closed. incomplete.
WHO: Heine Rammsteiner (deontics), Rikku (cunningness).
WHAT: Heine runs into Rikku while wandering around like a creep late at night.
WHERE: around the city.
WHEN: tonight?
On all accounts, Heine knew better than to wander outdoors after dark when everything appeared silent, and steady, and quiet, and still. He knew better because everyone knew better, and because there was always something else lurking in the background, in the shadows, a few paces behind a world that didn't dare turn back to look at whatever that something happened to be. It wasn't that it was any safer that way; rather, it was more harmful in the long run, and nothing good ever came out of ignoring the bad and the evil in a city full of dangerous people with lethal intent. That was how people got killed, or mugged, or raped, or torn to pieces, and Heine really, really, really knew better.
Heine knew better, and this was exactly why he was doing it.
He figured he had an excuse, at least. He generally assumed that the two armed weapons on either side of his hip were reason enough for anyone to realize that he'd end up as more than "just another victim." He wasn't a number. Wasn't a fucking statistic, and he never would be, and that was what kept him alive. It might have been what kept a few others within the city alive, as well, because. He wasn't one to play the part of the hero, but he also wasn't the type to stand by and let someone else shift from person to number overnight.
Statistics. The entire fucking city was one giant math equation that Heine really had no intention of solving. It was pointless, he figured. Pointless, because people here didn't want to be figured out, and because nothing within the city ever made much sense to begin with, when one thought really hard about it. The people who employed him for whatever job they could think of, or his neighbors who had a nasty habit of kicking his door in, or the girl from down the street who never really seemed to look him in the eye whenever he spoke to her; he didn't understand any of them, and it was better that way. Better not to know, or to understand, because shit always got complicated then, and life tended to be much easier and much better when everything was simple and quiet.
So, really, he didn't wander or roam the streets at night to look for poor lost souls to save or rescue. As far as he was concerned, they were lost for a reason, and he just didn't have the goddamn patience to wait around for someone to find themselves. He walked at night because it happened to be cooler at night, and because he happened to be particularly sensitive to the sun, and because maybe he was just a little bit of a fucking pansy when it came to daylight in general.
Just a little bit.
"Piece of shit," he murmured softly, hands sliding down past the holsters at his waist to press lightly against the sides of his legs as the toe of his boot kicked against a broken street lamp. He was at the end of some nameless street, and for the most part, was pretty much alone. Except for the street lamp. Him and the street lamp.
Nevermind the fact that he'd been carrying on a relatively normal conversation with said street lamp just minutes earlier before it decided to flicker out on him and engulf the entire corner in black.
It wasn't like he had anyone else to talk to.
He shifted back a step.
"Everything in this city is fucking broken."
WHAT: Heine runs into Rikku while wandering around like a creep late at night.
WHERE: around the city.
WHEN: tonight?
On all accounts, Heine knew better than to wander outdoors after dark when everything appeared silent, and steady, and quiet, and still. He knew better because everyone knew better, and because there was always something else lurking in the background, in the shadows, a few paces behind a world that didn't dare turn back to look at whatever that something happened to be. It wasn't that it was any safer that way; rather, it was more harmful in the long run, and nothing good ever came out of ignoring the bad and the evil in a city full of dangerous people with lethal intent. That was how people got killed, or mugged, or raped, or torn to pieces, and Heine really, really, really knew better.
Heine knew better, and this was exactly why he was doing it.
He figured he had an excuse, at least. He generally assumed that the two armed weapons on either side of his hip were reason enough for anyone to realize that he'd end up as more than "just another victim." He wasn't a number. Wasn't a fucking statistic, and he never would be, and that was what kept him alive. It might have been what kept a few others within the city alive, as well, because. He wasn't one to play the part of the hero, but he also wasn't the type to stand by and let someone else shift from person to number overnight.
Statistics. The entire fucking city was one giant math equation that Heine really had no intention of solving. It was pointless, he figured. Pointless, because people here didn't want to be figured out, and because nothing within the city ever made much sense to begin with, when one thought really hard about it. The people who employed him for whatever job they could think of, or his neighbors who had a nasty habit of kicking his door in, or the girl from down the street who never really seemed to look him in the eye whenever he spoke to her; he didn't understand any of them, and it was better that way. Better not to know, or to understand, because shit always got complicated then, and life tended to be much easier and much better when everything was simple and quiet.
So, really, he didn't wander or roam the streets at night to look for poor lost souls to save or rescue. As far as he was concerned, they were lost for a reason, and he just didn't have the goddamn patience to wait around for someone to find themselves. He walked at night because it happened to be cooler at night, and because he happened to be particularly sensitive to the sun, and because maybe he was just a little bit of a fucking pansy when it came to daylight in general.
Just a little bit.
"Piece of shit," he murmured softly, hands sliding down past the holsters at his waist to press lightly against the sides of his legs as the toe of his boot kicked against a broken street lamp. He was at the end of some nameless street, and for the most part, was pretty much alone. Except for the street lamp. Him and the street lamp.
Nevermind the fact that he'd been carrying on a relatively normal conversation with said street lamp just minutes earlier before it decided to flicker out on him and engulf the entire corner in black.
It wasn't like he had anyone else to talk to.
He shifted back a step.
"Everything in this city is fucking broken."