disinterested | Recent Entries

[We'll be seeing you later, too.

Girge had expected to die. Whether murdered, rightfully executed for his crimes, or wrongfully executed scapegoating for the Hunters, it seemed obvious that he wasn't meant to live for much longer. Instead, what he got was everyone—from the Hunters, on Friday night, to the others, this trial—saying that he had to live. That he couldn't afford to die.

Not because of who he was personally, of course, but because his life had become the tool used to determine the outcome of the ritual. He was kept alive for that reason only.

Much like how, back home, he was released from prison only because they needed his skill on the battlefield—to be a sacrifice on the front lines. Even if they didn't consciously think that, Girge knew it was, in the end, what everyone wanted from him. His life has never amounted to anything else. (Well, except to a certain idiot.)

He doesn't know why he ever thought it could be more, even here. Even when he tried, it didn't mean anything.

And now, everyone is gone, and he's—for the most part—alone. Tonight is going to drag on, he knows, as will tomorrow.

He sits atop the second floor railing, staring into the distance.]

In return for the incentive I revoked — my revival — please restore the body parts of those who have lost them (at least Dipper, Mabel, and Andersen), even if they're among the final survivors. Those should be worth less than my life, right?

[Lying on his bed, Girge stares at his arm, as a maggot bursts from the skin.

... It's not real, of course (probably). It's only fitting, really; after being immune to night terrors all this time, it's now his turn for hallucinations. (And this is far better than what others are seeing this week.) But still, the pain—and with it, the restriction of mobility—is distracting.

If he were on a battlefield at the moment, this would be when he dies.

The knock on the door catches his attention, though. Silently, he retrieves his shotgun and places it on his bed, before ascertaining that he has his other weaponry on him. Not that he likely needs them, but it doesn't hurt to be cautious.

With that taken care of, he unlocks the door and opens it.]

[Anyhow, Girge is just casually walking through the motel, before heading back to his room for the night.

... Or so he would.

Except he pauses in the lobby, because what the hell, Andersen.]

Long day, I see.

[The tides are turning. Maybe, anyway. Maybe the Hunters won't make a single move. Maybe they will.

Regardless, Girge knows that he could very well die in this week's trial, so he doesn't have the luxury of waiting until Sunday. He has questions to ask the Unclean—not urgent questions, necessarily, but why pass the opportunity to ask them? Especially when he has a handy dandy communicator available.

... In other words, Tsurugi (who is hopefully not making a bigger mess of his life).

Catching him in private, Girge cuts to the chase.]

Are you available to talk to your "special someone"?

[Well, that execution was something. Girge doesn't know if he feels anything in particular over it—neither horror nor grief. Death is such an ugly thing; he's always known that.

In the end, it's just another day.

And thus, he continues with his usual schedule (?), which is to say that he's chilling in the gardens. He's not playing possum this time at least, instead walking amidst the plants, occasionally pausing to run a gloved hand along the (non-poisonous) flowers.]

( this world has nothing worth noting | but we have plenty of love on our hands )

S	M	T	W	T	F	S
				1	2	3
4	5	6	7	8	9	10
11	12	13	14	15	16	17
18	19	20	21	22	23	24
25	26	27	28	29	30

I hope I've made you proud enough.

(even when I'm hard to love.)

Recent Entries

private convos;

week 5 ( post-trial )

note passed to craftly ( week 5)

week 5 ( tuesday night )

week 4 ( post-trial )

week 4 ( wednesday )

week 3 ( post-execution )

visualosities

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June 2017

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