[ That “don’t” is sharp and final, a whip-crack of a word that makes Ashe flinch just slightly, a stark contrast to the cool ease with which he’d wielded his weapon in the chaos but moments before. It’s true that guilt won’t do any of them any good, but despite the fact that Dimitri very clearly chooses to carry the weight of this on his own shoulders, he won’t be the only one.
Each of them will take a piece of this, whether they want to or not. They’d all been there, and they’d all failed to save Sylvain, and in their own ways, they’ll each feel it. Felix especially must be beside himself. Ashe doesn’t say as much, however, instead willing himself to relax a little, his iron grip on the steering wheel loosening a little. ]
Yessir.
[ It’s not his place to argue one way or another, anyway.
He spends a quiet moment as he navigates their way through the sparse late-night traffic to think of the old films of which he is so fond. Gangsters in black and white scheming and manipulating and gunning down anyone who got in their way. Revenge is a common theme in those movies, but none of them ever really explore what happens when it’s over. When revenge is served in a hail of bullets, what then? Does it make the gnawing feeling of “could have, should have” go away?
They’ll find out, one way or another, but for now the spire of Sister Mercie’s church is looming a short distance away, a grand and gothic structure half-illuminated by streetlights. A low glow shines through the stained-glass panes in what Ashe knows to be the church’s sanctuary, and Ashe has to wonder if the Sister keeps a candle lit for them when she knows they’re going to be doing business.
Ashe brings the car around the back of the building per the usual – no need to go frightening innocent churchgoers at any time of day or night by waking into the place bloodied and bullet-riddled – and once parked, he gets out to open Dimitri’s door for him. ]
no subject
Each of them will take a piece of this, whether they want to or not. They’d all been there, and they’d all failed to save Sylvain, and in their own ways, they’ll each feel it. Felix especially must be beside himself. Ashe doesn’t say as much, however, instead willing himself to relax a little, his iron grip on the steering wheel loosening a little. ]
Yessir.
[ It’s not his place to argue one way or another, anyway.
He spends a quiet moment as he navigates their way through the sparse late-night traffic to think of the old films of which he is so fond. Gangsters in black and white scheming and manipulating and gunning down anyone who got in their way. Revenge is a common theme in those movies, but none of them ever really explore what happens when it’s over. When revenge is served in a hail of bullets, what then? Does it make the gnawing feeling of “could have, should have” go away?
They’ll find out, one way or another, but for now the spire of Sister Mercie’s church is looming a short distance away, a grand and gothic structure half-illuminated by streetlights. A low glow shines through the stained-glass panes in what Ashe knows to be the church’s sanctuary, and Ashe has to wonder if the Sister keeps a candle lit for them when she knows they’re going to be doing business.
Ashe brings the car around the back of the building per the usual – no need to go frightening innocent churchgoers at any time of day or night by waking into the place bloodied and bullet-riddled – and once parked, he gets out to open Dimitri’s door for him. ]