(no subject)
"Hey, little brother."
"How is she?"
"Well. I'm here." Her eyes are always a little sad, even when she's smiling, but he thinks, or would like to think, that they're a little sadder now.
"I claim her. If she dies, I claim her."
Death shrugs. "Not really up to you, is it?"
"Desire did it, with Marguerite."
"That's different."
"She's mine more than anyone else has ever been mine before. How is it different?"
"Just is."
"Goddamn you, Teleute, you cryptic fucking bitch."
And then he's gone, just in time to miss Kitty sticking her tongue out, and her eyes flaring, and Death grinning, and leaving.
His sister holds him, and drags her hooked ring across her thighs. Rats run across his back, and it is somehow comforting.
"Cheer up."
Butterflies land on his face like a thousand kisses.
"I'm a fucking awful father, Del."
"Well, yes. You're a decent brother, though."
"Am not."
"Oh, get over yourself."
"What?"
"Grow up."
"What?"
"I did."
"My dear brother, I haven't felt this much pull from you in... oh, it must be since you last saw Ishtar. Interesting."
"What are you doing here?"
"You called me," Desire says, amused.
"I don't want you here."
"Ah, but you want something."
They're walking down a sidewalk, the red-haired giant and his slim sibling, and though their pace is leisurely, they have no difficulty keeping up with the racing, wailing police cars.
"Yes," he says finally.
"Then do it."
"I shouldn't."
"How long has it been since you last did something because you wanted to?"
"I... don't know."
"Well, I do. It's been since the last time you and Ishtar fucked."
"Stop it."
"Oh, would you rather I say 'made love'?"
"Stop it."
"I've missed you." It's as gentle as Desire ever is, though its sincerity is no more certain than ever.
(Four)
The first one thrashes in his bed until the mask over his mouth and nose shifts. He suffocates.
(Three)
The second hangs himself, though how he got the belt, and how he tied it to the grating, and how he got high enough to do it as there's no furniture in the room, and how his neck broke in that particular way as it's entirely the wrong angle, all remain mysteries.
(Two)
The third is dismembered, limb by bloody fucking limb.
Starting with his fingers.
(One)
The fourth
(Went out the barrel of a gun)
fights
(Primitive, but catharic)
and Destruction could kill him with a touch, but it's strength against strength, speed against speed, wits against wits
(Like daughter, like father)
and this one is strong and fast and smart.
But not strong or fast or smart enough.
He dies when a fist to the nose shoves a spike of bone into his brain, though the punctured lung
(Life's not fair, except when it is)
would have killed him a bit later, and the internal bleeding a bit after that.
He watches from the corner of her room, and they don't notice him unless he wants them to, which he doesn't.
(And all that I can say is that she's all I want and all that I live for)
"How is she?"
"Well. I'm here." Her eyes are always a little sad, even when she's smiling, but he thinks, or would like to think, that they're a little sadder now.
"I claim her. If she dies, I claim her."
Death shrugs. "Not really up to you, is it?"
"Desire did it, with Marguerite."
"That's different."
"She's mine more than anyone else has ever been mine before. How is it different?"
"Just is."
"Goddamn you, Teleute, you cryptic fucking bitch."
And then he's gone, just in time to miss Kitty sticking her tongue out, and her eyes flaring, and Death grinning, and leaving.
His sister holds him, and drags her hooked ring across her thighs. Rats run across his back, and it is somehow comforting.
"Cheer up."
Butterflies land on his face like a thousand kisses.
"I'm a fucking awful father, Del."
"Well, yes. You're a decent brother, though."
"Am not."
"Oh, get over yourself."
"What?"
"Grow up."
"What?"
"I did."
"My dear brother, I haven't felt this much pull from you in... oh, it must be since you last saw Ishtar. Interesting."
"What are you doing here?"
"You called me," Desire says, amused.
"I don't want you here."
"Ah, but you want something."
They're walking down a sidewalk, the red-haired giant and his slim sibling, and though their pace is leisurely, they have no difficulty keeping up with the racing, wailing police cars.
"Yes," he says finally.
"Then do it."
"I shouldn't."
"How long has it been since you last did something because you wanted to?"
"I... don't know."
"Well, I do. It's been since the last time you and Ishtar fucked."
"Stop it."
"Oh, would you rather I say 'made love'?"
"Stop it."
"I've missed you." It's as gentle as Desire ever is, though its sincerity is no more certain than ever.
(Four)
The first one thrashes in his bed until the mask over his mouth and nose shifts. He suffocates.
(Three)
The second hangs himself, though how he got the belt, and how he tied it to the grating, and how he got high enough to do it as there's no furniture in the room, and how his neck broke in that particular way as it's entirely the wrong angle, all remain mysteries.
(Two)
The third is dismembered, limb by bloody fucking limb.
Starting with his fingers.
(One)
The fourth
(Went out the barrel of a gun)
fights
(Primitive, but catharic)
and Destruction could kill him with a touch, but it's strength against strength, speed against speed, wits against wits
(Like daughter, like father)
and this one is strong and fast and smart.
But not strong or fast or smart enough.
He dies when a fist to the nose shoves a spike of bone into his brain, though the punctured lung
(Life's not fair, except when it is)
would have killed him a bit later, and the internal bleeding a bit after that.
He watches from the corner of her room, and they don't notice him unless he wants them to, which he doesn't.
(And all that I can say is that she's all I want and all that I live for)