[ There's nothing for it now, they've reached this point, all brittle bits and pieces all over the folding table and battlefields were cleaner in that way. There were rules to engagement, not the ones they seemed to write in the sand just to destroy all over again and she says that like it's something so easily done, like it's something he understands how to do.
He doesn't, but he thinks he can try to work it out as he catches the glass and where he sipped it slow, now he matches her, he takes the drink and tips to empty it in a mouthful. Not enough and where she puts the bottle down he takes it up and it's some small measure of taking back for himself where she's shredded too vulnerable bits of him across the safest place he has. Pulling it all out and he unscrews the lid on the vodka. Flicking it away in an idle gesture and put the bottle to his lips. Stubbornly meeting her eye in it as he in measured swallows of a man drowning, drank whatever was left in it, at least until the gesture meant he couldn't, anymore.
Sterilizing an internal wound maybe, but the infection spread too long for that. But this is how you treat patients, isn't it? Get them so drunk they can't feel when the blade goes in deep, deep, deep.
Eventually, when it's empty, he puts it down, and stands after putting the two small creatures back onto the table. Hand wiping at his mouth, all rough scratch of three day old stubble and the rake back of fingers in his hair. Barely phased for however much it is, but all the same he steadies himself, shifts to go to the messiest of the bunks, where there is a suspiciously large amount of money to dig around underneath it for something.
Another bottle. Another bottle of the same clear liquid that spells out the same thing. Unscrews it too with the crack of a seal being broken as his hand covered the neck of a body, considering it as he walks back. Quick when he's fighting, but like this, worn down like this, he favors one side slightly, and his steps are slower and catching, as if it's just one more pain he's gotten used to existing with. Takes a slower sip before setting it and himself down again across from her once more.
If she ever kills him with anything less than her teeth in his throat and her nails in his chest, he'll be disappointed. ]
This comes from a place called Tyvia, where I am from. [ pauses, elbow braced on the table and his ankles hooking together under the chair. ] It's a frozen wasteland in the summer and a sunless white nightmare in the winter. [ brief look up. ] Ask your questions, if you have any then.
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He doesn't, but he thinks he can try to work it out as he catches the glass and where he sipped it slow, now he matches her, he takes the drink and tips to empty it in a mouthful. Not enough and where she puts the bottle down he takes it up and it's some small measure of taking back for himself where she's shredded too vulnerable bits of him across the safest place he has. Pulling it all out and he unscrews the lid on the vodka. Flicking it away in an idle gesture and put the bottle to his lips. Stubbornly meeting her eye in it as he in measured swallows of a man drowning, drank whatever was left in it, at least until the gesture meant he couldn't, anymore.
Sterilizing an internal wound maybe, but the infection spread too long for that. But this is how you treat patients, isn't it? Get them so drunk they can't feel when the blade goes in deep, deep, deep.
Eventually, when it's empty, he puts it down, and stands after putting the two small creatures back onto the table. Hand wiping at his mouth, all rough scratch of three day old stubble and the rake back of fingers in his hair. Barely phased for however much it is, but all the same he steadies himself, shifts to go to the messiest of the bunks, where there is a suspiciously large amount of money to dig around underneath it for something.
Another bottle. Another bottle of the same clear liquid that spells out the same thing. Unscrews it too with the crack of a seal being broken as his hand covered the neck of a body, considering it as he walks back. Quick when he's fighting, but like this, worn down like this, he favors one side slightly, and his steps are slower and catching, as if it's just one more pain he's gotten used to existing with. Takes a slower sip before setting it and himself down again across from her once more.
If she ever kills him with anything less than her teeth in his throat and her nails in his chest, he'll be disappointed. ]
This comes from a place called Tyvia, where I am from. [ pauses, elbow braced on the table and his ankles hooking together under the chair. ] It's a frozen wasteland in the summer and a sunless white nightmare in the winter. [ brief look up. ] Ask your questions, if you have any then.