[ This isn’t the first time Ashe has seen a dead body, not even the first time he’s seen the dead body of a friend, but there’s something about this instance that makes it… different. No one is immortal, he knows. A well-aimed bullet can put a stop to anyone’s life, be they the poorest man on earth or the most powerful, but there was something about the four of them. Dimitri’s closest friends and confidants, the ones always by his side. It seemed like it would be that way forever.
And now here Sylvain is, one more “should have” on Ashe’s very long list of should haves.
It’s hard to tell what Dimitri is thinking, blood slowly seeping over one side of his face while he stares silently with his good eye, but Ashe knows what he’s thinking. Someone has to pay. And someone will, if he knows Dimitri the way he knows him. ]
Boss…
[ The quiver has gone from his voice, but there’s still a softness to his tone, ever-present in a way that makes most people underestimate him. He stands, and for a second he’s not sure what to do with his hands, painted bright crimson. Is it Sylvain’s blood? he wonders, or someone else’s? At last he tugs handkerchief out of one pocket, hurriedly wiping his palms as clean as he can before stuffing the cloth back where it came from. ]
We should get you to Sister Mercie.
[ Too cute a nickname for their personal medic, but her demeanor lent itself to it. As it is, Ashe can already imagine the scolding Dimitri is going to get for letting his eye go this long. There might not be any salvaging it at this point. ]
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And now here Sylvain is, one more “should have” on Ashe’s very long list of should haves.
It’s hard to tell what Dimitri is thinking, blood slowly seeping over one side of his face while he stares silently with his good eye, but Ashe knows what he’s thinking. Someone has to pay. And someone will, if he knows Dimitri the way he knows him. ]
Boss…
[ The quiver has gone from his voice, but there’s still a softness to his tone, ever-present in a way that makes most people underestimate him. He stands, and for a second he’s not sure what to do with his hands, painted bright crimson. Is it Sylvain’s blood? he wonders, or someone else’s? At last he tugs handkerchief out of one pocket, hurriedly wiping his palms as clean as he can before stuffing the cloth back where it came from. ]
We should get you to Sister Mercie.
[ Too cute a nickname for their personal medic, but her demeanor lent itself to it. As it is, Ashe can already imagine the scolding Dimitri is going to get for letting his eye go this long. There might not be any salvaging it at this point. ]