No one leaves the table.
Jan. 3rd, 2016 12:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
unsociablyIt's his first kill, technically.
Technically.
He's killed a million times in a million different ways. He's killed and honoured every part, worshipped every part of her. He's taken the lungs from people, twisted it around, slit their backs and made them into angels. He's removed brains to make room for beehives.
He's watched mushrooms still grow on the living, watching their life dim as new life flourishes.
See? Garret Jacob-Hobbs had said, sliding down from the 10 shots Will had administered to him. See? He had said, and Will can't close his eyes without seeing, now. His face, eyes so very blue, biting into him. Staring into him.
He sees Garret Jacob-Hobbs slit his own daughter's throat. Sees her laying in a pool of her own blood, looking so very much like a gutted fish. A fragile teacup, shattered not with clumsiness but with an intent.
Honour every part of her, his mind speaks out to him. Seems to whisper, though the whisper is a foghorn, loud and echoing despite hissed words.
It's his first kill.
It's his first kill and he can't seem to keep the gun straight, and though he's never been good at aiming but he's never been this bad, never missing the entire target, but it's hard to focus when you see not the sheet of paper, but a bloated, dead corpse.
He keeps firing.
He doesn't know why, either.
Technically.
He's killed a million times in a million different ways. He's killed and honoured every part, worshipped every part of her. He's taken the lungs from people, twisted it around, slit their backs and made them into angels. He's removed brains to make room for beehives.
He's watched mushrooms still grow on the living, watching their life dim as new life flourishes.
See? Garret Jacob-Hobbs had said, sliding down from the 10 shots Will had administered to him. See? He had said, and Will can't close his eyes without seeing, now. His face, eyes so very blue, biting into him. Staring into him.
He sees Garret Jacob-Hobbs slit his own daughter's throat. Sees her laying in a pool of her own blood, looking so very much like a gutted fish. A fragile teacup, shattered not with clumsiness but with an intent.
Honour every part of her, his mind speaks out to him. Seems to whisper, though the whisper is a foghorn, loud and echoing despite hissed words.
It's his first kill.
It's his first kill and he can't seem to keep the gun straight, and though he's never been good at aiming but he's never been this bad, never missing the entire target, but it's hard to focus when you see not the sheet of paper, but a bloated, dead corpse.
He keeps firing.
He doesn't know why, either.
no subject
Date: 2016-01-07 02:55 am (UTC)He's not even sure why he did. Maybe because Will reminds him a little bit of himself.
Tim smiles, just a little, and it's small and void of any warmth or humor. That sounds about right. Serial killers, terrorists — different brands of the same kind of terrible shit.
He does not envy Will, though he imagines Will doesn't envy him either.
"At the shootin' range," Tim starts, and pauses briefly to take another drink of his bourbon. "You said you had a hunch that I was military. Is that really all it was, or was there more to it than that? What gave me away?"
Not that he's hiding it, but he doesn't really advertise it, either. He rarely wears his dog tags for a reason. And he's not really built like a soldier. Not anymore, at least.