Roy laughed. Not a bark of a laugh, or a bitter, disgruntled one. An earnest, proper, hearty laugh. It was good to hear. Nice for it to show up one final time.
"You're definitely something, that's for sure. And hell of a lot more interesting than getting clocked in the jaw."
Y'know, all things considered, he felt pretty calm. He'd done the right thing, or what he thought was right, every step of the way. And he'd done it all on his terms. Even this part.
"Then again, I guess I'm something too. You gave me an out, and I changed my mind."
He exhaled, and looked past Irene, at the sheer cliff face looming behind her. He still needed a couple seconds to ready himself.
"You should do whatever you think is the right thing."
God, he really was exhausted.
"I'll save a glass of Moxie for you, whenever we meet again."
Did you really think I'd fall to my knees just to pray for some sweet simplicity?
private; day 6; around noon
Oh.
Irene raised the harpoon slowly.
"Okay."
She closed her eyes, then forced them open. Waited a couple seconds.
Time to do the right thing, right? Which was whatever her gut told her was the right thing. Which was that she wanted Roy to live. She wanted to drink shitty soda and marvel together about how they had ended up trying to kill each other even though they were basically the same. She wanted to--she wanted to--she didn't want to think about what the right thing to do was, what exactly it was she wanted to do. Fuck, who knew it'd be so complicated to figure out and choose between what she wanted to do and what other people wanted her to do? Especially if she wanted to do what other people wanted her to do, except she didn't want to do the things they wanted her to do. She wanted to--
Shut up, brain. Let Irene do the thing.
Click.
Irene raised the harpoon slowly.
"Okay."
She closed her eyes, then forced them open. Waited a couple seconds.
Time to do the right thing, right? Which was whatever her gut told her was the right thing. Which was that she wanted Roy to live. She wanted to drink shitty soda and marvel together about how they had ended up trying to kill each other even though they were basically the same. She wanted to--she wanted to--she didn't want to think about what the right thing to do was, what exactly it was she wanted to do. Fuck, who knew it'd be so complicated to figure out and choose between what she wanted to do and what other people wanted her to do? Especially if she wanted to do what other people wanted her to do, except she didn't want to do the things they wanted her to do. She wanted to--
Shut up, brain. Let Irene do the thing.
Click.
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The harpoon shot through the air, piercing Roy’s stomach like it was paper, a noise of shock and pain escaping from his lips as it burrowed into him. He stumbled backwards, one step, two steps, able to look down at the metal rod jutting out of his gut for a split second before he keeled over backwards, head hitting the ground, his vision going black for a second before he was staring at the sky.
It hurt like a bitch, but turns out, when you’ve been hurting like a motherfucker all goddamn day, one more bit of pain barely even registered. Hell, it was almost a relief, as he felt his blood drain from the hole in his stomach, because all the pain and feeling in his body was draining away with it.
Roy could feel his mind going blank, and he knew he wasn’t gonna last more than a minute now. Didn’t need to be a doctor to figure that one out. Was this the right thing to do? He didn’t have a clue, but then, maybe there wasn’t any official ‘right thing’ to do out here. Irene seemed to have the right idea. Do whatever the hell you wanted, so long as it felt right.
And this? This felt like the right thing to do. And now that he was dying, that was good enough.
Roy felt a smile creep onto his face as he stared up at the sky. It was dull and slate grey. Woulda been nice for a bright blue sky to be the last thing he saw. Couple of birds flying overhead. Yeah. That sorta thing.
Still. Look on the bright side. Least it wasn’t raining anymore.
And maybe he’d get blue skies and white clouds after he closed his eyes.
That’d be pretty cool.
It hurt like a bitch, but turns out, when you’ve been hurting like a motherfucker all goddamn day, one more bit of pain barely even registered. Hell, it was almost a relief, as he felt his blood drain from the hole in his stomach, because all the pain and feeling in his body was draining away with it.
Roy could feel his mind going blank, and he knew he wasn’t gonna last more than a minute now. Didn’t need to be a doctor to figure that one out. Was this the right thing to do? He didn’t have a clue, but then, maybe there wasn’t any official ‘right thing’ to do out here. Irene seemed to have the right idea. Do whatever the hell you wanted, so long as it felt right.
And this? This felt like the right thing to do. And now that he was dying, that was good enough.
Roy felt a smile creep onto his face as he stared up at the sky. It was dull and slate grey. Woulda been nice for a bright blue sky to be the last thing he saw. Couple of birds flying overhead. Yeah. That sorta thing.
Still. Look on the bright side. Least it wasn’t raining anymore.
And maybe he’d get blue skies and white clouds after he closed his eyes.
That’d be pretty cool.
B07 - ROY BENSON: DECEASED
He died with his eyes closed and a smile on his face. So, like. Mission accomplished? See? Irene thinks too much.
Irene took deep gulps of air, trying to calm down. So what next? Roy had died with a smile on his face. Good for him. What next for Irene?
Well, it was a good thing to die with a smile on your face, wasn't it? Wasn't that what you decided? So why aren't you smiling more, Irene?
Fuck, Irene couldn't believe that Roy was beating her. He was a bloody fucking corpse, for crying out loud.
But he wouldn't have smiled if he didn't think Irene had mojo, had moxie (yeah, look at how much fucking moxie she has, making jokes like this. Aren't you proud of her?), so there. That meant something, right?
Which meant that she owed it to him to keep on having moxie to the best of her ability. Whatever that meant.
Irene walked over to Roy's corpse, pulled the spear thingy out of his chest while trying not to think about it. She'll really need to find a better weapon, one that didn't require you to interact with the dead so much. Now that she was here she was going to have to make his body look kinda nice so that she wouldn't freak out about having disrespected the dead. Would Roy have cared?
Well, something in her cared, which meant that Roy would've cared, right?
Hands crossed, body arranged, etc. Irene didn't know any burial rites or any of the other ceremony things that you're supposed to do when someone dies. It wasn't exactly the kind of thing you liked to think about if you didn't have to. She should've asked Roy.
She observed the body until it felt like an appropriate amount of time had passed, until she could no longer bear to stay.
((Irene Djezari continued in Wings On My Shoulder Blades, There's No Angel Anywhere))
Irene took deep gulps of air, trying to calm down. So what next? Roy had died with a smile on his face. Good for him. What next for Irene?
Well, it was a good thing to die with a smile on your face, wasn't it? Wasn't that what you decided? So why aren't you smiling more, Irene?
Fuck, Irene couldn't believe that Roy was beating her. He was a bloody fucking corpse, for crying out loud.
But he wouldn't have smiled if he didn't think Irene had mojo, had moxie (yeah, look at how much fucking moxie she has, making jokes like this. Aren't you proud of her?), so there. That meant something, right?
Which meant that she owed it to him to keep on having moxie to the best of her ability. Whatever that meant.
Irene walked over to Roy's corpse, pulled the spear thingy out of his chest while trying not to think about it. She'll really need to find a better weapon, one that didn't require you to interact with the dead so much. Now that she was here she was going to have to make his body look kinda nice so that she wouldn't freak out about having disrespected the dead. Would Roy have cared?
Well, something in her cared, which meant that Roy would've cared, right?
Hands crossed, body arranged, etc. Irene didn't know any burial rites or any of the other ceremony things that you're supposed to do when someone dies. It wasn't exactly the kind of thing you liked to think about if you didn't have to. She should've asked Roy.
She observed the body until it felt like an appropriate amount of time had passed, until she could no longer bear to stay.
((Irene Djezari continued in Wings On My Shoulder Blades, There's No Angel Anywhere))