[ for a moment, he thinks he is back home again. lines of trees and foliage no longer stretched on endlessly from every horizon; instead a skyscape of stone buildings, withered and weathered by time and man. a people tucked into its crevices, huddling away from the ones that have the right to call themselves such.
for a moment he sees nina. alex. dr. theo.
worick.
even little betty, too thin but scrappy despite of, because of, her long black tail curled around her body while she laps at the water worick always pretends they have too much of.
back home, it is rank. the streets always smell too much of the darker parts of humanity, of sex and smoke and drugs and blood and flesh. it smells like man and monster and death, sometimes all at once, usually in that order.
he smells that now, too, and maybe that's why he'd gotten so confused. blood and flesh and man and monster and death — all from one, all from him. the celebre must be starting to wear off.
[ he's bleeding, but when is he not? the more suspicious sight would have been a nicolas brown without injury, and especially considering the extent of the fight they'd all just had to slog through. some died, some didn't. some are still in the process of.
he finds her, but not because he's looking for her. his feet were moving (minutes away from dragging, but the celebre is still coursing, still hanging unto its last few minutes) and somehow she's there, looking worse for wear but the death he smells in the air isn't hers.
good.
he waits until she sees him before gesturing — a fist, then two fingers slicing diagonally through the air. ]
[The sight of him---the cuts, the bleeding, the marked slowing of his movements, the gesture he makes toward her---is enough to startle her out of her exhausted daze and into a swift, heavy surge of panic and horror.
The copy of Romeo & Juliet, tucked safely and miraculously still in her bag, suddenly feels heavy, straining against her shoulder as she quickly half-stumbles, half-strides over to him. She looks like shit, honestly; covered in black blood, some of her own blood and that which isn't her own, and cuts from the scourges, from keeping a wounded Sasha safe.
Haven't you had enough of doing these things to yourself?]
What...what are you doing?
[The words stumble out, half-tired, half-sharp. She doesn't mean to sound harsh, but he's bleeding and yet he's still on his feet when he shouldn't be----
Akame swallows, and for a moment, she feels her eyes go damp, remembering Peter and the spear that got run through him. Squinting them shut just as briefly, she takes a deep breath, and she tries to look and sound firm when she resumes speaking, sticking close to Nic's side.]
Nic, you need to lay down. To rest. It's over.
[There's no need for him to stand around like this. He's hurt, badly, and he needs to do something about it before the celebre---which she's sure he took at one point during this disaster---wears off.
Instead, she looks vaguely pleading. There's a cold feeling that's entered her gut, the same as when he protected her from the jekhe.
The same as when Peter was killed.
Akame finds herself clutching not her sword this time, but the book. Her free hand goes for his shoulder.]
I...still have to return the book to you, anyhow; I...I finished it. So...come. Let's go back.
[She tries to force a slight smile, but finds it's only a grimace, and the cold feeling grows.]
[ his limp is a little more obvious now. which is why she'll probably find him off to the side, by some fallen debris. leaning enough that he's put some pressure off his leg, but not quite so heavily that she may find it suspicious. the celebre is all but gone from his system now, and his body screams with a pain that he manages to hide from his posture.
behind him, the camp has begun to pick itself back up. clean the area, bury their dead.
he hadn't stuck around long enough to see how many holes were being dug.
tucked away in his own little corner, he'd argue that he isn't hiding, to anyone willing to listen. but there's no denying the solitude of this chosen spot, away from eyes that have already cried too many tears of grief and frustration. ]
[She always did find him wallflowering, didn't she?
Havoc's got a few cuts, a few bruises, but all in all she's remarkably uninjured for the grueling fight they all just endured. A bit green around the gills, a touch ragged looking. The benefits of working in her old team again, in sync and, oh, yeah- working with a woman who could stop and rewind time at her will didn't hurt, either.
But it didn't prevent her from having to pay for all of the abilities she'd used while time was frozen. She'd had the luxury of paying her obeisance off mouthful by mouthful instead of leaving it for a pint of steaming hot blood come the end of it all, but. She was currently looking for a sufficiently out of the way but not dangerous place to try her best not to vomit up a stomachfull of blood that wasn't hers.
Which is where she finds Nic.]
You still alive?
[A recycled line, but she's too tired for an original, taking in what she can about his condition, (injured, but standing), before she moves to stand near him-
And proceeds to gag, averting her head and putting a hand over her mouth.]
