[size=9pt]He'd wanted to make things better. When he was handed the leadership, that was. As much of a catastrophe Moon was - as much as he, himself, functioned about as well as as a machine that hadn't seen oil in a decade, thats cogs had long since rusted and fallen off - he had every intention to keep things going. The plan was to make things good for this place and the people that lived here, keep it like that, and then die trying. Even if he had to keep the messy shit to himself. Like the shakes and the nightmares and every other fucking disastrous trait that he couldn't shake, no matter how hard he tried. He'd tuck it away for the early hours of the morning, and cope through the rest.
But it wasn't working. He wasn't good at this. People were dropping like flies and there was fuck all he could do about it. He wasn't cut out to play the hero.
And here's another thing to prove it.
Out the Observatory's doors as soon as he hears the call, the lion stumbles through the uneven fields until he sees Gabriel's hunching figure, the head he cradles against his own, and then stands and watches the blood pool around Lazarus' body- and does nothing. He sees the canine turn to a corpse before his eyes, and he's paralyzed, and he does nothing. What the fuck kind of leader-- what the fuck kind of healer stands there and does nothing?
In the end, there's nothing he could've done. The canine's fate had long since been decided by the time Moon arrived at the scene. All there's left is the glimmering crimson, soaking into the grass around them, the sickly stillness of it all. A long time passes before he finds his voice - a ragged, quiet thing, some hopeless attempt at comforting the mourning. "He's gone, Gabe." He says, the breeze almost drowning him out. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
But it wasn't working. He wasn't good at this. People were dropping like flies and there was fuck all he could do about it. He wasn't cut out to play the hero.
And here's another thing to prove it.
Out the Observatory's doors as soon as he hears the call, the lion stumbles through the uneven fields until he sees Gabriel's hunching figure, the head he cradles against his own, and then stands and watches the blood pool around Lazarus' body- and does nothing. He sees the canine turn to a corpse before his eyes, and he's paralyzed, and he does nothing. What the fuck kind of leader-- what the fuck kind of healer stands there and does nothing?
In the end, there's nothing he could've done. The canine's fate had long since been decided by the time Moon arrived at the scene. All there's left is the glimmering crimson, soaking into the grass around them, the sickly stillness of it all. A long time passes before he finds his voice - a ragged, quiet thing, some hopeless attempt at comforting the mourning. "He's gone, Gabe." He says, the breeze almost drowning him out. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; height: auto; text-align: center; font-family: ; font-size: 9pt; color: COLOR; letter-spacing: -.5px;"][i][b]and die like a hero going home.[glow=black,2,300]