not fine, but he hadn't started bleeding again. He just felt shitty all of a sudden and it was maybe the whiskey or maybe the blood loss or maybe it was just that nothing else was happening, it was just him, lying here, alone. Shivering under covers. Wondering how he was gonna get up and help Camila like this. The whiskey was a bad idea. It was Blaise's idea. But was a smart idea if he was actually going to sleep he guessed so it was him being dumb as usual.
It was okay, though. Things were always okay, if he looked ahead. Maybe he just needed sleep, and some bread in the morning, maybe he could share that danish he'd been saving with the others, that would be nice. Rest always helped. Whenever he'd been sick or injured he always told himself every time he slept he was one day closer to feeling better and maybe that wasn't the most realistic way to think here but he felt it, anyway.
There was light, suddenly, but he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to ignore it.
Tomorrow would be better.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
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Emprexx Plush
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This was not Dante. You could wage a war a few inches from his face as he slept and you would still receive that same serene, slightly stupid expression that had drawn them in. Instead he was...ghoulish, that was the first word that came to mind. His skin was pale and shiny with sweat. Drool pooled at the corners of his grimace. Eyes sunken and barely hanging open; it was hard to see from this angle, but from his stillness they weren't focused on anything. There were lines they had never seen before, hints of an expression they couldn't imagine. It would be one thing if the pain had changed him, but it was not so simple. He did not look like he was struggling. He looked confused. It reminded them of his face when they mounted the pier. No sobbing or epithets, no regret, no recognition of any kind, just a glassy eyed stare followed by a creaking voice. It had been over an hour before he'd screamed with tears running down his face, and even that could not have been pain. It stopped as soon as they asserted themself. Dante had not been changed by his suffering because Dante did not know how to change. He could not adapt. He would never heal. His only fate was to diminish, slowed only by the will of others serving where his was insufficient.
The future was not a pressing concern for Blaise. That's why their first instinct was to run. Grab their things and tear into the night without another word. They didn't want to see another second of his decomposition. Whatever wide eyed mystery he'd once given them had been twisted into something that threatened to suck the life from them. If he collapsed right now, would he even survive until the morning? No, whatever he was now wasn't alive anymore. At its most charitable it was a warning. A constant reminder that no one here could be saved. The lucky would find it quicker than Dante had, but they were sure many would suffer the same fate. Agonizing days of pain sweltering through the heat until they were too weak to do anything but die undignified in ruins whose name had been just as easily forgotten as theirs would. It was a line of thought they refused to entertain, but there was no escape with him staring glass-eyed in the corner. So they had to leave. They had to never see him again. If he died, he died, but they would not. None of the violence had touched them yet, and they had become proficient in outrunning what they didn't want to experience. It was their best quality. Salvation was as simple as a turn of their heel.
They hesitated.
There was a vision in their mind's eye. Footsteps in the early morning days from now. They were huddled alone in the woods. Dirty. Hungry. Wet. There was blood in their hair that could be their own. Other wounds dotted their body, too vague for them to experience vividly. They served an idea more than they served themselves, the idea that Blaise was going to die and no one would be there to see it but unblinking glass hidden in the branches around them. As soon as the others found them, they would be finished. It was their worst case scenario, a dark improbability that like so many others they had simply refused to consider until now. It forced its way into their mind now by way of eclipse, a consideration so much worse than any death. It did not matter who stepped through the thicket so much as it mattered who was hanging on their side.
Dante.
The color was back in his face. He limped, but he seemed to be navigating better than he ever had with them. His eyes were bright, his gaze sharp enough to pierce them deeper than any blade if he chose, and who could blame him? They had abandoned him, stolen from him, left him to die because they could not bear to face the idea that if he died they might as well. They had given up their possession of him willingly, he owed them nothing, less than nothing. He owed them contempt. They would not receive it, though. Before anyone with better judgement could stop him he would collapse to his knees in front of them, take their face in his hand. The way he looked at them showed a pain they could not begin to comprehend. They would not have a chance to protest before he offered them a hunk of bread. Knowing him it could be his last and he would give it just as freely.
