[Bruno was sprayed with blood. He carried his shovel in a white knuckle gripped hand, entering the school with grit teeth and hesitant steps. He stepped like a martyr, with every step having a thousand bullets pelting his torso. His hair was sticking out from its usual gelled and uniform position, like Love had worked his usual magic. But he wasn't. There. Why did the one time he needed a god to turn to they just turned their nose up?!
Bruno's cassock and robes were stained with blood. Contact had been made on his face as well, making constellations of crimson along his usually warm and beautifully colored skin. He opened the church door, now dragging the shovel like a serial killer. He dropped to his knees before the many crosses he had hung; any religious items from scavenging were given to him. He clasped his shaking hands together, closing his eyes and speaking in a rasp.]
“ Muh...mio Dio, mi pento e....e mi dolgo con tutto-- il cuore dei miei peccati, perché peccando ho meritato i--...ehm.. tuoi castighi, e molto più perché ho offeso te, infinitamente buono e degno di essere amato sopra ogni cosa. Propongo con il tuo santo aiuto di....di...eh...non offenderti m-- mai più e di fuggire le occasioni prossi-- prossime di peccato. Signore, misericordia, perdonami. ”
[Bruno hesitated, he stopped and sniffled occasionally. He beat his knuckles idly against his forehead when he forgot, searching for the words in his bones. He then opened his eyes, sighing.
Today was Sunday. He wasn't clean. And there were eyes on him. Eyes he knew all too well-- back to frequent appearances. No bed service for Lasha anymore.]
“ There will...ehm...be no service today. ”
[He muttered, squeezing his eyes closed again.]
-♥️ FATHER NOLD ..
[Theyd followed the trail and the scent of blood, how could they not? If someone is bleeding and needs medical attention how could they ignore that? Even if they couldn’t provide the services necessary, they could get Temujin or Ilya — or hell even Arseni. The beast knows how to provide stitches.
The sound of their cane tapping the ground was the alert to their footsteps. The soles of their shoes had worn down, and practice made their footsteps nearly silent. The cane impedes the ability to remain quiet.]
..god I’d hope not.
[Not with Bruno in such a state, they aren’t too surprised at the sight of blood and gore. They’re far too used to it anyways, the scratches and splinters at the bottom of their cane — along with the red stains — proved that.
Though, nowadays, Lasha doesn’t even come to the church, unless they need somewhere quiet to think. They don’t want to admit it, but recently they weren’t too sure they even believed in God. Not in a loud revelation, but in a quiet lost hope. God isn’t watching.]
Is it your blood?
[First order of business. Figure out if Bruno’s actually injured or just experiencing shell shock. If it’s his blood, they can get the nurse. If not, they can clean up and talk him through the experience he’s just faced.
It’s… easier. If it isn’t his blood. Lasha figures it easier to distance yourself from the cruelty you inflict on others than it is to allow yourself to get injured so you remain pacifistic. Temujin doesn’t see that. Temujin is a pacifist, a peace marcher a thinker ahead, conscience of mankind. And he’s got the scars to prove how far he’s willing to go for his beliefs.
Lasha isn’t. Not anymore. They find themself fence sitting, a little dead in their aspirations. This cataclysm had robbed them. They don’t give a goddamn about anything anymore. They smell like cigarettes and bad whiskey and antiseptic. They tell themself it’s not an addiction because they still function. And because they still function, those around them don’t see the addiction.
They kneel down in front of Bruno, setting their cane beside them and offering their hands to the priest. He might be experiencing a crisis of faith right now, Lasha understands the feeling. The sudden realization that God isn’t watching, that God loves you but not enough to save you.
Their eyes are cold as they examine Bruno’s face, searching for a source of the blood. Their eyes are like a statues, clinical and ever watching. An image of Mary forsaken.]
[Bruno doesn't seem to want to answer. He hesitates, the answer trying to crawl away with broken fingers and dirty nails. Clawing at the walls of their eternal grave they have dug for only themselves. Bruno gathers his thoughts, clearing his throat with a soft *hem*. His shaking hands clutched his rosary, slowly lowering to the ground as the cross hit tile.]
