11 >> {eventual video?}
{Truly, nothing beats the comforts of home. Isn't that right?}
{He should ask Riza. She'd probably like to be home right now, no? He should have tucked her head away under his arm. Brought her to his home, at least. Fed her sweets and spoke warmly to her of his successes.}
{As if she didn't know.}
{Malfatto sits in his parlor now, body loose and languid on a gaudy couch of lush purple velvet. Propped on an ottoman before him is a leg freshly stitched. What was once an ugly, jagged flesh wound is now closed proper, as best as he could, and in the process of healing beneath those folds of leather. Probably should be aired out, but eh. He's feeling positively elated right now.}
{Fucking bitch. He should have shot her with her own goddamn gun. Alas, he was the only one to suffer from it. And how he suffered!}
{... briefly.}
{A mask sits idle, lifeless by his side, and he drops those dark eyes to match that of his glassy, goggled soulmate, grinning to himself before plucking the thing up and securing it on its rightful place, dropping a hat on his head to complete the familiar ensemble.}
{Turning on the Forge, now, that mask fills the screen. Nothing below the shoulders, mind you.}
So much death lately. So much gloom in the air. And I... {sigh}... I feel as though I've been completely useless through it all. Though I may not care much about the lives lost, I do care about maintaining my reputation as a decent physician. Dependable.
Useful.
{He shakes his head, a hollow sigh audible from that blank, white semblance. Poor guy.}
I've been failing, however. But what could I do aside from raise the dead? Nothing. Nothing.
Dawn. I'll come find you later, if that's alright. I know you're hurting, dear. It will be alright.
{A pause.}
Anyway. Dinnertime. I'm quite in the mood for rabbit...
{He should ask Riza. She'd probably like to be home right now, no? He should have tucked her head away under his arm. Brought her to his home, at least. Fed her sweets and spoke warmly to her of his successes.}
{As if she didn't know.}
{Malfatto sits in his parlor now, body loose and languid on a gaudy couch of lush purple velvet. Propped on an ottoman before him is a leg freshly stitched. What was once an ugly, jagged flesh wound is now closed proper, as best as he could, and in the process of healing beneath those folds of leather. Probably should be aired out, but eh. He's feeling positively elated right now.}
{Fucking bitch. He should have shot her with her own goddamn gun. Alas, he was the only one to suffer from it. And how he suffered!}
{... briefly.}
{A mask sits idle, lifeless by his side, and he drops those dark eyes to match that of his glassy, goggled soulmate, grinning to himself before plucking the thing up and securing it on its rightful place, dropping a hat on his head to complete the familiar ensemble.}
{Turning on the Forge, now, that mask fills the screen. Nothing below the shoulders, mind you.}
So much death lately. So much gloom in the air. And I... {sigh}... I feel as though I've been completely useless through it all. Though I may not care much about the lives lost, I do care about maintaining my reputation as a decent physician. Dependable.
Useful.
{He shakes his head, a hollow sigh audible from that blank, white semblance. Poor guy.}
I've been failing, however. But what could I do aside from raise the dead? Nothing. Nothing.
Dawn. I'll come find you later, if that's alright. I know you're hurting, dear. It will be alright.
{A pause.}
Anyway. Dinnertime. I'm quite in the mood for rabbit...