[Kaworu thought it would be faster and quieter. The choking sound she makes digs into his ears and rattles the enamel of his teeth. He holds and holds until she's silent. Then he pulls the knife out sending blood splattering, speckling his face like childish freckles.
Did Wiš'adel ever find a home? Or did he tear it from her like everything had always been torn from his hands. Violence upon violence upon violence.
Eventually, he rolls over, not particularly aware of how the crystal still embedded in his body grinds against the concrete as he moves. For a few paces, Kaworu crawls, still gripping the knife, before managing to swing a leg forward and stand with all the strength of a newborn fawn.
He grips the knife tightly against his person as if trying to stop it being taken from him and starts to walk. There's blood in his mouth. Blood keeps dripping into his eyes. He can feel it running down his leg into his shoe. Only some of it is his.
There's so much out in the distance, just beyond the runway. It's so open. It reminds him of first coming to Faerûn and trying to reconcile the impossible amount of freedom at his fingertips. He could walk towards that open space, just try to get there, it doesn't matter if he fails.
But... they won't let me die here. He knows that and he coughs a bitter laugh. So instead, he just keeps walking towards the terminal, hoping he can make it to the First Aid room before he collapses and before anyone tries to help.
He doesn't make it. He knows people will come for him and take him the rest of the way. A part of him wishes they wouldn't but what can he do now.]
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Did Wiš'adel ever find a home? Or did he tear it from her like everything had always been torn from his hands. Violence upon violence upon violence.
Eventually, he rolls over, not particularly aware of how the crystal still embedded in his body grinds against the concrete as he moves. For a few paces, Kaworu crawls, still gripping the knife, before managing to swing a leg forward and stand with all the strength of a newborn fawn.
He grips the knife tightly against his person as if trying to stop it being taken from him and starts to walk. There's blood in his mouth. Blood keeps dripping into his eyes. He can feel it running down his leg into his shoe. Only some of it is his.
There's so much out in the distance, just beyond the runway. It's so open. It reminds him of first coming to Faerûn and trying to reconcile the impossible amount of freedom at his fingertips. He could walk towards that open space, just try to get there, it doesn't matter if he fails.
But... they won't let me die here. He knows that and he coughs a bitter laugh. So instead, he just keeps walking towards the terminal, hoping he can make it to the First Aid room before he collapses and before anyone tries to help.
He doesn't make it. He knows people will come for him and take him the rest of the way. A part of him wishes they wouldn't but what can he do now.]