[ she steps into view, and he is confused. she hadn't smelled like he thought she would, like he is used to, but then again, he never did ever catch her immediately after the rituals involved with her condition.
she speaks, and her breath gives her away, though the gagging gesture is also confirmation enough. humorous enough that he doesn't even blink at the irony of her words.
or maybe that just gives him more reason to smile. ]
[She doesn't answer for a minute, busy suppressing her gag reflex with one hand while the other roots around in the black bio-bag at her hip, coming out with a small bag of pills.
The next minute is for popping two in her mouth and convincing her body to swallow them dry. Nausea suppressants.
She'd have to pay the price all over again if she threw it up too soon.]
Very funny.
[Is what she finally gets out, hand still hovering and ready to force herself to choke down anything that might threaten to come up. She reeks of ozone and barely fresh blood.]
[ it's only now that he takes the time to truly assess the damage. outwardly, he looks like he normally does after walking away from a fight. battered, bruised, cut up and bleeding in places that have barely begun to heal from the last time. a laceration alone his left leg has been bleeding profusely since he'd received it, but the color and material of his pants hide most of what dull noses cannot sense. he is standing, even if it's more like leaning, and there is a dry humor in his eyes and quirk of his mouth that seems to suggest all is well. all will be well.
inwardly, there is a clock counting down. the vials that dagger had given him — a drug unlike any celebre he'd ever had before — they had taken their toll, and his organs are slowly paying for them. he is no doctor, but he imagines each one slowly blackening and withering away, at least that's how it feels, though one would assume he's more than used to his body giving up on him by now. ]
for him, there will be no big ceremony. no quiet time taken away from training and cataloging and demolitioning. he will not have tears shed in his name — fake or obligatory or otherwise — because he has done nothing to warrant them.
his life is no loss, and his death will be even less. ]
PlUM.
[ in his fist is an empty pill bottle, drained and downed no more than five seconds ago. the boy's scent is in the air, and he knows he will be heard.
he is a fighter. a weapon. a shield. and he will die as tools do — by wearing out their use. ]
He's paused at the name, but the tone's turned his head. That irregular, sand-papered rasp's come from Nic, and it's shocked him - the elder man's form - how he's bled. Enough that he's startled and frowned his response; heart skipping beats in the cage of his chest, an odd sort of cold at the lengths of his spine. Eyes growing larger each moment, he moves, all but forgetting to breathe as he's run.]
[ what did you do? the boy demands. my job, nic would say, but the twisted, lazy grin on his lips seems to say it all well enough. what use were words to weapons, anyway, when actions speak so much louder.
with a fluid motion, he reaches down to thumb the hilt of his sword. and with more grace than a man of his current physical status should have, really, the katana is withdrawn, inch by inch of sharp, well-worn steel.
it would be the first he's ever drawn it in front of hibari. and the last he'll ever aim it at the boy's throat.
words didn't mean as much as action, but sometimes they do the job well enough: ]
[The hitman's all but laughed response; a mirthless, almost angered sound. For months he'd pressed this man to duel - draw his sword and bleed him, once - and all those times he'd failed, refused. It'd left his pride in shambles then, but drove the younger mad with want; a need that grew as weeds, untamed. Nic, he smelled of blood and death, and all the scent alone was draw; as meat to wolves that hungered, starved.]
Now you'll fight me?
[But, every inch of sword revealed reveals what Kyoya can't hold back.
His eyes were almost dancing now.]
Looking like that?
[Like Hell the boy would turn it down. Instead, he's raised his weapons. Tensed.]
nic has never believed in a god, though he does enjoy reading about them. spirituality is not a luxury twilights are taken to indulging in, because no twilight will look at their life and think, oh yes — someone must surely be watching over me. though the urge to blame it all on some grand, celestial being is tempting; though perhaps the sting of misfortune wouldn't be nearly so sharp if one could pretend they didn't deserve it.
he had hoped death would come quickly. that every blow from hibari's tonfa would push him closer and closer to that final doorstep but in the air, he is not shoved, but guided. gently.
on his back, with his sharp eyes turned towards an unfamiliar sky that is all too clear. he sucks in a ragged breath, and glances towards his companion. ]
[Hibari is gone, as far as Kino can tell—even if not, the kid wasn't paying him any mind (for now), too busy focusing on Nic. The traveler wasn't exactly medically-minded, but they tended to know when someone was too far gone. The way blood loss gave the skin a kind of deathly pallor, and there was something in the sound of his jagged breath that sounded... Kino's expression darkens. Fluid in the lungs, most likely.
