[ . . . ah. kind of like when the world before the weapon revolution used war horses and put them down if they broke anything that made their purpose arduous and useless. or, even in more recent times when soldiers were too far off from any medical salvage and still kept taking breaths. not just a lack of limbs, no, people can survive those, he considers those with holes in them, infantrymen split in half by shell bombing and still conscious, barely hanging on and unable to let go. falco can’t say he didn’t know mercy killing existed or hadn’t seen its practice in some form— hadn’t that been what mister zeke wanted . . . ? after a lengthy stretch of looking at the darkened sky of an autumn’s evening, he sighs through his nose and rests his hand on his branded nape. ]
. . . I understand.
[ even if he doesn’t like it; he dislikes what brought them to it, as a whole. ]
What’ll we do once he comes back? He’s, [ falco swallows, presses his lips together, and sees again, in the downcast glance at soil and stray leaves, the hate that drove gabi from one murder to the next. ] going to be really mad.
no subject
. . . I understand.
[ even if he doesn’t like it; he dislikes what brought them to it, as a whole. ]
What’ll we do once he comes back? He’s, [ falco swallows, presses his lips together, and sees again, in the downcast glance at soil and stray leaves, the hate that drove gabi from one murder to the next. ] going to be really mad.