Blaise had been called many things in their life. They ranged from misogynistic to transphobic to generally vile, and many of the latter were at least somewhat fair. It had taken a lot of experimentation to cultivate a mindset immune to the scorn of others. They were proud of it. If someone confronted them as a thief, a coward, a traitor, even a murderer, it would stick only slightly better than all the not so quiet rumors of home. All of that in mind, nothing in their defenses prepared them for someone like Dante to find them in a state so wretched and deem them worthy of redemption. Yet he would. They knew if they left this place then by some cosmic comedy he would recover in ways he never could with them at his side. Nothing good had ever come to anyone that stayed with them.
They couldn't leave. It was a horrible thing to decide that because they did not want him to be well, though. Another hypothetical had to be spun. This one was much simpler: if they walked out this door, someone would kill him. He would not simply die, he would be murdered. It would not be kind.They pictured the heavy blows Lorenzo and Tyrell had traded, imagined them fracturing Dante's already brittle frame. What incentive did they have to make it quick? Why should anyone make it easy on him? Who was to say he would not be found by some sick mind who delighted in prolonging his pain? The images this conjured were not so vivid. Blaise did not need the extra convincing, their decision was already made. They would stay with him right to the very end.
A few quiet steps took them to his resting head. They sat cross legged and pulled his head into their lap. Fingers drifted through his hair. "You had some gifts in your other bag. I tried not to disturb them. Who are they for?"
The future was not a pressing concern for Blaise. That's why their first instinct was to run. Grab their things and tear into the night without another word. They didn't want to see another second of his decomposition. Whatever wide eyed mystery he'd once given them had been twisted into something that threatened to suck the life from them. If he collapsed right now, would he even survive until the morning? No, whatever he was now wasn't alive anymore. At its most charitable it was a warning. A constant reminder that no one here could be saved. The lucky would find it quicker than Dante had, but they were sure many would suffer the same fate. Agonizing days of pain sweltering through the heat until they were too weak to do anything but die undignified in ruins whose name had been just as easily forgotten as theirs would. It was a line of thought they refused to entertain, but there was no escape with him staring glass-eyed in the corner. So they had to leave. They had to never see him again. If he died, he died, but they would not. None of the violence had touched them yet, and they had become proficient in outrunning what they didn't want to experience. It was their best quality. Salvation was as simple as a turn of their heel.
They hesitated.
There was a vision in their mind's eye. Footsteps in the early morning days from now. They were huddled alone in the woods. Dirty. Hungry. Wet. There was blood in their hair that could be their own. Other wounds dotted their body, too vague for them to experience vividly. They served an idea more than they served themselves, the idea that Blaise was going to die and no one would be there to see it but unblinking glass hidden in the branches around them. As soon as the others found them, they would be finished. It was their worst case scenario, a dark improbability that like so many others they had simply refused to consider until now. It forced its way into their mind now by way of eclipse, a consideration so much worse than any death. It did not matter who stepped through the thicket so much as it mattered who was hanging on their side.
Dante.
The color was back in his face. He limped, but he seemed to be navigating better than he ever had with them. His eyes were bright, his gaze sharp enough to pierce them deeper than any blade if he chose, and who could blame him? They had abandoned him, stolen from him, left him to die because they could not bear to face the idea that if he died they might as well. They had given up their possession of him willingly, he owed them nothing, less than nothing. He owed them contempt. They would not receive it, though. Before anyone with better judgement could stop him he would collapse to his knees in front of them, take their face in his hand. The way he looked at them showed a pain they could not begin to comprehend. They would not have a chance to protest before he offered them a hunk of bread. Knowing him it could be his last and he would give it just as freely.
Blaise had been called many things in their life. They ranged from misogynistic to transphobic to generally vile, and many of the latter were at least somewhat fair. It had taken a lot of experimentation to cultivate a mindset immune to the scorn of others. They were proud of it. If someone confronted them as a thief, a coward, a traitor, even a murderer, it would stick only slightly better than all the not so quiet rumors of home. All of that in mind, nothing in their defenses prepared them for someone like Dante to find them in a state so wretched and deem them worthy of redemption. Yet he would. They knew if they left this place then by some cosmic comedy he would recover in ways he never could with them at his side. Nothing good had ever come to anyone that stayed with them.