He's dying.
He's dying. He's dying. He's dying, he's dying—
Kino actually functions surprisingly well under duress. They'd always had a level head, and Master had taught them well (though many might take issue with her methods). But this is different. This is—this is Nic, and Kino knows the nanites can help a lot but can they help this much? But—it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter, because Kino is already reaching for their nanite gun in the things they keep in the pouch on their bag,] Nic, hold on, I'm... [even though they know he can't hear or understand and...
Instead they pull out something else. Something that they had, in a moment of panic, forgotten that they had up until this point. Something they kept along at all times. Just in case.
But what was that case? The question in Kino's eyes asks that: is it now? Will it help? Will it? He hadn't given them proper instructions—
The kid drops to their knees by Nic's head, popping the cap off of the pen and without second thought pressing the needle into the dying man's neck. He'd done the same for them, not too long ago.
[ had nic had the energy to, he might have laughed at the irony of it all. at the feel of familiar toxins coursing through his veins, already withered and running out of blood to pump. at the utter futility of the gesture, when he had stressed before how significant it was.
i'm sorry, he wants to say, but he knew he didn't have the breath to explain all that he was sorry for. "everything" didn't feel personal enough, and "dragging you into all this" felt too much so. though nic isn't ever really the type to convey much with words, least of all an apology that, in the end, wouldn't really amount to much.
he's sorry, but what does that matter? he's still dying. kino is still here to see it.
when the celebre downer settles, he lets out another breath — softer, but no true difference. no effect from a drug that had as much business here, in this moment, in this situation, as kino did — which is to say, none at all, but that had been nic's fault, hadn't it? perhaps if he'd been clearer about the downer, he might have spared the kid this brief moment of hope. ]
[They didn't know. They don't know, and it was that or the nanites but Kino knows there's only so much they could do—knit flesh, combat symptoms and effects of poisons, return a body to function long enough to get it to lasting care, but it couldn't make blood and certainly not enough to replace all that he had lost. Why, the word is bouncing around in their head, over and over, why, why, why, why. Why as the injection seems to do nothing—what had it been for? why did you give it to me?—why had he been fighting with Hibari when he had so many wounds that seemed too old to be from that fight, why didn't you just go to medical to get help?
Why are you leaving—
Kino shuts the thought off with a clamp, panic and desperation acting like kindling to a spark and a fire—a drive, a new type of urgency. "Your hands are getting steadier." No. No, you don't.] Nic, we need to, [remembering too late, one hand already fumbling through the things in their bags until they find the roll of gauze, taking it out, but they don't know where to start, there's so much; their other hand:] Stop. I have to stop— [they can't remember it, the sign for blood, the sign for bleeding, had they even ever learned that one? But if they had, they can't remember,] Stop—it. Stop it. I have to stop it. Stop.
[Kino, who had left the only person to ever truly care for them back home behind.
Kino, who had knowingly left countries to die out, even after hearing their stories.
Kino, who had left a boy beside the road in the middle of nowhere, begging to be taken along.
Kino, measuring out a length of gauze and trying to find a place to start but there is none, it's all like a circle with no beginning, too much blood and the bleeding is slowing but for the wrong reasons, not enough pressure, too little to continue to escape; alarm and desperation writing itself into a very grim kind of determination and carving something deep under their eyes. They should know better. Kino was no expert, but they had seen enough people mortally wounded to know when there wasn't enough time. It didn't stop them this time, though.
Kino remains seated by his head for a few minutes, hugging their knees so close to their chest they feel they might truly fall in on the emptiness that has begun to eat away there. A sort of void that froze the air in their lungs, made each heartbeat a staggered sort of staccato.
Finally, they reach for the blackglass in their pocket.]
[the battle shortly over, the monster slain, the scourges mostly dead. not-so-silent aftermath, the crew a wounded dog hidden to lick its wounds and count its dead. when the text arrives, his first thought: how.]
[the second thought:]
FROM: hinata.shouyou@cdc.org Don't joke like that Kino
[(she never joked.)]
