[ her voice comes quiet enough that the words take a while to unstick from her throat. but they come out clear, pinning themselves to the air between her and elias. she circles her fingers around the bone of his ankle, a light touch, a brittle reminder that she's real. that she has done much with her hands the past two weeks, feeding him and holding him, strapping him to a bedframe and pressing the muzzle of a gun to the soft parts of his head. ]
Killing me is the worst thing you can do at the moment. I'm not worried about that.
[ it's true enough. it's true in the only way that matters; johnny could die in this room and the wretched thing that bound itself to her will find a way to bring her back. every cell in her body no longer belongs to her. not one hair, not one fingernail, not one drop of spit or sweat. she bleeds and the red glistens with holy light for those with eyes to see.
angels are the greediest creatures to ever walk the earth. she has looked upon them and learned to be afraid. just as gabriel had appeared before the young mary, the handmaid of the lord, mother of ends and beginnings — an angel came upon her and bid her serve them.
for this is my body, which will be given up for you and for many.
there is no other answer allowed but yes. that's the difference between man and other, johnny knew; a man could say no and mean it. anything else could say no, and find itself twisted by circumstance or some greater force until it either died or surrendered.
death would be easy. killing each other, killing elias, or killing her — that would be the easy part. so she asks; ]
How much of a man do you need?
[ her hand tightens just the bit around his ankle. shifts, moves up to his calf — the muscle is stronger there, and she can feel it jump under her touch, even through the scratchy denim he's wearing. seven millimetres further back, and she can paralyse the leg with a needle.
he needs new clothes. she'll find him something when they get to the city. ]
no subject
[ her voice comes quiet enough that the words take a while to unstick from her throat. but they come out clear, pinning themselves to the air between her and elias. she circles her fingers around the bone of his ankle, a light touch, a brittle reminder that she's real. that she has done much with her hands the past two weeks, feeding him and holding him, strapping him to a bedframe and pressing the muzzle of a gun to the soft parts of his head. ]
Killing me is the worst thing you can do at the moment. I'm not worried about that.
[ it's true enough. it's true in the only way that matters; johnny could die in this room and the wretched thing that bound itself to her will find a way to bring her back. every cell in her body no longer belongs to her. not one hair, not one fingernail, not one drop of spit or sweat. she bleeds and the red glistens with holy light for those with eyes to see.
angels are the greediest creatures to ever walk the earth. she has looked upon them and learned to be afraid. just as gabriel had appeared before the young mary, the handmaid of the lord, mother of ends and beginnings — an angel came upon her and bid her serve them.
for this is my body, which will be given up for you and for many.
there is no other answer allowed but yes. that's the difference between man and other, johnny knew; a man could say no and mean it. anything else could say no, and find itself twisted by circumstance or some greater force until it either died or surrendered.
death would be easy. killing each other, killing elias, or killing her — that would be the easy part. so she asks; ]
How much of a man do you need?
[ her hand tightens just the bit around his ankle. shifts, moves up to his calf — the muscle is stronger there, and she can feel it jump under her touch, even through the scratchy denim he's wearing. seven millimetres further back, and she can paralyse the leg with a needle.
he needs new clothes. she'll find him something when they get to the city. ]
Do you need them alive?