(Untitled)
Who: Zack Fair i_love_squats and Heine Rammsteiner stray_gunner, Open
When: Today
Where: Foxhole
Format: Paragraph
What: Zack’s drinking and confused, while Heine’s pointing and laughing. Yeaaaah. Something.
Warnings: Probably not, but it all depends on how much Zack is allowed to drink.
( Lights will guide you home and ignite your bones. And I will try to fix you )
When: Today
Where: Foxhole
Format: Paragraph
What: Zack’s drinking and confused, while Heine’s pointing and laughing. Yeaaaah. Something.
Warnings: Probably not, but it all depends on how much Zack is allowed to drink.
( Lights will guide you home and ignite your bones. And I will try to fix you )
It was, however, the first time he'd opened his eyes and saw a poster of a shirtless man on the wall.
You could say that the ensuing gunfire was a defensive reflex.
Heine sighed and scuffed the heel of his boot on the ground, flaking off more dried blood. There was definitely something wrong when the sight of copious amounts of leftover gore didn't bother him, he decided, staring down at the mess.
D'you think it's yours? The dog's question was rhetorical - they both knew that it could be no one else's. Heine sniffed(not to smell it or to check the scent - he hoped) and left, walking through Dismas with very little incident and reaching the Foxhole in less than half an hour.
He deliberated for a moment in the street before heading inside. Once there, he caught sight of Zack at the bar, and then there was a rush of something like static - painfully harsh, within his mind and familiar in the way he associated with memories of fights with Giovanni.
Shaking it off, Heine walked over without a word and sat down next to him, leaning heavily on the counter as he did.
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…well….weird. There was the Heine one, but it couldn’t be anything. Someone would’ve told him, right? So he had fallen back into his own sureties and dwelled too hard on that alone: the one he did kill, the one he DID remember. And the rest, well, that had to have been a monster. Made sense. Made the only sense.
Probably explained where the bruises came from, after all.
Still, when he heard someone come in and saw it was Heine, he could feel the way his eyes widened, could feel that sudden spike in adrenaline, could feel the way his fingers flexed from memory rather than instinct. Weird. The whole thing was weird and momentary, passing as soon as it came. A flicker, like déjà vu.
He watched Heine sit next to him, and without waiting for a request or answer, he waved a beer over for the other. Zack was fairly certain that everyone in this damn city could use one right about now.
“So, what’d you do this time?”
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They were familiar things, he realized. He wasn't sure if he liked the thought.
He noticed Zack's apparently instinctual reaction and raised an eyebrow, though he stayed silent in favor of wrapping his fingers absently around the glass.
Too quiet, it hissed. Not enough fun, not enough blood. Heine pushed it away (down down down into darkness) and replied darkly, "I don't even know."
Brushing away a few strands of hair, Heine stared at the opposite wall for a few seconds before turning to Zack. "The blood was mine. I think." He went silent again for a moment before continuing. "I wouldn't know, in any case."
He downed some of the beer and added, "You look worried." Accompanying that was an irritated scowl, as usual.
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The not-knowing made Zack arch an eyebrow, watching him carefully. "You don't know? But the blood's yours? How can you--oh, nevermind." Which meant looking for scars wouldn't help, or clues. All healed up, nice and tight, evidence gone. Convenient for the attacker at least.
"You don't think it was an animal, do you?" It could happen, as unlikely as it sounded, but stranger things had occurred around the city (an entire missing week, perhaps?). "Might've been a person?" A serial killer? Not the first one, that's for sure. He really hoped it wasn't.
Worried. Zack traced his finger around the top of his beer, looking down into amber depths, and nodded a little. Shiva, it was hard to talk about things sometimes, but the beer? Beer made it better, smoother, simpler. Taking a deep swig, he set the glass down, his eyes rolling up to the ceiling.
"Somedays, it sucks being an open book." Under his breath, he laughed and drew his eyes over to Heine. "Just got some stuff on my mind. Don't worry, it's all boring stuff. You wouldn't like it."
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He considered the idea for a moment. "Yeah, no."
"Probably human, then. Or mostly." Fingers pulling absently at the silver rings in his ears, Heine leaned back precariously far to stare at the ceiling. "Definitely no one normal. Not with that much blood from me."