“ No. ”
[He had killed. The pacifist mindset he held, the deep root with religion he had. Bruno let his head lift slightly, looking over at the shovel he had dragged in. Dipped in dirt and blood underneath, he had swung it and bludgeoned someone with the metal end. He reached up, rubbing some of the blood from his face and onto the already stained cassock. Better than getting the stuff in his eye.]
“ I..- I don't know what they...I.... Mio dioooo .. ”
[Bruno began to wail pathetically. He sunk from his kneeling to letting his legs spread to his sides, covering his face in shaking, dirtied hands and whimpering. He shook his head around, more tears falling and wetting the slightly dried blood beginning to drip again. When his shaking hands left his face, he looked up at Lasha with wetted eyes. A few more tears fell, and he sniffled again.]
“ I...I killed someone. And now the Lord must forgive me if I just...I...”
[He was using repentance as a way to justify his actions in his head, and when he caught himself mid statement, he grabbed both sides of his head in dismay.]
“ I don't know what I'm DOING anymore! Love won't answer me, God won't answer me, I'M NOT GETTING ANY ANSWERS! ”
[His shout was more like a hoarse orchestra of squealing; it got higher with his words, and excelled in pitch rather than volume. He looked up at Lasha, the knuckle of his thumb coming up to his lips to idly bite with his prayer. He shook around the rosary slightly.]
“ I'm sorry. I'm sorry. No. You shouldn't be hearing this. It's not my place. ”
No. No. Please, continue.
[They lick their thumb, rubbing some of the dried blood off of Bruno’s cheek. They wished they’d had a wash cloth or anything of the sort. Spit will have to work as a substitute. They take Bruno in their arms and hold him against their warm body, a reminder that he’s alive— here, in the moment. Lasha’s heart is beating next to his ear. Elevated and rabbit quick. Breast against cheek, arms around back and hands tangled into hair.
Lasha holds him, because they don’t know how else to help.]
You did what you had to do.
[Everyone else does what they have to do to survive. Does the wolf feel guilt for the deer? Everything eats and is eaten.
Guilt doesn’t absolve though. The dog that weeps is no less guilty than the wolf that remains impartial. Lasha’s voice is a sad violin playing in a sinking ship, an attempt to keep those scrambling calm. Lasha will die with the ship, playing one last sonata.
They will play the symphony for Bruno if it keeps his head above water.
They pet his hair, nails scratch at his scalp, bitten and uneven and brittle and light like an insect crawling on the skin. A spider weaves its web around the two, when their bones are discovered they will be taken to a museum. Nobody will know their names, nor their stories. They will be mislabeled and misrepresented. Lasha will be framed as a man, Bruno as a woman. The two will not be known.
But for now, in the north field, the two are alive and hanging by their teeth to a world turned on its head. If they looked into the sky— the cosmic radiation is bright in the background, there are twice as many stars as usual.]
“ No... No no you don't GET it! ”
[Bruno shouted. But he didn't mean to. He went to stand but found himself in their grasp without even realizing. He hardly felt their touch because it felt as if every nerve ending and muscle was buzzing. Like thousands of tiny insects crawled his skin and felt around. He whined.]
“ I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell. I...”
[Bruno's fingers came up. Thin, bony things twitching and feeling his hair. He was twirling the thick curls over his fingers, shivering as he thought. He could still see the man's shocked face. He was being followed...so he just reacted. He turned around and swung the shovel on him. Hoping only to knock him out. But it pierced his neck. Swung too low, too fatal. Blood poured from the wound and the man choked. All Bruno did was watch in fear.]
“ I killed a person. I thought-- I thought. I don't know what I thought. I just. Had a feeling. ”
[Bruno was trying to articulate his terrible instincts. Something you'd want someone to have a lot of; until they were wrong. Until the visitor that stalked them wasn't so scary anymore...and was just the corpse of a human that innocently walked by him.]