They couldn't leave. It was a horrible thing to decide that because they did not want him to be well, though. Another hypothetical had to be spun. This one was much simpler: if they walked out this door, someone would kill him. He would not simply die, he would be murdered. It would not be kind.They pictured the heavy blows Lorenzo and Tyrell had traded, imagined them fracturing Dante's already brittle frame. What incentive did they have to make it quick? Why should anyone make it easy on him? Who was to say he would not be found by some sick mind who delighted in prolonging his pain? The images this conjured were not so vivid. Blaise did not need the extra convincing, their decision was already made. They would stay with him right to the very end.
A few quiet steps took them to his resting head. They sat cross legged and pulled his head into their lap. Fingers drifted through his hair. "You had some gifts in your other bag. I tried not to disturb them. Who are they for?"
Oh. The light was Blaise. That made sense.
He knew they were there but it was a weird kind of knowing, the kind where he knew but he'd forgotten and forgetting had made him lonely. It was easy to be lonely, lying alone in the dark and the cold. Being drunk didn't help. He was drunk, he thought, but it was hard to tell since he only had one frame of reference and the beer then hadn't really hit him until he got up and tried to walk around and then almost fell down a flight of stairs because the floor was moving. He couldn't get up now and didn't really want to so he was just making guesses based on how his thoughts were all smushed together and because he'd drank enough of the bottle that he could see the dent he'd made in it which meant it was a lot. That was okay though, because Blaise wasn't mad, because Blaise was here and if they were mad he'd know by now.
Instead they sat down, and then his head was in their lap, and if he wasn't sure about the drunk thing the massive head rush that came with his head moving like a foot kind of confirmed it for him. It was a little weird, he thought, but it was more comfortable than the floor, so he didn't mind. He didn't mind their fingers running through his hair either even though they reminded him of Aurelien and that made his heart feel like someone was squeezing it. Their hands were too small for him to mistake them but still. It didn't matter. It was okay. They had a plan even though he had kind of forgotten what it was, he wasn't good at plans even when he was sober, but Blaise was smart and would remember. Camila would too. He hoped he could get them to talk to each other the next day maybe since they seemed to not really like each other that much and that was kind of sad. If they were all gonna travel together they might as well be friends.
It had been a while since they spoke, some period of time he couldn't count he'd heard them vaguely rustling through things while he'd stared at the wall, so he was kinda surprised when he heard them ask a question. Honestly he had touched his second bag barely at all, he knew what was in it but had mostly forgotten besides the danish because he'd really wanted to eat it all day but thought it was better to save it. He hadn't had much money to take with him to DC since it had cost enough to get him on the trip to begin with, but his parents had given him $100 to spend. That had to include food, too, so he mostly just took a bunch from the continental breakfasts and spent as much of the rest as he could on things to bring home with him. It limited what he'd gotten to do on the trip but that was okay. He'd never been to a hotel before or to a big pool or out of state at all so to him it was all amazing anyway.
"Sisters, mostly," he said quietly, his words slurring a little bit. They probably knew that but that was okay, too. He liked talking about them even if it was hard to think about them too much right now. "The little... the bear thing, s'for Bea. She's got so many. Like... she barely fits on her bed. Cause of all the stuffed animals. Y'know?" He smiled a little at the memory. "An' there's stuff for... some of the other kids. Who didn't come. Dean, an' Ross, an'... a couple of others, maybe. Don't remember." Didn't really remember what was in the bag, now that he was thinking about it. He'd just bought what he could afford, what looked like it might make someone happy for a little while. He remembered the little stuffed bear, though, because he'd texted Bea a picture of it because she was impatient and she'd gotten really excited and named it Stars already even though it already had a name on the tag.
"Silly kinda. To carry it around, I guess. But... s'nice. Remembering."
He knew they were there but it was a weird kind of knowing, the kind where he knew but he'd forgotten and forgetting had made him lonely. It was easy to be lonely, lying alone in the dark and the cold. Being drunk didn't help. He was drunk, he thought, but it was hard to tell since he only had one frame of reference and the beer then hadn't really hit him until he got up and tried to walk around and then almost fell down a flight of stairs because the floor was moving. He couldn't get up now and didn't really want to so he was just making guesses based on how his thoughts were all smushed together and because he'd drank enough of the bottle that he could see the dent he'd made in it which meant it was a lot. That was okay though, because Blaise wasn't mad, because Blaise was here and if they were mad he'd know by now.
