INCOMPLETE.
Who: Heine Rammsteiner (albedineity), Smoker (brandedjustice).
What: Bawwwwwww. Smoker wants to know about Giovanni. How cute. :')
Where: Smoker's office.
When: NOW? IDK.
There wasn't a whole lot of shit in the world that Heine had any particular interest in.
Nill, yeah. Nill was his main focus, his main priority, and then there was Badou, and Bishop, and even goddamn Naoto when she wasn't being a fucking nuisance. Giovanni, though? The little, frail blonde boy from the Underground? He was the blemish on his past that just couldn't be erased, just couldn't be ignored, and it was funny, really. Funny, because sometimes it reminded him of her, and Heine often thought that maybe if she had survived, that maybe if he hadn't torn through her as badly as he did, she would've ended up just like him. Alive, but utterly fucked, too, and it wouldn't have made a difference. She would have been better off dead.
Thinking about shit like that made his stomach hurt, though, made his heart beat fast and hard behind his chest, so. He didn't think about it. Didn't think about a whole goddamn lot, really, as he stepped up to the door to (what the fuck was his name, anyway?) the Commodore's office, gloved fingers trailing down to his belt where his chains should have been, where his Mauser and Luger should have been, but weren't. He felt a little bare without them, a little wrong, because his guns were all he really fucking had, and he needed them, wanted them, but there wasn't much he could do about it, either way.
Not really, anyway.
If he really wanted to do, he could have left. Left, and beat the fucking shit out of anyone that got in his way, because he wasn't normal, either, and he wasn't fucking human, and if he wanted to just go, they'd have to shoot his head off to stop him. But, okay, so maybe the shit he'd done the other night hadn't gone exactly according to plan, and okay, maybe it hadn't been the best idea, so he'd do whatever these people wanted him to do. Go to trial, be given a verdict -- he didn't really fucking care, as long as it didn't take months to get done. He didn't have that kind of time.
The clock was ticking, wasn't it. Nill was here now, too, and Giovanni was still a problem, was still looming on the edge of every fucking thought he ever had, and Heine still hadn't taken care of him. It's either you or him, because that's the way it always fucking goes, that voice (deep, and dark, and it came from somewhere in the dungeon that curled in the pit of his stomach) murmured. Heine swallowed hard, took a step forward, and. No. He didn't need that.
After all the shit he's done,
It didn't matter.
after all the shit he's put you through, it'd be a relief.
But it didn't fucking matter.
Let's make the bitch scream--
No.
No. Not now. Didn't, shouldn't, wouldn't have mattered, and Heine's fingers curled into a fist as he sucked in a sharp breath, as he rearranged his thoughts, as he shoved that voice back.
He didn't knock. The guy had told him to enter quietly, and he did, fingers sliding over the knob as he opened the door, as he slid one foot inside and closed it quietly behind him. Red eyes focused immediately, fell on the form of Smoker not even two seconds later, and Heine didn't offer him much more than a nod, shoulder grazing the wall behind him as he leaned back.
Didn't say anything, either, but one brow was raised, and it asked the question he didn't even need to voice, really:
"Well?"
What: Bawwwwwww. Smoker wants to know about Giovanni. How cute. :')
Where: Smoker's office.
When: NOW? IDK.
There wasn't a whole lot of shit in the world that Heine had any particular interest in.
Nill, yeah. Nill was his main focus, his main priority, and then there was Badou, and Bishop, and even goddamn Naoto when she wasn't being a fucking nuisance. Giovanni, though? The little, frail blonde boy from the Underground? He was the blemish on his past that just couldn't be erased, just couldn't be ignored, and it was funny, really. Funny, because sometimes it reminded him of her, and Heine often thought that maybe if she had survived, that maybe if he hadn't torn through her as badly as he did, she would've ended up just like him. Alive, but utterly fucked, too, and it wouldn't have made a difference. She would have been better off dead.
Thinking about shit like that made his stomach hurt, though, made his heart beat fast and hard behind his chest, so. He didn't think about it. Didn't think about a whole goddamn lot, really, as he stepped up to the door to (what the fuck was his name, anyway?) the Commodore's office, gloved fingers trailing down to his belt where his chains should have been, where his Mauser and Luger should have been, but weren't. He felt a little bare without them, a little wrong, because his guns were all he really fucking had, and he needed them, wanted them, but there wasn't much he could do about it, either way.
Not really, anyway.
If he really wanted to do, he could have left. Left, and beat the fucking shit out of anyone that got in his way, because he wasn't normal, either, and he wasn't fucking human, and if he wanted to just go, they'd have to shoot his head off to stop him. But, okay, so maybe the shit he'd done the other night hadn't gone exactly according to plan, and okay, maybe it hadn't been the best idea, so he'd do whatever these people wanted him to do. Go to trial, be given a verdict -- he didn't really fucking care, as long as it didn't take months to get done. He didn't have that kind of time.
The clock was ticking, wasn't it. Nill was here now, too, and Giovanni was still a problem, was still looming on the edge of every fucking thought he ever had, and Heine still hadn't taken care of him. It's either you or him, because that's the way it always fucking goes, that voice (deep, and dark, and it came from somewhere in the dungeon that curled in the pit of his stomach) murmured. Heine swallowed hard, took a step forward, and. No. He didn't need that.
After all the shit he's done,
It didn't matter.
after all the shit he's put you through, it'd be a relief.
But it didn't fucking matter.
Let's make the bitch scream--
No.
No. Not now. Didn't, shouldn't, wouldn't have mattered, and Heine's fingers curled into a fist as he sucked in a sharp breath, as he rearranged his thoughts, as he shoved that voice back.
He didn't knock. The guy had told him to enter quietly, and he did, fingers sliding over the knob as he opened the door, as he slid one foot inside and closed it quietly behind him. Red eyes focused immediately, fell on the form of Smoker not even two seconds later, and Heine didn't offer him much more than a nod, shoulder grazing the wall behind him as he leaned back.
Didn't say anything, either, but one brow was raised, and it asked the question he didn't even need to voice, really:
"Well?"