(no subject)
The sky, rife with thunder clouds, is dark. She has no fucking idea exactly how much of the day has passed, but she also has no fucking memory of half the things that happened in between all the other goddamn things that happened and she's not going to stop to try to figure it out now. She's too tired for that; they've been at this for two days now without sleep. It's Ampersand who sounds what turns out to be the alarm, really, from his place on Deville's shoulder.
"I told you to stay with the moms and the kids, Beth." Of course, when did anyone start listening to her? Today sure hasn't been proof of any of her most stellar moments, even if the more they walk, the more it's starting to feel like old times with Deville here. It's been a long time since they sneaked outside together to smoke and made each other promise not to tell they were doing it.
"And I told you I'm neither, Hero. Besides, this is all my fault. Yorick never would have left if I had just--"
"Hushed." Natalya's seen something; slowly, she lowers the rifle in her hand.
Hero stops first; the other two women stay back a respectable and ridiculous distance.
"Jesus Christ," mutters Deville.
Peering through the thundercloud-induced darkness, Hero sees... something. Someone. If this was night the street lamps would flicker on to help; as it is, she has to squint to make out the shapes in front of her. "Is that...?" Shit! There, on the ground, backed up against the fountain at Place de la Concorde and probably getting fucking soaked... and completely ignored...
"You're alive!" She's never been so glad to see her fucking dog of a brother. Never, not once, not for as long as she can remember. This is... why they came all the way to Paris. Put their tits on line, as Natalya would say, wore out the soles of their shoes. "But the Israelis...?"
Yorick leans against one of his hands and she can't remember the last time she saw him looking so... unhappy. Defeated. "Gone."
It's the only word he says and she wants to reach out and touch him, make sure he's really real, that he's okay, but she has more to ask.
"355?"
His answer's all in his eyes.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
"Oh." What the hell else is she going to say? I'm sorry? That would be so goddamn inadequate. For an English major, she's sure shit with words when it counts.
Overhead, dark rain clouds dance against the canopy of sky. After all this time, she's at a complete and utter loss: doesn't know what to do, doesn't know what to say, doesn't even know where to fucking start.
"Oh, man."
The very fleeting thought good thing we didn't bring the kids comes and goes before she can even acknowledge it. All she wants to do is drop to her knees and hug her brother forever and ever and ever.
"I told you to stay with the moms and the kids, Beth." Of course, when did anyone start listening to her? Today sure hasn't been proof of any of her most stellar moments, even if the more they walk, the more it's starting to feel like old times with Deville here. It's been a long time since they sneaked outside together to smoke and made each other promise not to tell they were doing it.
"And I told you I'm neither, Hero. Besides, this is all my fault. Yorick never would have left if I had just--"
"Hushed." Natalya's seen something; slowly, she lowers the rifle in her hand.
Hero stops first; the other two women stay back a respectable and ridiculous distance.
"Jesus Christ," mutters Deville.
Peering through the thundercloud-induced darkness, Hero sees... something. Someone. If this was night the street lamps would flicker on to help; as it is, she has to squint to make out the shapes in front of her. "Is that...?" Shit! There, on the ground, backed up against the fountain at Place de la Concorde and probably getting fucking soaked... and completely ignored...
"You're alive!" She's never been so glad to see her fucking dog of a brother. Never, not once, not for as long as she can remember. This is... why they came all the way to Paris. Put their tits on line, as Natalya would say, wore out the soles of their shoes. "But the Israelis...?"
Yorick leans against one of his hands and she can't remember the last time she saw him looking so... unhappy. Defeated. "Gone."
It's the only word he says and she wants to reach out and touch him, make sure he's really real, that he's okay, but she has more to ask.
"355?"
His answer's all in his eyes.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
"Oh." What the hell else is she going to say? I'm sorry? That would be so goddamn inadequate. For an English major, she's sure shit with words when it counts.
Overhead, dark rain clouds dance against the canopy of sky. After all this time, she's at a complete and utter loss: doesn't know what to do, doesn't know what to say, doesn't even know where to fucking start.
"Oh, man."
The very fleeting thought good thing we didn't bring the kids comes and goes before she can even acknowledge it. All she wants to do is drop to her knees and hug her brother forever and ever and ever.