Instead they sat down, and then his head was in their lap, and if he wasn't sure about the drunk thing the massive head rush that came with his head moving like a foot kind of confirmed it for him. It was a little weird, he thought, but it was more comfortable than the floor, so he didn't mind. He didn't mind their fingers running through his hair either even though they reminded him of Aurelien and that made his heart feel like someone was squeezing it. Their hands were too small for him to mistake them but still. It didn't matter. It was okay. They had a plan even though he had kind of forgotten what it was, he wasn't good at plans even when he was sober, but Blaise was smart and would remember. Camila would too. He hoped he could get them to talk to each other the next day maybe since they seemed to not really like each other that much and that was kind of sad. If they were all gonna travel together they might as well be friends.
It had been a while since they spoke, some period of time he couldn't count he'd heard them vaguely rustling through things while he'd stared at the wall, so he was kinda surprised when he heard them ask a question. Honestly he had touched his second bag barely at all, he knew what was in it but had mostly forgotten besides the danish because he'd really wanted to eat it all day but thought it was better to save it. He hadn't had much money to take with him to DC since it had cost enough to get him on the trip to begin with, but his parents had given him $100 to spend. That had to include food, too, so he mostly just took a bunch from the continental breakfasts and spent as much of the rest as he could on things to bring home with him. It limited what he'd gotten to do on the trip but that was okay. He'd never been to a hotel before or to a big pool or out of state at all so to him it was all amazing anyway.
"Sisters, mostly," he said quietly, his words slurring a little bit. They probably knew that but that was okay, too. He liked talking about them even if it was hard to think about them too much right now. "The little... the bear thing, s'for Bea. She's got so many. Like... she barely fits on her bed. Cause of all the stuffed animals. Y'know?" He smiled a little at the memory. "An' there's stuff for... some of the other kids. Who didn't come. Dean, an' Ross, an'... a couple of others, maybe. Don't remember." Didn't really remember what was in the bag, now that he was thinking about it. He'd just bought what he could afford, what looked like it might make someone happy for a little while. He remembered the little stuffed bear, though, because he'd texted Bea a picture of it because she was impatient and she'd gotten really excited and named it Stars already even though it already had a name on the tag.
"Silly kinda. To carry it around, I guess. But... s'nice. Remembering."
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
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Emprexx Plush
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"It was kind of you to think of them. I am certain they think of you."
Perhaps that was his secret. It seemed too straightforward, but it was exactly the sort of thing that would have eluded them for decades without assistance. Dante had no worries of his own because they were always bound up in someone else. Send him away on a vacation far nice than he'd ever seen with his boyfriend in tow and he will ask what he can do for those left behind. Throw him on an abandoned island, bore a hole in his leg, force him to watch his classmates turn to killers, and he will trust the first person in danger he sees. Ask him for direction and he will falter, give him direction and he will follow it until his legs give out. Leg, now, they supposed. Now instincts of self-preservation he hadn't stretched in who knew how long were straining for release he could not grant them. He wanted to look after everyone else while his body desperately needed him to look after himself, and all that remained in the middle was confused inaction. If he were to survive he had to be led one way or the other. That was their unsolvable problem. Leading him their way would ruin everything about him they found desirable, but that very desirability stemmed from their inability to understand let alone replicate what it was that let him ignore himself the way they ignored the rest of the world. The intangible factors were too difficult for them to capture, but the difference between them was as easy at looking at their bags.
Dante's personal bag was full of souvenirs and snacks meant to share. Nothing in it was wholly his but a pair of socks. The highlights of Blaise's personal bags were an outfit they'd meant to surprise Parker with and two packs of cigarettes, now three lighter than they were this morning. They would share the latter with no one, and taking the former as some act of compassion would be naive. If they wanted him to enjoy it, they would have worn it during the trip. Changing into it during one of their last stops and slipping aboard where he would inevitably force himself to look but not touch was purely about power. It nearly always was between them.
