And just like that, at her words, heâs irate again. The idea people existed that thought they were better, had more power, than them. The military were just as cowardly and corrupt as any regular man, save for those crazies that were said to venture out the walls.
âBullshit. Pigs are pigs and we all know that down here, up where the sun shine it might be a different story. Yâshouldnât let those sorry asses push you around.â Embers are embers, but the manâs still touchy, still capable of burning. It would be a lie to say this isnât stressful on his part, now singlehandedly dealing with the consequences. He takes another moment to breathe, their reality setting in, and he drops it. Heâs waiting for her to look away, staring isnât going to do her any goodâat the bodies or him.
âHad half a mind to take my sweet time dealinâ with âem, but. . .â Thoughts of breaking bones and forcing pathetic begging from their lips comes to mind, although heâd made sure of the latter to a degree. Whatâs done is done, he tells himself. He keeps his distance from her, aware heâs filthy. The stench is worsening, but itâs something heâs used to. Now that heâs grounded himself, he wishes he could have spared her from the brutality. He could have been worse, far worse, but heâd somehow kept himself on a leash. Still nothing a womanâs eyes should see. ââŚanywayâŚâ
He glances down at his handsâblood. Heâd not been as clean or subtle in his approach as he could have been this time around, the state of the bodies were proof of that. Now that the madness is gone, he still doesnât regret what heâs done, but he holds himself a little awkwardly. It was his fashion to be more of a braggart, show his pride in the manner he smirked and grinned, but that side of him isnât showing here. He ignores her thanks and runs drying fingers through his own hair to try and fix the unruliness the fight had caused. Collecting his hat could waitâhe doesnât want everything dyed red.
â⌠I gotta, uhâ clean. Yâshouldnât stay here. Forget what you saw and all that. I know I can trust you to.â
She watches the fight and fire dance in her brotherâs eyes and on his face, watches as it dies down and then raises again - the whirlpool of emotions not as controlled as it usually was for her brother. She knows that those were her words that brought back the hate once more, even after the judgment had been placed on the bodies before her. Like kneeling soldiers they were at her feet, dyed in the crimson that looked just like her own blood once spilled and for all to see. How funny it truly was, to think that something as simple as blood was used to paint her as someone unworthy of a life lived.
âI donât feel sorry for them.â She stands straighter, breathes in deep the stench of death. âNever will I feel sorry for them.â It almost feels like her brother is accusing her of siding with those fools from up above. Even if she knows better than that. Was this a rush of adrenalin that made her think thoughts this stupid? Must be. âNot after...â
A sigh comes next, instead of a finish for what she wanted to say. Better this way, one less reason to remember what they wanted to do to her. She becomes quiet again, nods when Kenny speaks once more. Maybe if she was able to do something more than just be an easy target it would play out differently? She would stop being a burden to everyone of her family and there would be no need to waste time in saving her from others like the corpses lying on the floor...
Instead of voicing out her questions Kuchel simply nods and takes a deep breath once more. âYou can. I wonât breathe a word. I will go home... Should I tell grandfather, he will want to know.â
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