10-20-2018, 09:06 PM
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-size: 9.4pt; line-height: 1.4;"]The thing about Gabe's position was that he made the sacrifices, he took the burdens he could so that they wouldn't have to. It caught up with him, like it always did, but it was a price he had been willing to pay since he first took out the loan- it was a price he'd been paying for some time, selling bits of himself to make the bill, that way Laz wouldn't have to. He didn't...he'd never demanded loyalty, or gratitude, or any kind of balanced reciprocity; he was content with nothing if it meant they had something, because Laz's life was invaluable and he deserved to know what it was like for someone to care. Maybe he hadn't made it clear enough he hadn't expected anything from him, or maybe having a kid kind of entailed a mutual affection.
And you'd think he knew how unfair the world could be, when he spent so much of his time in the muck, pulling kids out of tar and soot, sometimes into better lives, sometimes into worse ones. With Laz, he'd seen the injustice from the start, when he'd fought to a bloody victory over a bone, how he'd glared a warning to Gabriel when he thought he might fight him for it too. The inequity was violently bright and neon-flashing in his face, and he'd seen it, acknowledged it, and thought he might mute the colors, soften the harshness of Laz's world. He was one boy of too many, but Gabriel was familiar with his limits as a single man. However much he wanted to, however much he bit and yanked at the chains, he couldn't get to everyone.
So he liked to be prepared for that reason. He hated the world catching him off guard, and he'd thought he'd gotten fairly proficient at dodging the curve balls, but this- he hadn't. He hadn't prepared for this. There was no plan, no strategy, no second option if it went south- he could only sit here, cradling Lazarus' head, trembling with the visceral cold. "Shh, don't talk," he murmured, but Laz didn't listen, kept talking, voice wane and small and wounding. He was dying, except Gabe couldn't see any panic in his eyes, knew it was the blood-loss and shock, maybe, that kept him from struggling. Pain was probably distant for him by now, sluggish as this was, and he wished that could mean something, that he could find comfort knowing he wasn't in agony, but it didn't. He'd always imagined a death for himself as bloody, violent, but.
Laz's death should not be as his birth, should not be bleeding into the ground like all those men he'd killed. It should be in his sleep, the gentle drifting of a leaf from branch, or some quick shit like that, with children and grandchildren -maybe great grandchildren- to have spent the day before easing the way there. Not as a boy, with his throat cut, in the talons of a man whose own days were numbered.
"Duérmase, mi niño." He pressed his forehead into Laz's, made himself watch as green dulled and fell to emptiness. Gabriel's throat worked, mouth dry, and he closed his eyes, taking more of Laz's weight, almost enough to flatten him, but he would hold as much of him as he could, would feel him warm before he became stiff and cold. "Verte otra vez." Gabriel smoothed his claws over his face, desperately tender even though nothing of who Laz was remained.
He laid his head against his again, and said nothing, Moon's apologies on numb ears.
[align=right][i]——INFO
And you'd think he knew how unfair the world could be, when he spent so much of his time in the muck, pulling kids out of tar and soot, sometimes into better lives, sometimes into worse ones. With Laz, he'd seen the injustice from the start, when he'd fought to a bloody victory over a bone, how he'd glared a warning to Gabriel when he thought he might fight him for it too. The inequity was violently bright and neon-flashing in his face, and he'd seen it, acknowledged it, and thought he might mute the colors, soften the harshness of Laz's world. He was one boy of too many, but Gabriel was familiar with his limits as a single man. However much he wanted to, however much he bit and yanked at the chains, he couldn't get to everyone.
So he liked to be prepared for that reason. He hated the world catching him off guard, and he'd thought he'd gotten fairly proficient at dodging the curve balls, but this- he hadn't. He hadn't prepared for this. There was no plan, no strategy, no second option if it went south- he could only sit here, cradling Lazarus' head, trembling with the visceral cold. "Shh, don't talk," he murmured, but Laz didn't listen, kept talking, voice wane and small and wounding. He was dying, except Gabe couldn't see any panic in his eyes, knew it was the blood-loss and shock, maybe, that kept him from struggling. Pain was probably distant for him by now, sluggish as this was, and he wished that could mean something, that he could find comfort knowing he wasn't in agony, but it didn't. He'd always imagined a death for himself as bloody, violent, but.
Laz's death should not be as his birth, should not be bleeding into the ground like all those men he'd killed. It should be in his sleep, the gentle drifting of a leaf from branch, or some quick shit like that, with children and grandchildren -maybe great grandchildren- to have spent the day before easing the way there. Not as a boy, with his throat cut, in the talons of a man whose own days were numbered.
"Duérmase, mi niño." He pressed his forehead into Laz's, made himself watch as green dulled and fell to emptiness. Gabriel's throat worked, mouth dry, and he closed his eyes, taking more of Laz's weight, almost enough to flatten him, but he would hold as much of him as he could, would feel him warm before he became stiff and cold. "Verte otra vez." Gabriel smoothed his claws over his face, desperately tender even though nothing of who Laz was remained.
He laid his head against his again, and said nothing, Moon's apologies on numb ears.
[align=right][i]——INFO
[align=center][table][tr][td]
I'M
[/td][td]FADING
[/td][td]FADING
[/td][td]MUCH TOO FAST
[/td][/tr][/table]