[he's fast. he moves without believing his own disbelief, though as he draws nearer, he runs faster. the sight that greets Kino's solitary misery is a wide-eyed, shell-shocked looking teenaged boy, whole body (bruised but clean, exhausted but aware) pulling to an abrupt halt the moment he clears the underbrush enough to see.]
[it takes a while. he doesn't send any more texts before arriving.]
[Kino wouldn't see the reply until later. They had dropped the blackglass back into their satchel after sending the messages, returning to stillness. Knees held close to their chest, chin resting on top. Staring at Nic but not really seeing him. They can feel the buzz of the reply, but they forget about it within a few moments.
Silence. Well, in a way. Kino's breathing. Wind between the branches of Machan trees. The sound of birdsong that Kino had never heard before. It was so strange how something that should be familiar only went further to remind how far away they were from anything Kino might recognize.
The birds—Nic had been watching them when he died. He'd almost... seemed happy.
"Once, a man told me that watching the birds fly made him want to go on a journey."
The same was true for Kino. How many times had Kino said that? They should understand, but they can't. Not right now.
It's not too much longer before the sound of a cadence of footsteps and quick breathing announce Hinata arriving. Kino doesn't look up to him. They don't need to to know who it is.
Kino doesn't speak for a while either. Not until it becomes a question who would speak first.]
[as if Kino hadn't spoken at all. brown eyes catch on the still form, bloodied and bruised. the birds overhead, the small body curled up next to it. he can't think. he doesn't move. it just doesn't make sense. so much blood. why wasn't any of it wrapped? why out here, away from camp? Kino had to know. there had to be a reason.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
THE END | DAY 100
>> AKAME
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he finds her, but not because he's looking for her. his feet were moving (minutes away from dragging, but the celebre is still coursing, still hanging unto its last few minutes) and somehow she's there, looking worse for wear but the death he smells in the air isn't hers.
good.
he waits until she sees him before gesturing — a fist, then two fingers slicing diagonally through the air. ]
LEAN GODDAMMIT IM CRY
The copy of Romeo & Juliet, tucked safely and miraculously still in her bag, suddenly feels heavy, straining against her shoulder as she quickly half-stumbles, half-strides over to him. She looks like shit, honestly; covered in black blood, some of her own blood and that which isn't her own, and cuts from the scourges, from keeping a wounded Sasha safe.
Haven't you had enough of doing these things to yourself?]
What...what are you doing?
[The words stumble out, half-tired, half-sharp. She doesn't mean to sound harsh, but he's bleeding and yet he's still on his feet when he shouldn't be----
Akame swallows, and for a moment, she feels her eyes go damp, remembering Peter and the spear that got run through him. Squinting them shut just as briefly, she takes a deep breath, and she tries to look and sound firm when she resumes speaking, sticking close to Nic's side.]
Nic, you need to lay down. To rest. It's over.
[There's no need for him to stand around like this. He's hurt, badly, and he needs to do something about it before the celebre---which she's sure he took at one point during this disaster---wears off.
Instead, she looks vaguely pleading. There's a cold feeling that's entered her gut, the same as when he protected her from the jekhe.
The same as when Peter was killed.
Akame finds herself clutching not her sword this time, but the book. Her free hand goes for his shoulder.]
I...still have to return the book to you, anyhow; I...I finished it. So...come. Let's go back.
[She tries to force a slight smile, but finds it's only a grimace, and the cold feeling grows.]
>> HAVOC
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behind him, the camp has begun to pick itself back up. clean the area, bury their dead.
he hadn't stuck around long enough to see how many holes were being dug.
tucked away in his own little corner, he'd argue that he isn't hiding, to anyone willing to listen. but there's no denying the solitude of this chosen spot, away from eyes that have already cried too many tears of grief and frustration. ]
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Havoc's got a few cuts, a few bruises, but all in all she's remarkably uninjured for the grueling fight they all just endured. A bit green around the gills, a touch ragged looking. The benefits of working in her old team again, in sync and, oh, yeah- working with a woman who could stop and rewind time at her will didn't hurt, either.
But it didn't prevent her from having to pay for all of the abilities she'd used while time was frozen. She'd had the luxury of paying her obeisance off mouthful by mouthful instead of leaving it for a pint of steaming hot blood come the end of it all, but. She was currently looking for a sufficiently out of the way but not dangerous place to try her best not to vomit up a stomachfull of blood that wasn't hers.
