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Oliver. King. (cyprian) wrote in bellumlogs,

Trenton watched the plaque for a moment longer before his attention fell to his hands. The others were talking again, and he retreated a step against the wall in favor of silence. His thoughts ran to Aaron, unresponsive and vacant eyed.. to Boyd, shuddering and foaming.. to Callum, blood.. everywhere. He swallowed, it felt rough in his throat. Like choking down a lump of coal, or a raw blade. It was like being too high, or way too sober. Trenton winced, suddenly aware of his own coherency.

"So let's fucking do this..." Trenton was done, he was finished, he wanted out of here. Fifteen minutes was too much. He straightened, casting a crude but serious eye to the girl with no pants. "Ready?"

And then, on a beat of one-two-three, he started, "The murderer and the runaway must sing this rhyme..."