12-09-2018, 06:41 PM
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;letter-spacing:.1px"]Ambroise was still waiting on time to do what it was supposed to, though he'd learned by now that anyone and anything rarely did what they were supposed to. If the assholes Ambroise had patched up since he was a kid did their jobs right, the other raiders wouldn't have gotten as far into the camp as they had, and Mila wouldn't have been at risk in the first place. She wouldn't have died trying to pull a kid from the teeth of a bastard, gone before Ambroise made it to her, while blood-drenched figures kept at their pointless shit around her body. Death hadn't meant anything to them, and it didn't for Ambroise. Not usually. Sometimes he knew the still body was too young to have wrapped themselves in the senseless violence of territoriality and pillaging shit.
But it didn't matter, and Ambroise wasn't on that "every life, however small, deserves a chance" shtick. Mila, though, she deserved better. He'd wanted to give it to her, promised her on quiet nights that they'd get out one day and go far away. He fed her pipe-dreams and impossibilities, and now she was dead. Had been for half a year, and that- half a year and nothing had changed. Her shadow still caught on his periphery, carrying bundles of boiled cloth or baskets of food.
Didn't change no matter how far he went, how long.
This wasn't nearly far enough either, but he knew enough about how uppity people got about their precious borders -how many bodies had he burned because of a misstep like that?- and he didn't want to bother with claws and blood right now. He was too tired to start shit, too tired to end it, so the lion sat, worn eyes slightly narrowed. "Pic kee toi," he muttered roughly, eyes on the grass, although who -or what- Ambroise swore at, he couldn't say. Everything, probably.
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But it didn't matter, and Ambroise wasn't on that "every life, however small, deserves a chance" shtick. Mila, though, she deserved better. He'd wanted to give it to her, promised her on quiet nights that they'd get out one day and go far away. He fed her pipe-dreams and impossibilities, and now she was dead. Had been for half a year, and that- half a year and nothing had changed. Her shadow still caught on his periphery, carrying bundles of boiled cloth or baskets of food.
Didn't change no matter how far he went, how long.
This wasn't nearly far enough either, but he knew enough about how uppity people got about their precious borders -how many bodies had he burned because of a misstep like that?- and he didn't want to bother with claws and blood right now. He was too tired to start shit, too tired to end it, so the lion sat, worn eyes slightly narrowed. "Pic kee toi," he muttered roughly, eyes on the grass, although who -or what- Ambroise swore at, he couldn't say. Everything, probably.
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[align=center][div style="text-align: justify; font-size: 11pt; font-family:georgia; max-width:400px; color:black; font-variant
mall-caps; line-height:1.1;"]there is no such thing as a dawn or a dusk — it's daylight until it is night; and there is no such thing as a dying man — we are alive 'til the moment we are dead
mall-caps; line-height:1.1;"]there is no such thing as a dawn or a dusk — it's daylight until it is night; and there is no such thing as a dying man — we are alive 'til the moment we are dead