Their assigned bags were not so different. The same tools, the same map, the same supplies though Dante's were now considerably lighter. There was one key difference though. In Blaise's, there had been a bottle that now sat in Dante's hands. It came with nothing more than a note confirming what its label already told them. Their captors had been generous enough to give Dante a little more detail about his assignment. A small manual detailing the lump of plastic they now held in their hand. They remembered headlines about it when it was first designed, a thing more political statement than weapon. It must not have been terribly effective as either, they'd heard none of the doom and gloom prophesied by its proliferation come to pass.
The manual called it "Liberator."
A pretentious name, but one it earned when they pressed the barrel to Dante's temple and set him free.
Perhaps that was his secret. It seemed too straightforward, but it was exactly the sort of thing that would have eluded them for decades without assistance. Dante had no worries of his own because they were always bound up in someone else. Send him away on a vacation far nice than he'd ever seen with his boyfriend in tow and he will ask what he can do for those left behind. Throw him on an abandoned island, bore a hole in his leg, force him to watch his classmates turn to killers, and he will trust the first person in danger he sees. Ask him for direction and he will falter, give him direction and he will follow it until his legs give out. Leg, now, they supposed. Now instincts of self-preservation he hadn't stretched in who knew how long were straining for release he could not grant them. He wanted to look after everyone else while his body desperately needed him to look after himself, and all that remained in the middle was confused inaction. If he were to survive he had to be led one way or the other. That was their unsolvable problem. Leading him their way would ruin everything about him they found desirable, but that very desirability stemmed from their inability to understand let alone replicate what it was that let him ignore himself the way they ignored the rest of the world. The intangible factors were too difficult for them to capture, but the difference between them was as easy at looking at their bags.
Dante's personal bag was full of souvenirs and snacks meant to share. Nothing in it was wholly his but a pair of socks. The highlights of Blaise's personal bags were an outfit they'd meant to surprise Parker with and two packs of cigarettes, now three lighter than they were this morning. They would share the latter with no one, and taking the former as some act of compassion would be naive. If they wanted him to enjoy it, they would have worn it during the trip. Changing into it during one of their last stops and slipping aboard where he would inevitably force himself to look but not touch was purely about power. It nearly always was between them.
Their assigned bags were not so different. The same tools, the same map, the same supplies though Dante's were now considerably lighter. There was one key difference though. In Blaise's, there had been a bottle that now sat in Dante's hands. It came with nothing more than a note confirming what its label already told them. Their captors had been generous enough to give Dante a little more detail about his assignment. A small manual detailing the lump of plastic they now held in their hand. They remembered headlines about it when it was first designed, a thing more political statement than weapon. It must not have been terribly effective as either, they'd heard none of the doom and gloom prophesied by its proliferation come to pass.
The manual called it "Liberator."
A pretentious name, but one it earned when they pressed the barrel to Dante's temple and set him free.
Dante didn't know why, but their words hurt, a little.
He didn't want his sisters to think of him, not really. If they thought of him they'd only be sad, at least for a while, at least until the strongest emotions had passed and they could remember all the good memories, all the family dinners and Sundays at church and trips to the zoo where Dante was too bad at reading maps to find the penguins no matter how many times Beatrice asked. But he loved them so much he couldn't push the thought of them from his head no matter how hard he tried, and it was maybe the same for them, too, and he couldn't hold their love against them, not now or ever.
"Thanks," he said anyway, because it had been a nice thing to say even if it stung. "I did my best."
Maybe he should have known. Maybe if he was someone else, he would have. Maybe he would have found it suspicious, how they'd wanted to be alone with him, how quiet they had been, how willing they'd been to put themself on the line for him. Maybe he would have believed the things he'd heard about them at school, maybe he'd look at them with distrust the way so many others had, maybe he wouldn't have closed his eyes and laid his head in their lap and waited to drift off to sleep.
Maybe this wouldn't have happened.
He wasn't, though. He was Dante, and up until the moment an explosion rocked through his skull and blacked out his thoughts with pain beyond imagining he believed, with every fiber of his being, that Blaise was the best friend he could have asked for.
And for the precious few moments left after that, with his lifeblood pouring from his head, gasping and wheezing until his final breath—
He still wanted to believe.
