Life is short, but this time it was bigger than the strength she had to get up off her knees...

[thrillofthekill]

Early this morning, one of the residents reported to one of the junior archangels about strange smells coming from one of the rooms. One look at the basement manifest and Vincent knew who the room belonged to

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[despite_myrage]

Robin had only been visiting. He only ever stops by to visit or to help out down here, since he's still the best at running events down here. His home is elsewhere, but he'll always have a connection to this bloody hotel.

There have been people talking about it. As horrible as this city is, it isn't often that a body is found in a bedroom. He can probably count the other times, if he thinks back on it hard enough. Suicide, they say.

Something heavy and painful sinks deep within his chest, and he thinks he knows who it is. It's stupid to assume. It's stupid but he's almost sure. Robin avoids asking anyone. He avoids asking who. He'll look for her instead and then when he finds her, he can berate himself for making such an assumption

[thrillofthekill]

"You hear?" Vincent asks, shifting uncomfortably into a more official, business-like stance that's really hard to maintain when his grimacing through pain. After a second or two, he shakes his head. "You ain't the one who should be sorry. I couldn't damn well have a conversation with that girl without it being awkward. You two actually understood each other."

[despite_myrage]

Robin had not heard that it was Jo, but he'd figured. He'd assumed. Vincent's response is a confirmation of that assumption. He doesn't even show surprise, because he isn't surprised. Robin knew.

He notices Vincent grimace in pain but doesn't say anything about it. It feels like the whole of him has been scraped out, left empty. Robin swallows thickly, past emotion that he doesn't feel"We actually understood each other," he agrees, with the same emptiness that he's feeling. If the fault lies with anyone, it lies with him. He understood better than anyone else could. He knew. He spoke with her about it all. He fucking preached about hope, told her he loved her, she actually hugged him, and then he left it at that. "For all the good that it did

[thrillofthekill]

Vincent shrugs. "Don't I know it. Life's built on lost causes and people you didn't save." And isn't that cynical? He backs off the wall and starts walking away, because he doesn't want to deal right now. His stomach hurts and he's pretty sure he doesn't need to be walking around with a dislocated shoulder. "There was nothin' that could've been done, I guess. Romana pulled you out of the ashes, but I ain't her. Never did have her touch."

He needs a cigarette and someone to set his shoulder back into its socket.

[nowinprint]

Dmitri has moved back into the Conrad. It seems like her timing couldn't have been better

[thrillofthekill]

"Dmitri," Vincent nods right back at her. "And a smoke," he adds, his agreement in the need for drinks abundantly clear. He hasn't smoked in awhile- he quit sometime after that four months he spent in a coma. There's a good way to break you of a nasty habit- four months in stasis from a gunshot to the head.

Occasionally, being in Chicago makes those habits necessary.

"Her name was Jo," he explains, because he knows Dmitri's probably wondering. "Shy kid. Angel of Vengeance." He chuckled grimly. "I figured I was supposed to look out for her. Kinda sucked at that, didn't I?"

[nowinprint]

Dmitri nods, at that - and winces, a little, because why shouldn't she? Angel of Vengeance. Like their lives don't suck enough getting them to the point that particular evolutionary trigger fires, they have to get the shit end of the stick when their Callings kick in, too. and Chicago does love taking people's callings and breaking people on them.

"Bitch of a life," she answers, then turns to look at him. "And also not your fault, old soldier. I could be the cliché and tell you the fault really lies on the bastards what turned her out this way, but hell. We know it doesn't change anything this late in the game."

[thrillofthekill]

"Nope," Vincent drawls. "Gimme a tic." He wanders off, gesturing to one of the archangels standing nearby. They vanish off down the hall and a few minutes later, over the quiet, somber murmurings of the people gathered, there's a muffled cry of pain and some minutes after that, Vincent and the other archangel return, Vincent cringing in pain as rubs his shoulder, an unlit cigarette dangling out of his mouth.

Gotta love that archangel resilence. You dislocate your shoulder in the battlefield, you ask someone to pop it back in and keep on fighting.

"No sense in harpin' on it, anyway," he continues around the cigarette, like there was never any break in the flow of the conversation. "It's done. Hope to God she's in a better place, too."