bartholomew
They're all accurate points, but - "s'not the kind of fightin' I mean," he gruffs out, jaw feathering with frustration at his own inability to make Sunjata understand. But what does it even matter in the end if he does or not? Nate is gone. His twin is dead for the second time, and Bart had been too weak and uncertain of his place in this new, fucked up world to have even raised a finger to try and stop it. All he could do was sit and watch for the second time; like Daedalus standing on the beach, arms vainly outstretched toward a falling Icarus he would never catch and all the while cursing at the sun for its very nature - unable to blame the one most precious, even when they'd been the one to willingly take up those accursed wings.
Their foreheads meet almost painfully, and Bart can only stare down at the bottle that's spilled between their feet, vision blurry. "I ain't got anyone to be mad at anymore," he confesses, and even his tone is angry for the perceived injustice of that. "Even these Ancients are better off than the Ascended were. Th'Old Gods got away scott-fuckin'-free because if the Ascended had stayed in the Sanctuary they woulda been fine. All their prejudice just forgiven and forgotten." By everybody, even Sunjata. It didn't matter to Bart that Frey had been the most accepting, the one to try and help. They were no better in his eyes. "So what the hell am I supposed to do?" Aside from try to cling vainly to his anger with Sunjata, which was already dissipating like mist beneath the Longheat sun the more he spoke to him - which was exactly why he'd tried to avoid him all this time. Needing the scapegoat in his mind to carry on, because having nobody to blame was a hurt too heavy to bear.
Because if he let it go, he had to accept he was a man out of place in this world, already set up for failure and with no way to escape.
Their foreheads meet almost painfully, and Bart can only stare down at the bottle that's spilled between their feet, vision blurry. "I ain't got anyone to be mad at anymore," he confesses, and even his tone is angry for the perceived injustice of that. "Even these Ancients are better off than the Ascended were. Th'Old Gods got away scott-fuckin'-free because if the Ascended had stayed in the Sanctuary they woulda been fine. All their prejudice just forgiven and forgotten." By everybody, even Sunjata. It didn't matter to Bart that Frey had been the most accepting, the one to try and help. They were no better in his eyes. "So what the hell am I supposed to do?" Aside from try to cling vainly to his anger with Sunjata, which was already dissipating like mist beneath the Longheat sun the more he spoke to him - which was exactly why he'd tried to avoid him all this time. Needing the scapegoat in his mind to carry on, because having nobody to blame was a hurt too heavy to bear.
Because if he let it go, he had to accept he was a man out of place in this world, already set up for failure and with no way to escape.
Wake up, or you'll wake up six feet down
nobody's got your back in this town
nobody's got your back in this town
