❛ i don't really do regret. no point in looking back. ❜
“I guess… but I dunno. I’ve got a lot to look back on.”
Ree’s feet dangle as they watch the sun set over the cliff side. Lupin is settled next to them. Their Aipom is on their head, and she’s breathing softly, eyes closed.
It’s been fun. It’s always fun when Lupin comes to town. Ree swallowed and doesn’t look over to their friend.
“I mean … I regret a lot. Getting hurt all the time. I guess I’m just super unlucky, cause every time something bad happens I lose a chunk of flesh.”
"... Additions to the gang makes one question the role connections. Considering it closely, I qualify best as the Grandfather, if we look at it in a familial way."
"That way, if a nephew or niece is misbehaving,
I have the authority to sever their connections to the family. Permanently. "
despite the circumstance, he doesn’t seem bothered . said bullet is between his fingers, then TOSSED back into the man’s hands . ❝ you gotta work on that itchy trigger finger if you’re gonna also get caught stealing like a chump . are you a rookie, or something ? ❞
slightly inspired by your latest reply to me, so: does jigen have a single job he'd class as The Worst?
what makes a job bad? what makes a job good?
Oo! This is a good question, I like this. There's a list for good jobs to check off. The following apply, but are not limited to,
Treasure recovered ✓
Got to eat food ✓
It was fun ✓
Got to show off skills ✓
Ran away without issues ✓
There was time to smoke ✓
The worst job ever was one he took on his own.
He was in Germany. As early as late November is when the weary city starts to come to life with lights, and the people become a smidge more alive and excited, the younger more than the ones restlessly walking around the markets. The rooftops were slick with ice that had melted just a little in the morning,and now laid over with greyish snow.
It was deceptive, how warm he thought his jacket would be in this weather. The wetness in the air makes the cold pierce through thin lined suits, even with layers to add thickness. The smallest hole let in cold air, even the slits where his buttons were pushed into their loose slots, seemed like open rips, straight to his skin. His cotton tie was cold to the touch when he brushed a snowflake off of it,belly against the slanted roof, where he'd had to clear a spot for himself to avoid higher chances of hypothermia, especially with the wind picking up. Unfortunately, without a mop, he couldn't prevent the pack of cigarettes in his pocket from getting soaked. The ache from the cold, and in his stomach was ignored, in favor of following a head in the crowd. It would be a while until Munich would clean up the festivities and this glitzy shut-in would disappear for another year.
He came early.
At the time, he was working down a hit list for a client that was going to pay him well for swiftness. It was a revenge that wasn't his own, and therefore, paid handsomely.
But there's always someone with roughly the same amount of cash, looking to take out a rival. Two birds, and one bullet flung in his direction that made him skitter away from his rifle. He was younger back then, jumping and bailing on an operation would save his life faster than trying to locate where the bullets were firing from.
The problem with being so reactive is that you miss key details, and for him, it was the patch of re-frozen ice that he stepped down onto, and his foot giving in at just the wrong moment. Spinal damage would've been catastrophic if he'd fallen off, but his ankle refused to agree. It made him crawl back in agony to the window, narrowly missing bullet after bullet. Managing the steps was a rush of adrenaline, to get out fast, and use all the weight he could afford onto the banister. A pole just outside the door kept him upright for seconds, until the very moment a familiar face came into his view, now in high definition and barely affording him a once-over before taking a flourishing step ahead.
To anyone else, he looked taken aback by her chic beauty on a blistering cold day, so badly, that he fell again, into the hands that would lay him into a warm bed, cuing six weeks of recovery.
Not only was she someone of taste, but of heart, too. The irony made him silent, trying to remain uninteresting to the woman who had a dozen photos or more circulating in the papers of the man she'd caught in a deathly swoon, had she not caught him. She'd deemed herself his savior, and filled the silence of her guest room with simple English, which was met with affirmative grunts, or exasperated shaking of his head in the beginning of those long weeks. He learned her name, likes, dislikes, the fashion opinions of the time, her loneliness, the missing pieces of her family, and romantic view of the world, despite it all. She was vain, but naive.
She learned that he was always hungry, and could be bribed with a bowl of anything that had meat as the main dish. Whatever filled the hours between, in turn, kept her away from flashing cameras, and she could keep him responding and talking if there was food involved. She learned that he had a sense of humor, and could be charmingly irritating on purpose, once she started to learn more of the language.
In the end, it wasn't his finger on the trigger when her end came. But it was his bullet, and that was all his employer needed to sign the check over to him.
Sorry for the mess we’ve left in your vacation home! My charge visits often when they need a break, some peace and quiet. But what a horrible house guest they are! leaving their socks anywhere that suits them and forgetting about them.
still.
I understand why you gave it to them. You have my gratitude for that. My charge always tries to replace what snacks they consume — though it’s hard to find some of the kalosian snacks you prefer !