[B040] DANTE LUCIANO VALERIO: DECEASED
He didn't want his sisters to think of him, not really. If they thought of him they'd only be sad, at least for a while, at least until the strongest emotions had passed and they could remember all the good memories, all the family dinners and Sundays at church and trips to the zoo where Dante was too bad at reading maps to find the penguins no matter how many times Beatrice asked. But he loved them so much he couldn't push the thought of them from his head no matter how hard he tried, and it was maybe the same for them, too, and he couldn't hold their love against them, not now or ever.
"Thanks," he said anyway, because it had been a nice thing to say even if it stung. "I did my best."
Maybe he should have known. Maybe if he was someone else, he would have. Maybe he would have found it suspicious, how they'd wanted to be alone with him, how quiet they had been, how willing they'd been to put themself on the line for him. Maybe he would have believed the things he'd heard about them at school, maybe he'd look at them with distrust the way so many others had, maybe he wouldn't have closed his eyes and laid his head in their lap and waited to drift off to sleep.
Maybe this wouldn't have happened.
He wasn't, though. He was Dante, and up until the moment an explosion rocked through his skull and blacked out his thoughts with pain beyond imagining he believed, with every fiber of his being, that Blaise was the best friend he could have asked for.
And for the precious few moments left after that, with his lifeblood pouring from his head, gasping and wheezing until his final breath—
He still wanted to believe.
[B040] DANTE LUCIANO VALERIO: DECEASED
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
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Emprexx Plush
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They could not hide what they had done. There would be questions. Camila, almost certainly on her way. Dante's friends and loved ones across the island. The people that brought them here when they came to collect Blaise at the end of it all. Faces at home, if any dared to face them at all. Some would inevitably wonder what they had thought in those last moments, for they could no more see into Blaise's mind in the last few minutes than Dante had. Actions gave away little, their surface was inscrutable. A frozen poker face and deft finger tips still gliding through his hair as his shaking spilled blood over their clothes. So some would ask, and eventually they would have to answer.
The future was not a pressing concern for Blaise.
Right now, neither was the past.
In the present they were shifting what would fit from Dante's bag to their own. Their hand ached. A burn, or how did they call it, recoil? Like them, it was hardly there. The gun was cracked garbage on the floor, they would not need to retrieve it. All that gave him pause was his second bag. Souvenirs. Each one represented another weight of observation on their shoulders.
"You should not have seen that. Do not follow."
They spoke with no one in mind. If someone needed to hear, they would hear.
The future was not a pressing concern for Blaise.
Right now, neither was the past.
In the present they were shifting what would fit from Dante's bag to their own. Their hand ached. A burn, or how did they call it, recoil? Like them, it was hardly there. The gun was cracked garbage on the floor, they would not need to retrieve it. All that gave him pause was his second bag. Souvenirs. Each one represented another weight of observation on their shoulders.
"You should not have seen that. Do not follow."
They spoke with no one in mind. If someone needed to hear, they would hear.
All she heard was the gunshot.
Quieter and less dramatically echoing than she'd assumed guns would be. Eerily crisp and clean. She was running.
The floor warbled under her as a warning- she stumbled, the door frame was unfinished raw wood splinters and she rammed into it with her bad shoulder and she was hurt and she kept going, the stairs clicked and clacked and groaned ominously with the pounding of her feet and of the flashlight she'd lost from her grip at some point she couldn't see the walls or the floors and could hardly see her own limbs and she whipped around a blind corner in the stairs with momentum, it crushed her against the wall- there should have been pain, she ignored it, she ignored everything but the tunnel she was sprinting forward into- somewhere ahead, on the other side, there was Dante, he was waiting for her, she was coming and she was on the way but this was the wrong way that was the wrong way, seconds slipped by in entire hours of her heart pounding incessantly against the cage of her chest as she burst out into the moonlight- there, she could see the other house and she wasn't too late by god she could not be too late.
Dante was waiting for her.
The door wasn't even on its hinges, she flew right through before she ground to a halt as her own heart did likewise.
It looked like he'd been trying to sleep. A blanket rested atop his still form. His head was left uncovered.
He was looking at her. Looking without seeing and without comprehending and he was gone. So much blood, too much blood. It looked almost mundane. She didn't want to see it. He forced her to meet his gaze. It drilled through her.
