THE DEVIL'S FIRE // MURDER

[LAZARUS]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;letter-spacing:.1px"]Everything had been shit long before this single incident. Laz was aware of what was going on — never a part of it, never a part of anything — but his own fight started long before this place's war. In a way, he's glad for the violence. Easier to fade into the background when people have things going on. But when they'd showed up here, Gabe settled on his back and nipping at his ear, had he expected this? The slow deterioration, the burning. He can't help but feel that the effort Gabe put into him to get him this far was a waste. They've gone full circle, nothing's changed. Short-cropped ears are pinned to his head and his teeth are bared. Get out of here as soon as you can, kid. He hadn't listened then, doesn't know to how at this point, but finds himself wanting to heed that childhood knowledge more than he ever has before. He wants to run, live his life in a quiet hole in the ground. Lazarus had never learned how to do anything cleanly, and he can't win in a world that now demands something soft.

But at his appearance, he relaxes. Just enough to straighten up, his weight now far away from the crowd surrounding him. Although the Cane Corso doesn't look at him, green eyes instead flitting between everyone else, that in itself is a sign of trust. The one person here that he knows won't leave him to the vultures. Hearing him talk, something cracks open in his chest. Regret, fear, relief, everything he doesn't know comes pouring out despite the crowd. "No sé qué pasó," he begs — promise you believe me, please please please. Maybe he was going crazy, losing his mind.

/ pbbbllttt you're a dingus