Which is where she finds Nic.]
You still alive?
[A recycled line, but she's too tired for an original, taking in what she can about his condition, (injured, but standing), before she moves to stand near him-
And proceeds to gag, averting her head and putting a hand over her mouth.]
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she speaks, and her breath gives her away, though the gagging gesture is also confirmation enough. humorous enough that he doesn't even blink at the irony of her words.
or maybe that just gives him more reason to smile. ]
nAH.
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The next minute is for popping two in her mouth and convincing her body to swallow them dry. Nausea suppressants.
She'd have to pay the price all over again if she threw it up too soon.]
Very funny.
[Is what she finally gets out, hand still hovering and ready to force herself to choke down anything that might threaten to come up. She reeks of ozone and barely fresh blood.]
What happened to you?
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inwardly, there is a clock counting down. the vials that dagger had given him — a drug unlike any celebre he'd ever had before — they had taken their toll, and his organs are slowly paying for them. he is no doctor, but he imagines each one slowly blackening and withering away, at least that's how it feels, though one would assume he's more than used to his body giving up on him by now. ]
i FeLl.
[ he falls down a lot. ]
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>> HIBARI
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for him, there will be no big ceremony. no quiet time taken away from training and cataloging and demolitioning. he will not have tears shed in his name — fake or obligatory or otherwise — because he has done nothing to warrant them.
his life is no loss, and his death will be even less. ]
PlUM.
[ in his fist is an empty pill bottle, drained and downed no more than five seconds ago. the boy's scent is in the air, and he knows he will be heard.
he is a fighter. a weapon. a shield. and he will die as tools do — by wearing out their use. ]
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He's paused at the name, but the tone's turned his head. That irregular, sand-papered rasp's come from Nic, and it's shocked him - the elder man's form - how he's bled. Enough that he's startled and frowned his response; heart skipping beats in the cage of his chest, an odd sort of cold at the lengths of his spine. Eyes growing larger each moment, he moves, all but forgetting to breathe as he's run.]
What did you do?
[He scolds in a short, angered hiss.]
What's happened?
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with a fluid motion, he reaches down to thumb the hilt of his sword. and with more grace than a man of his current physical status should have, really, the katana is withdrawn, inch by inch of sharp, well-worn steel.
it would be the first he's ever drawn it in front of hibari. and the last he'll ever aim it at the boy's throat.
words didn't mean as much as action, but sometimes they do the job well enough: ]
kEpT YoU WAITinG LOnG EnOUgh.
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Now you'll fight me?
[But, every inch of sword revealed reveals what Kyoya can't hold back.
His eyes were almost dancing now.]
Looking like that?
[Like Hell the boy would turn it down. Instead, he's raised his weapons. Tensed.]
Come on.
>> KINO
no subject
nic has never believed in a god, though he does enjoy reading about them. spirituality is not a luxury twilights are taken to indulging in, because no twilight will look at their life and think, oh yes — someone must surely be watching over me. though the urge to blame it all on some grand, celestial being is tempting; though perhaps the sting of misfortune wouldn't be nearly so sharp if one could pretend they didn't deserve it.
he had hoped death would come quickly. that every blow from hibari's tonfa would push him closer and closer to that final doorstep but in the air, he is not shoved, but guided. gently.
on his back, with his sharp eyes turned towards an unfamiliar sky that is all too clear. he sucks in a ragged breath, and glances towards his companion. ]
UGHHHHH
He's dying.
He's dying. He's dying. He's dying, he's dying—
Kino actually functions surprisingly well under duress. They'd always had a level head, and Master had taught them well (though many might take issue with her methods). But this is different. This is—this is Nic, and Kino knows the nanites can help a lot but can they help this much? But—it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter, because Kino is already reaching for their nanite gun in the things they keep in the pouch on their bag,] Nic, hold on, I'm... [even though they know he can't hear or understand and...
Instead they pull out something else. Something that they had, in a moment of panic, forgotten that they had up until this point. Something they kept along at all times. Just in case.
But what was that case? The question in Kino's eyes asks that: is it now? Will it help? Will it? He hadn't given them proper instructions—
The kid drops to their knees by Nic's head, popping the cap off of the pen and without second thought pressing the needle into the dying man's neck. He'd done the same for them, not too long ago.
