Michael
OUT OF DARKNESS INTO THE LIGHT
IF YOU WANT ME GONE
IF YOU WANT ME GONE
And the gods couldn't do that themselves because…
Michael kept his tongue, though as time pressed on that became more challenging. Gears in his mind shifting, ever turning. Cracks and rust splitting away, falling into metaphorical powder that got him no closer to understanding what in the god damn hell was going on than before. But, at least he had a sliver of something. A tiny handful of information that he could maybe build upon OR do nothing with.
That all depended on how badly he wanted this to end. And, considering how long he had stayed here, his efforts to communicate without the snarl of salt and the sneer of snark, that dim hope that everything might be okay in the end didn't seem so lost after all.
maybe
Quiet again as he digested Hadama's words. Let them settle, didn't immediately strike at them as though they were some threat. Worry lines in his brow a testament to sleepless nights and hopeless days.
"You put a lot of faith in gods that aren't even here." A tight smile, no humor in it at all. More tolerant… as though he felt sorry for the other.
More questions, they were there at the forefront of his mind. But, they would wait. He stepped back once more, closed his eyes. Shielded them with an arm without knowing why. Trusting in this man's warning. And glad he'd done so, the flare of light making him flinch.
When it faded, he slowly parted his eyes, watched the trickle of what had once been ethereal frostbloom shimmer and harden into ice one more. Deeper thoughts, the unknown picking at him, paranoia always right there, whispering, croaking in his ear.
Time to go.
Discomfort raw, prickles of unease more constant, the want to LEAVE a powerful motivator, stronger now after what he had learned.
Now what would he do with it?
Always to the familiar, Michael would go. He watched Hadama and the box that housed the bloom a moment more, then tipped his snow goggles back on and started to walk again. Carried on, decided to continue on his path as long as the man wasn't also going the same way.
"Good luck with your flower and shit, try not to die." Didn't look back as he spoke, sort of waved an arm at him in some sort of parting gesture. And then picked up the pace.
He had to get to the cache before someone else - or someTHING else - found him.
YOU PULL THE TRIGGER YOURSELF