Apparently completely comfortable with discussing what kind of person might be able to smash his skull and get away with it, Heine ran his fingers absently along the rim of the glass.
"I don't like much in the first place," he pointed out after a pause. "So it doesn't matter whether you want to tell me or not."
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"Then we need to figure out who did it before they hurt or kill someone else. Especially if they're not human. It's probably some dangerous nutjob with a screw loose." He sat up straighter in his seat, the blue eyes serious and searching out Heine; sure, he didn't readily expect the other to agree with him, but he hoped he did. For once.
"You should talk to the Patrol about it. Or the police force. Someone. Get this guy caught and behind bars where he belongs before it's too late."
He dug out his Forge and slid it over, as if Heine wanted to use his to call them. A case was something that would get his mind off his own problems, hunting down some maniac, finding other ways to finish a problem rather than his sword going through their che--
"Yeah, I forgot how 'cheery' you are." His eyes rolled dramatically, before chuckling. "Did you ever do something that seemed ...right... in the moment, but later on, when you had time to think about it, you just feel all this guilt? That you just didn't try hard enough to find another way? That you should've tried to save them?"
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He didn't care if this person - whoever it was - was loose in Anatole. It wouldn't have bothered him if this person was at large in his home world. The only time he would be concerned would be if he was anywhere near Nill, and even then the Bishop wasn't a complete idiot.
"A crazy nutjob with a violent streak. Congratulations, you've described about fifty people in this city. Myself included," he added in a mutter.
"I'm not going to bother." Eyes closed in a show of boredom, Heine frowned slightly and tinkered with his beer before shaking his head. "I don't think it'll happen again. Probably."
Reassurance made, Heine downed most of the remaining alcohol and considered the question for a minute. "Save them... no. But there's always guilt, I guess." Heine trailed off again before continuing. "Is this about that dream of yours?"
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"C'mon, you're not that bad. At least, not to people other than yourself." Because, as far as Zack knew, Heine mostly took out his frustrations on his own body, not on the populace. "Give yourself a little credit."
Fingers curled around the Forge and he tugged it back, putting it into his pocket. Fine. Heine might not follow up, but Zack sure would. Mental notes were placed to talk to both Elena and Priscilla and see if they had any insight to it, or if they would dispatch handlers to deal with the situation. Why let it get out of control? Why risk anymore residents?
"Yeah, but you can't be too sure. What if it does happen again and we could've stopped it?"
Zack matched Heine, swallow for swallow, his eyes on him, watching, staring. The dream? It seemed so long ago, didn't it? The dark hair shook as he ordered another drink, his third and he was hitting them back hard, fast. He could feel it in his fingers, in the warmth there, in the way they tingled, and the looseness in his tongue.
"Nah. It's about saving the city." He sipped off his new beer before looking back at him. "Yazoo. He... he was as brainwashed as everyone who drank the water. Why...I should've tried to harder to save him. It's not his fault he's a nutjob; he was never given a fighting chance."
He was quiet, eyes on the white, foaming head of alcohol. "I guess I feel bad for him."
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You don't deserve any credit, though - and you even agree with me, see? Come on, master, let's just get away and go underground and hunt some more and kill some more and feel more blood on your hands.
He realized belatedly that he'd actually let the dog complete his sentences, which wasn't a good thing. Heine shrugged and put down his glass, resolving to ignore it as well as he could. Hopefully.
"Why would you feel bad for him? If there isn't any chance to save him, then..." Heine gripped the edge of the table tightly for an instant. "...then it doesn't matter."
You'd just get rid of him and be done with it, right, kid? Ah, there it was again - but Heine managed to block out most of its whispers this time.
With a quiet sigh, Heine kicked the leg of Zack's chair. "Look. If that's what you're feeling bad about, then -- it's useless." He knew he sounded like an uncaring jerk, but he couldn't help it, not with how close to home this was hitting.
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Because if someone else was hurt, he wasn't sure how well he could take it. These things, they weren't supposed to be happening; he was supposed to be able to protect his friends, keep them safe. If they didn't catch this psycho--
"Wonder why they attacked you, anyway," he muttered. Oh, wait, no he didn't, not with Heine's attitude; that probably said enough without speaking a word. Snickering, he cast him a sidelong glance, shook his head, and took another drink of beer. "Probably your chaaarming personality."
