[ This is what he deserves, Wolfwood thinks, the idea drifting gently around in his mind, untethered to anything like guilt or regret. Just a simple idea: he led Vash to Knives, Knives broke Vash, and now Vash has killed him. He did a bad thing, and bad people get punished. That's how it should be.
His heart's pounding too hard, trying to move blood that isn't in his body anymore, and it's keeping him awake. That's not fair. Shouldn't he be unconscious by now?
I am as he made me, Thorns purrs, and Wolfwood shakes his head. Nah, he wants to protest, you were pretty before he got his hands on you. But something stabs into his guts before he can figure out how to get his thoughts into words, and oh. That's not a pain he can drift away from. That's hot coals in his belly, that's pain that he's only felt a handful of times, and it's always been followed immediately by the sick slide of bitterness down his throat and the nauseating feel of his body putting itself back together. Not this time, though. This time the pain stretches out until there's no before or after -- he's always been here, a bug pinned to a wall, while a nightmare he wanted to call a friend watches him convulse.
It would piss him right the hell off, if there was any room left in him for anger.
I am as he made me. The sound he makes might be a laugh. ]
Me too. [ Oh, there's the darkness. Finally. ] Think I got... th'better deal...
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His heart's pounding too hard, trying to move blood that isn't in his body anymore, and it's keeping him awake. That's not fair. Shouldn't he be unconscious by now?
I am as he made me, Thorns purrs, and Wolfwood shakes his head. Nah, he wants to protest, you were pretty before he got his hands on you. But something stabs into his guts before he can figure out how to get his thoughts into words, and oh. That's not a pain he can drift away from. That's hot coals in his belly, that's pain that he's only felt a handful of times, and it's always been followed immediately by the sick slide of bitterness down his throat and the nauseating feel of his body putting itself back together. Not this time, though. This time the pain stretches out until there's no before or after -- he's always been here, a bug pinned to a wall, while a nightmare he wanted to call a friend watches him convulse.
It would piss him right the hell off, if there was any room left in him for anger.
I am as he made me. The sound he makes might be a laugh. ]
Me too. [ Oh, there's the darkness. Finally. ] Think I got... th'better deal...