Another completion of the mission where Tintin “throws his subordinates under the tanks,” but today Haddock acts as a victim as cannon fodder. Everything is according to the well-established scheme: come, throw the bait, do what you have to do, take what you need, and leave while all your attention is focused on the money. But today Tintin felt especially lousy. It seemed that the long-dead feeling called conscience, the echoes of humanity, was again stirring in his flesh like a parasitic worm, causing so much pain and generating such a stream of self-deprecating thoughts that it would have been easier to lie down in the middle of a mountain of corpses and die.
Today he killed Haddock. Or so it seemed to him, at least.
After feeding Cole (Milou), Tintin, with a gentle pat on the dog’s back, straightens up and throws a pistol in a crumpled holster onto the kitchen set. Walking around the living room with heavy steps, he reluctantly disentangles himself from clothes soaked in death and gunpowder and casually throws them on the floor on his way to the tall floor mirror.
Having examined himself from head to toe with a completely emotionless face, his hands seem to be reaching out to his own reflection, but in the process they suddenly cling to the frame and tip the mirror onto its side, causing it to crack and break, and the local crime lord howl at the ceiling from powerlessness.
But the Captain was... is no stranger either. He got out of whole ass and through the entire city on his own two feet reached the apartment that they shared together for a period of (forced) cooperation.
Passing the anxious glances of the ladies coming out of the front doors, and later the spindle-woven bars of the elevator, he almost mechanically presses the button for the desired floor. There is a terrible ringing in his ears, his head is pounding, and in order to give the picture floating before his eyes at least some clarity, he runs his big palm over his face, smearing traces of blood and sweat under the wet strands of his charcoal bangs.
Tintin, aiming his pistol out of boredom and devastation at the lone light bulb on the wire, turns his gaze from its bright spot to the front door. Cole, resting on the woven carpet, looks up just as puzzled at the sound of the doorbell. The hand with the gun falls almost powerlessly down, and Tintin reluctantly gets up, leaving behind him an upturned living room, unheard screams soaked into the wall, and a half-empty bottle of scotch. And imagine his surprise when the one whom he had already ridiculed, buried, mourned and bargained with God for his own confession appeared behind the opened door.
For Haddock, the ringing in his ears and the pain in the back of his head fades into the background at this moment. His eyes are wider than ever before. The last thing Haddock expected now was to see behind the door of his own apartment the one because of whom he had become cannon fodder, a pawn, an ordinary consumable.
Tintin thinks that it was a strong emotional shock that caused his hallucinations, but everything becomes very tangible and obvious when he is grabbed by the throat, strangled and pushed deeper into the apartment. The pistol held flimsily in his hand falls with a thud and bounces off the floor, the guy’s nails leave hot scratches on skin, clinging to the hope of lowering himself and breathing. Haddock's eyes burns like flames consuming the witch's body. He growls almost gutturally, unable to suppress the desire of the inner monster to strangle with his bare hands this impudent, arrogant and bastard pain in the ass, who imagines himself to be the Lord God.
But his plans are quickly ruined when faithful Cole rushes to help his owner, and the sharp pain from the bite makes the Captain cry out in pain. A set of moral rules and guidelines forbade Haddock to show any kind of rude attitude towards his smaller brothers, but today he would have to neglect this if he wanted to get rid of a problem of worldwide proportions that fit into an arrogant one and a half meters and an infuriating red forelock.
The help of his four-legged friend was invaluable, and Tintin, stumbling back, greedily tried ti breath, clinging with his hands to objects that were on the surface of the chest of drawers, which he had just flown into. Haddock, having sent the Doberman over the threshold of the apartment with a significant (but not violent) kick, slammed the door and turned around with the same belligerent look. Tintin threw a heavy vase at him (which, however, the Captain fought off with an aggressive crash with only one hand) and immediately rushed to the gun on the floor to defend himself. But he was very quickly knocked off balance by a blow to the solar plexus and collapsed next to it, twisting and trying to breathe when he couldn’t.
– You damn bastard, you just decided to get rid of me, huh?! - Haddock rumbled like the sea typhoon. - I was a complete idiot when I decided that you had even a DROP of humanity! But that's enough with me, brat. Today you will receive what you have long deserved.
Tintin is pulled by the collar, dragged along the floor like a sack of potatoes, and he does not resist, still trying to catch his own breath, but realizing in the corner of his mind that today he will have to pay very generously.
______________________
Well, at this moment, you can decide: the Captain is going to beat Tintin so that his own mother will not recognize him, or for educational purposes he will fuck him until he screams. adios-ss.
I am VERY sorry for any translation errors. You have no idea how difficult it is to adapt your native language to English and at the same time try not to lose the character of what is happening.
The soundtrack to which this was all written:
Warmer – In my head it's like hell.
blakekathryn
tangentwithtanner
