[closed] [complete]
Characters: bulletcarnage & nebensonne, eventually kandescence.
Location: The corridor of the first floor, Casualty Communal.
Rating: R, I reckon. Giovanni has gory daydreams from the offset.
Time: Aug. 12, late afternoon.
Description: From here. Giovanni and Heine want to have a serious talk about things, and by have a serious talk I mean shred each other like moist tissue paper.
It probably isn't entirely wise, in hindsight.
Brought out by impulse or instinct, maybe, by his riled temper without any outlet, or maybe it was brought out by just the very fact that Heine is there at all. By the time he'd arrived in the Casualty Communal, that little introduction into the new circumstances had done its work with surprising effectiveness; he'd resigned himself to living without anything to hold onto, to just being forced to bide his time in this city and sit and wait (and it's good that he's had all that practice over the years, and he's become exceptionally good at waiting) and so it'd struck him all the harder, ultimately. Finding out that that was wrong, finding out Heine is right there, breathing the same air almost -- that brought everything he'd pushed down (frustration anger and so much fucking rage) surging to the fore, impossible to put aside and however he looks at it, in these circumstances, he couldn't have done anything differently.
Just a minor lapse.
It'd all happened relatively quickly. He hadn't even really thought about the matter in much depth until Heine had already arranged a meeting, and on his own initiative, no less. Giovanni hadn't even had to prompt him that much, and maybe that makes sense in context; he'd left him high and dry last time, hadn't he? Chewing at the bit with his eyes wide and feral, and Giovanni could play that game forever, just staring into his white furious terrified face and emptying bullets into his body until they clink and ricochet against each other in his organs, lodged together thicker than his flesh, and his gasps become more blood than air and his breath reeks of gunsmoke and metal.
... Heine must really miss him. Isn't it the same for him, after all?
But now there are no interruptions.
He's standing near the staircase. It seems like the most convenient place to be, with a perfect view up the stairs, across the first floor corridor, out towards the building entrance. It's every entry point Heine could use, and that should save him a little bit of trouble, shouldn't it? No chasing him around the building, at least for the moment. No fuss.
His fingers curl in against the railing, tightening until the bones of his fingers grind and ache and get sore on the metal, and he just stands and looks vacantly at the space in front of him, giving away nothing. He just listens.
... No. Nothing too unpleasant.
He just wants to talk, after all.
Location: The corridor of the first floor, Casualty Communal.
Rating: R, I reckon. Giovanni has gory daydreams from the offset.
Time: Aug. 12, late afternoon.
Description: From here. Giovanni and Heine want to have a serious talk about things, and by have a serious talk I mean shred each other like moist tissue paper.
It probably isn't entirely wise, in hindsight.
Brought out by impulse or instinct, maybe, by his riled temper without any outlet, or maybe it was brought out by just the very fact that Heine is there at all. By the time he'd arrived in the Casualty Communal, that little introduction into the new circumstances had done its work with surprising effectiveness; he'd resigned himself to living without anything to hold onto, to just being forced to bide his time in this city and sit and wait (and it's good that he's had all that practice over the years, and he's become exceptionally good at waiting) and so it'd struck him all the harder, ultimately. Finding out that that was wrong, finding out Heine is right there, breathing the same air almost -- that brought everything he'd pushed down (frustration anger and so much fucking rage) surging to the fore, impossible to put aside and however he looks at it, in these circumstances, he couldn't have done anything differently.
Just a minor lapse.
It'd all happened relatively quickly. He hadn't even really thought about the matter in much depth until Heine had already arranged a meeting, and on his own initiative, no less. Giovanni hadn't even had to prompt him that much, and maybe that makes sense in context; he'd left him high and dry last time, hadn't he? Chewing at the bit with his eyes wide and feral, and Giovanni could play that game forever, just staring into his white furious terrified face and emptying bullets into his body until they clink and ricochet against each other in his organs, lodged together thicker than his flesh, and his gasps become more blood than air and his breath reeks of gunsmoke and metal.
... Heine must really miss him. Isn't it the same for him, after all?
But now there are no interruptions.
He's standing near the staircase. It seems like the most convenient place to be, with a perfect view up the stairs, across the first floor corridor, out towards the building entrance. It's every entry point Heine could use, and that should save him a little bit of trouble, shouldn't it? No chasing him around the building, at least for the moment. No fuss.
His fingers curl in against the railing, tightening until the bones of his fingers grind and ache and get sore on the metal, and he just stands and looks vacantly at the space in front of him, giving away nothing. He just listens.
... No. Nothing too unpleasant.
He just wants to talk, after all.