It has to help. It has to.
Kino doesn't want him to leave.]
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i'm sorry, he wants to say, but he knew he didn't have the breath to explain all that he was sorry for. "everything" didn't feel personal enough, and "dragging you into all this" felt too much so. though nic isn't ever really the type to convey much with words, least of all an apology that, in the end, wouldn't really amount to much.
he's sorry, but what does that matter? he's still dying. kino is still here to see it.
when the celebre downer settles, he lets out another breath — softer, but no true difference. no effect from a drug that had as much business here, in this moment, in this situation, as kino did — which is to say, none at all, but that had been nic's fault, hadn't it? perhaps if he'd been clearer about the downer, he might have spared the kid this brief moment of hope. ]
YouR hANDs aRe geTTinG stEaDiER.
i H A TE YOU LEAN
Why are you leaving—
Kino shuts the thought off with a clamp, panic and desperation acting like kindling to a spark and a fire—a drive, a new type of urgency. "Your hands are getting steadier." No. No, you don't.] Nic, we need to, [remembering too late, one hand already fumbling through the things in their bags until they find the roll of gauze, taking it out, but they don't know where to start, there's so much; their other hand:] Stop. I have to stop— [they can't remember it, the sign for blood, the sign for bleeding, had they even ever learned that one? But if they had, they can't remember,] Stop—it. Stop it. I have to stop it. Stop.
[Kino, who had left the only person to ever truly care for them back home behind.
Kino, who had knowingly left countries to die out, even after hearing their stories.
Kino, who had left a boy beside the road in the middle of nowhere, begging to be taken along.
Kino, measuring out a length of gauze and trying to find a place to start but there is none, it's all like a circle with no beginning, too much blood and the bleeding is slowing but for the wrong reasons, not enough pressure, too little to continue to escape; alarm and desperation writing itself into a very grim kind of determination and carving something deep under their eyes. They should know better. Kino was no expert, but they had seen enough people mortally wounded to know when there wasn't enough time. It didn't stop them this time, though.
He can't. He can't go yet. They can't let him.]
gently touches your face...
YELLS
hello clarice...
deletes you
>> KINO, HINATA, & TESS.
no subject
Kino remains seated by his head for a few minutes, hugging their knees so close to their chest they feel they might truly fall in on the emptiness that has begun to eat away there. A sort of void that froze the air in their lungs, made each heartbeat a staggered sort of staccato.
Finally, they reach for the blackglass in their pocket.]
TO: hinata.shouyou@cdc.org
FROM: kino@cdc.org
Please come quickly.
Nic is dead.
[I don't know what to do.]
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[the second thought:]
FROM: hinata.shouyou@cdc.org
Don't joke like that Kino
[(she never joked.)]
[he's fast. he moves without believing his own disbelief, though as he draws nearer, he runs faster. the sight that greets Kino's solitary misery is a wide-eyed, shell-shocked looking teenaged boy, whole body (bruised but clean, exhausted but aware) pulling to an abrupt halt the moment he clears the underbrush enough to see.]
[it takes a while. he doesn't send any more texts before arriving.]
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Silence. Well, in a way. Kino's breathing. Wind between the branches of Machan trees. The sound of birdsong that Kino had never heard before. It was so strange how something that should be familiar only went further to remind how far away they were from anything Kino might recognize.
The birds—Nic had been watching them when he died. He'd almost... seemed happy.
"Once, a man told me that watching the birds fly made him want to go on a journey."
The same was true for Kino. How many times had Kino said that? They should understand, but they can't. Not right now.
It's not too much longer before the sound of a cadence of footsteps and quick breathing announce Hinata arriving. Kino doesn't look up to him. They don't need to to know who it is.
Kino doesn't speak for a while either. Not until it becomes a question who would speak first.]
Who else do we need to tell?
[Kino's voice sounds very far away.]
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[he can't move. he doesn't.]
Why is he here? Why is he...?
[as if Kino hadn't spoken at all. brown eyes catch on the still form, bloodied and bruised. the birds overhead, the small body curled up next to it. he can't think. he doesn't move. it just doesn't make sense. so much blood. why wasn't any of it wrapped? why out here, away from camp? Kino had to know. there had to be a reason.]
[but why?]
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late night tag sorry for clunkiness
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