Then, it doesn't matter. Except it did. It mattered a lot, and he wasn't sure he could really explain it for the other to understand it.
"Because it could've been anyone here. It could've happened to anyone. It could've been you or me, Angeal or Tseng, and I don't--I wouldn't have stopped trying to save my friends, and I know that my friends wouldn't have stopped trying to save me.
"But I gave up on him, and I think way too easily. I know what he did, to me, to innocent people here, but what if it wasn't him talking? What if it was her talking?" Mother. The bitch from the skies.
He finished his third beer, set the empty aside, and looked back to Heine. "Back home, I sat back while someone I cared about drove himself further down into Crazy Town. I still regret not doing something sooner, especially with the way things ended up. I know not everyone can be saved, but--
"--I can't tell when it's truly over, you know?"
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-- and fuck, there it went again.
"I can't help but attract attention where ever I go," Heine answered, perfectly straightfaced. "It's a talent."
He sat silently as Zack went on, fingers twitching reflexively at the emphasis -- because it was too close, too similar to how he (there it was) spoke of her.
Mother.
Zack didn't explain who he was referring to, but he knew. After those days he had been young again (he didn't want to be), he'd heard the recording of Yazoo and flinched.
"No one can tell." Heine shrugged, content to lean on the table and toy with his now empty glass. "So that's that."
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"I'll do something." Just...leave it to me. "Funny, I have that talent, too. Must come with having a big mouth." And yes, he gave Heine a Look. He'd earned it.
Another beer found it's way in front of him, and for a long time, he just stared at it. He was outpacing Heine (though, he was clueless of the fact that it doesn't really matter in the end), so he slid his full glass to him before ordering another for himself. If he was going to end up drunk, he didn't want to be the only one making an ass out of himself, and maybe Heine would forget what he said. Hopefully.
"Yeah, but--then it means I'll never give up." He shook his head, the black bangs waving, his eyes on his hands. "I'll keep trying to save him, even if there's nothing there to save."
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He took the beer that Zack pushed at him with a raised eyebrow and no other comment. The effects of the first drink were long gone, and Heine figured that it would take several shots of much stronger alcohol to have any longer effect - the one time he'd come here with Jay had reaffirmed that.
Briefly, he wondered if Zack knew that he was basically incapable of becoming intoxicated. Then he decided it might be funny and stopped thinking about it.
He frowned a little as Zack went on. "There's no point, then," he muttered, but he got the feeling that Zack wouldn't listen to him in this case. "...You're going to get killed this way."
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And Zack was painfully ignorant on Heine's own lack of drunkenness, oblivious that the poor guy couldn't ever loosen up (no wonder he was so grouchy all the time). Instead, he started nursing his next one, the cotton starting to worm its way into his head. Slowly, sure, but he could feel it, that numbness, that looseness.
He liked it.
Zack smiled without the use of his fingers, before looking out the window. "I won't die," he murmured. "I'll get maimed, sure, but I don't die. There's only one place I can die, and it ain't here."
Eyes flickered back to Heine, a sudden snap even as he didn't turn his head. "Is there anything you won't give up on?"
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He watched with a tiny smirk as Zack kept on drinking. Oh, he knew he was supposed to say something by now (be a responsible friend, and all that), but he was bored enough to want amusement.
Which meant letting Zack drink as much as he wanted.
"Uh-huh." That's what they all say, the dog told him cheerfully. Until I get to them, ahaha -
Heine blinked at the question, eyebrow raised in skepticism. "I guess," he answered vaguely. "I know you do," he added quickly, trying to avoid more questions.
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And don't worry, Heine, when Zack eventually finds out what you're doing, he'll get you back. Somehow. Promise.
But for now, he took another drink, set the glass down, then rethought it and took another. The words were getting easier to spill, slipping out of his grasp before he could grab them, certain letters carrying certain slurs, but it didn't sound so bad to him. Not really, not when he was feeling that good, warm sensation through his body. If he stood up, he wondered how much worse it'd be.
"So...what won't you give up on?" he asked, finishing his latest beer. "Or who?"
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