Outrunning the awful things that make you feel every bad thing you've ever stuffed deep, deep down where you can hopefully bury it until you die is a matter of what feels like life and death, with all the awful things Gary's seen and done lately. He didn't realize how much he still remembered how it smelled when Fox died on his sword arm, of all things, and yet -
Finding Little Cato also feels like life and death, but looking for his boy brings Gary screaming right into the path of a tall, dark-haired woman, who doesn't even shift an inch as Gary runs throat-first into her grip.
"By Grandor's glove," he squeaks out, as the sister smoothly lifts him off his feet, dangling him mid-air by the throat he can barely speak out of - but is still doggedly doing. "You are - you are strong! Hnnck! You're like - like a hydraulic press of a woman, do you get that a lot?"
"You have nothing worthwhile to say, and yet you won't even die quietly," the sister intones, her voice smooth and dark as velvet as she lifts her face to look at him through her unchanging mask, under the wide brim of her hat.
"Strong and -" Gary chokes, his face visibly purpling. "-and stylish too," he laughs nervously, as he scrambles to try and free himself. He seems to have forgotten he can turn one of his arms into a sword. "Did you make your mask yourself? Is it a self portrait? Are you ladies twins?"
"Excuse me?" the sister tightens her grip on Gary's neck, attempting to silence him. The attempt just causes him to make louder, grosser choking noises, followed by his more strained continuous stream of words.
"- not to make this weird or anything, I have a girlfriend, but do you get a certain kind of guy just lining up to be killed by you?"
Real disgust twists the sister's previously calm voice. "You impudent, worthless -"
"I'm just saying! I've seen a lot of me's die! And none of them got to go at the hand of a spicy lady, so if we're talking worst deaths, this wouldn't be -"
"How dare you!"
The sister throws Gary aside. He hits the ground hard, striking his head, his neck bruised, purpling fast like his horse-kicked black eye. He gets up, but it's slow and agonized.
"Oh sorry," he whispers, through his crushed throat, "did I make it weird for you? Did I make killing me weird? Because I -"
He can't see the sister's expression as she draws both her swords to silently make the kill quick, but her voice is still outraged as she interrupts. "Shut up! Shut up, you festering idiot -"
"Hey, I already said I have a girlfriend, stop trying to sweet talk me," Gary says, with an edge of a chuckle, that turns to a wheeze of panic real quick as the sister takes a slice at him. He finally remembers his sword-arm just fast enough to block her first strike, but not her second.
no subject
Outrunning the awful things that make you feel every bad thing you've ever stuffed deep, deep down where you can hopefully bury it until you die is a matter of what feels like life and death, with all the awful things Gary's seen and done lately. He didn't realize how much he still remembered how it smelled when Fox died on his sword arm, of all things, and yet -
Finding Little Cato also feels like life and death, but looking for his boy brings Gary screaming right into the path of a tall, dark-haired woman, who doesn't even shift an inch as Gary runs throat-first into her grip.
"By Grandor's glove," he squeaks out, as the sister smoothly lifts him off his feet, dangling him mid-air by the throat he can barely speak out of - but is still doggedly doing. "You are - you are strong! Hnnck! You're like - like a hydraulic press of a woman, do you get that a lot?"
"You have nothing worthwhile to say, and yet you won't even die quietly," the sister intones, her voice smooth and dark as velvet as she lifts her face to look at him through her unchanging mask, under the wide brim of her hat.
"Strong and -" Gary chokes, his face visibly purpling. "-and stylish too," he laughs nervously, as he scrambles to try and free himself. He seems to have forgotten he can turn one of his arms into a sword. "Did you make your mask yourself? Is it a self portrait? Are you ladies twins?"
"Excuse me?" the sister tightens her grip on Gary's neck, attempting to silence him. The attempt just causes him to make louder, grosser choking noises, followed by his more strained continuous stream of words.
"- not to make this weird or anything, I have a girlfriend, but do you get a certain kind of guy just lining up to be killed by you?"
Real disgust twists the sister's previously calm voice. "You impudent, worthless -"
"I'm just saying! I've seen a lot of me's die! And none of them got to go at the hand of a spicy lady, so if we're talking worst deaths, this wouldn't be -"
"How dare you!"
The sister throws Gary aside. He hits the ground hard, striking his head, his neck bruised, purpling fast like his horse-kicked black eye. He gets up, but it's slow and agonized.
"Oh sorry," he whispers, through his crushed throat, "did I make it weird for you? Did I make killing me weird? Because I -"
He can't see the sister's expression as she draws both her swords to silently make the kill quick, but her voice is still outraged as she interrupts. "Shut up! Shut up, you festering idiot -"
"Hey, I already said I have a girlfriend, stop trying to sweet talk me," Gary says, with an edge of a chuckle, that turns to a wheeze of panic real quick as the sister takes a slice at him. He finally remembers his sword-arm just fast enough to block her first strike, but not her second.