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Who is this sassy lost child
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"...God. Shut up."

Jae stopped listening to Jon's rant a few sentences in, seeing as how not getting himself chopped to pieces was a bit more of a priority. None of what he was saying fucking mattered anyway. He could taunt and act like he knew what Jae had been through, like he was somehow better because he had stabbed someone in the front, all he wanted. It wasn't going to change anything. Jon was nothing and nobody, and he always had been.

He had lost the rifle somewhere in the cold, murky water and didn't have time to try and find it. As he forced himself back to his feet, he pulled Dorothy's knife from his belt.

"If you're going to actually do something, do it." Big words for someone who was possibly bleeding to death already. His voice was flat, quiet. There was a buzzing in his ears and fingertips.

Did he care if he died? He wasn't sure.

But if he died here, now, to Jon, that would be his legacy. The villain in some nobody's story because they had decided that they got to choose who and what he was.

There. There was his spark again, maybe the only thing keeping him standing. There. Don't die yet.


Or if you have to die here, die spitting and clawing and make him hurt.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."

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Talons · Water Treatment