Michael
OUT OF DARKNESS INTO THE LIGHT
IF YOU WANT ME GONE
IF YOU WANT ME GONE
"A dagger in his chest, huh? Sounds kinky." A faded little smirk.
So, Michael.
Quick question:
What's it like to give zero fucks?
DANGEROUS.
But, that was the truth of it. Kill him here, kill him there. Torture him, tear off a limb, do whatever the god damn fuck you wanna do because Michael had been done ages ago. Just didn't have the courage to take himself out. Didn't think he actually deserved it at the end of the day after what he'd done. Peace? HAH!
Not for him.
Still, his survival instincts were a constant, little alarm bells and tingles in his head. He didn't miss the flick of her tail when he spoke to her, knew in his gut that it was probably best to simply leave. There were plenty of places to get the stone that he needed; didn't have to get it here.
Still… there was something very sad about watching her struggle, and that gentle heart of his ached gently with the belief he could help. Give her a hand in a world where the noose was slowly squeezing each and every one of them into a corral meant for slaughter. At least, that was how he saw it. How he had always seen it, even before the purple alien bullshit had landed here.
"You can glare at me all god damn day, won't change the fact you're destroying that dagger for no reason." He met her gaze. Not a challenge but an acknowledgement. Not much there in blue eyes in the way of challenge anyway, a haunted 'why even try?' glaze there instead.
Moving slow, he pulled the pack from his shoulders and crouched. Opened it and drew out a narrow pick he'd probably stolen from some blacksmith shop. He tossed it her way so it would land close enough that she could reach it but not so close to believe he was trying to murder her with it.
Hopefully.
YOU PULL THE TRIGGER YOURSELF