Where were her thoughts? What was piloting her body right now? Dante was dead. It was over. Nothing she could do would matter, yet. Whatever she was doing, she did it. Her neck creaked slow, like it needed greasing. With almost too casual slowness she evaluated the room. Dante's murderer was still in the room, yes. Dante's blood painted the silk of their pants.
Camila, or whoever was left after the fact, took a step forward. Another and another and another and Blaise, whatever they were doing that was completely irrelevant and blasphemous, was closer as Camila- her only useful hand was raised, both hands were trembling, she stared straight ahead and Dante was still watching her and she could still feel it
"What did you do."
Whispered.
"What the hell did you-"
The primal wildebeest lunge.
Quieter and less dramatically echoing than she'd assumed guns would be. Eerily crisp and clean. She was running.
The floor warbled under her as a warning- she stumbled, the door frame was unfinished raw wood splinters and she rammed into it with her bad shoulder and she was hurt and she kept going, the stairs clicked and clacked and groaned ominously with the pounding of her feet and of the flashlight she'd lost from her grip at some point she couldn't see the walls or the floors and could hardly see her own limbs and she whipped around a blind corner in the stairs with momentum, it crushed her against the wall- there should have been pain, she ignored it, she ignored everything but the tunnel she was sprinting forward into- somewhere ahead, on the other side, there was Dante, he was waiting for her, she was coming and she was on the way but this was the wrong way that was the wrong way, seconds slipped by in entire hours of her heart pounding incessantly against the cage of her chest as she burst out into the moonlight- there, she could see the other house and she wasn't too late by god she could not be too late.
Dante was waiting for her.
The door wasn't even on its hinges, she flew right through before she ground to a halt as her own heart did likewise.
It looked like he'd been trying to sleep. A blanket rested atop his still form. His head was left uncovered.
He was looking at her. Looking without seeing and without comprehending and he was gone. So much blood, too much blood. It looked almost mundane. She didn't want to see it. He forced her to meet his gaze. It drilled through her.
Where were her thoughts? What was piloting her body right now? Dante was dead. It was over. Nothing she could do would matter, yet. Whatever she was doing, she did it. Her neck creaked slow, like it needed greasing. With almost too casual slowness she evaluated the room. Dante's murderer was still in the room, yes. Dante's blood painted the silk of their pants.
Camila, or whoever was left after the fact, took a step forward. Another and another and another and Blaise, whatever they were doing that was completely irrelevant and blasphemous, was closer as Camila- her only useful hand was raised, both hands were trembling, she stared straight ahead and Dante was still watching her and she could still feel it
"What did you do."
Whispered.
"What the hell did you-"
The primal wildebeest lunge.
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Emprexx Plush
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They knew she would come, but they did not expect her to be so sloppy. Camila could barely manage words before stumbling at them from the doorway. More than enough room for them to step away, even to strike back if they wanted. They did not. Blaise could not muster more violent intent in the moment. It had been swallowed by shock. The way Camila slurred around the room like she was on the brink of agonized tears did not simply surprise them. It offended them. They were not close by any definition, but they had watched her maintain composure through improvised surgery far more gory than anything she could see in the dim light, so it could not motivate her this way. It had to be his death, treated as some great trauma for her to suffer.
"How dare you?"
Blaise shined the light directly in her eyes.
"What was he to you?"
They circled out of reach.
"Where were you all these years?"
Camila could come, but she wouldn't dare.
"When did you so much as speak his name before this morning?"
None of the anger was earned. It was the tantrum of a beginner who did not understand loss.
"You deserve nothing! You are nothing! Nothing to me, and nothing to him!"
Any threat was empty, like all her whispered attempts to take him away.
"How dare you?"
Blaise shined the light directly in her eyes.
"What was he to you?"
They circled out of reach.
"Where were you all these years?"
Camila could come, but she wouldn't dare.
"When did you so much as speak his name before this morning?"
None of the anger was earned. It was the tantrum of a beginner who did not understand loss.
"You deserve nothing! You are nothing! Nothing to me, and nothing to him!"
Any threat was empty, like all her whispered attempts to take him away.