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Week Six - Tuesday
Who: Watts [Narrative, or OPEN to anyone]
Where: Oh, who knows? Watts doesn't.
When: Very early Tuesday morning
Why: Meanwhile, on the Lions' end...Watts gets some bad news and spirals a bit further down into insanity.
The wind had picked up overnight, to the point where it whistled through the trees, or if one was unfortunate, through the cracks in the walls. Watts didn't hear it, and barely felt it whipping at her hair, or the cold biting at her face as she ran. The only thing she heard was the rhythm of her own worn sneakers on the pavement, beating out a steady, morbid cadence. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.
She hadn't slept last night, instead staying awake to sit on the floor outside the room where the kid she'd gotten shot slowly bled to death. Azrael was no surgeon, but he was the best option available, to tend to the boy. To his credit, their leader hadn't bitched at her about failing in her mission to capture those drifters, nor had he blamed her. He hadn't slept either, and he'd come out of the room at about 4:45 in the morning looking as ragged as she'd ever seen him. He's dead. And then Azrael had gone to his room without another word, with blood stained brown on his blue dress shirt. In a different state of mind, Watts might've wondered if her cold and callous Boss felt as guilty as she did herself. She might've stopped to wonder how the news was going to be broken to the rest of the tribe, and what their response would be. The leaders would probably tell them to go about their business as usual - that was their response to pretty much any sort of catastrophe. Let's all pretend like nothing's wrong. There's nothing to see here. Move along. What would they do with the body?
Watts had seen dead bodies before. She'd shot people, and she'd killed people. Four, to be exact. She'd shot that drifter yesterday, but he hadn't died. Would she feel worse than she did now, if she'd got him in the heart? No, she decided. No, it wasn't the same. That boy, he was counting on her to protect him. She was supposed to keep him safe, and she'd failed. It wasn't as bad when killing another person meant she lived to see another day, when there was only one person whose security she had to ensure. Throw other people into the mix, with a bunch of crap like duty and loyalty, and things in her head got muddled. She hadn't even liked the boy, but now he was dead. Younger than she was, and dead, because of her.
She'd left the Lodge when she found out, and ran. She felt like tearing out of the place, screaming like a banshee, but no. It was just Watts, out for her regular morning jog. Only she ran farther than usual, following the roads until they weren't familiar anymore. She could probably find her way back fairly easily - just follow the street signs - but she could've been in the middle of Wolf territory for all she knew. She could've run straight into Hell and wouldn't have known it, though she thought that maybe she'd be right at home there. It couldn't be much different from what the world had become. Maybe that boy was better off, wherever he was now. Watts wasn't a big believer in a higher power, but she sincerely hoped so.
Feet thudding on the pavement and arms pumping, Watts stuck to the sidewalks. Running helped; after all, it made her too breathless for hysterics.
Where: Oh, who knows? Watts doesn't.
When: Very early Tuesday morning
Why: Meanwhile, on the Lions' end...Watts gets some bad news and spirals a bit further down into insanity.
The wind had picked up overnight, to the point where it whistled through the trees, or if one was unfortunate, through the cracks in the walls. Watts didn't hear it, and barely felt it whipping at her hair, or the cold biting at her face as she ran. The only thing she heard was the rhythm of her own worn sneakers on the pavement, beating out a steady, morbid cadence. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.
She hadn't slept last night, instead staying awake to sit on the floor outside the room where the kid she'd gotten shot slowly bled to death. Azrael was no surgeon, but he was the best option available, to tend to the boy. To his credit, their leader hadn't bitched at her about failing in her mission to capture those drifters, nor had he blamed her. He hadn't slept either, and he'd come out of the room at about 4:45 in the morning looking as ragged as she'd ever seen him. He's dead. And then Azrael had gone to his room without another word, with blood stained brown on his blue dress shirt. In a different state of mind, Watts might've wondered if her cold and callous Boss felt as guilty as she did herself. She might've stopped to wonder how the news was going to be broken to the rest of the tribe, and what their response would be. The leaders would probably tell them to go about their business as usual - that was their response to pretty much any sort of catastrophe. Let's all pretend like nothing's wrong. There's nothing to see here. Move along. What would they do with the body?
Watts had seen dead bodies before. She'd shot people, and she'd killed people. Four, to be exact. She'd shot that drifter yesterday, but he hadn't died. Would she feel worse than she did now, if she'd got him in the heart? No, she decided. No, it wasn't the same. That boy, he was counting on her to protect him. She was supposed to keep him safe, and she'd failed. It wasn't as bad when killing another person meant she lived to see another day, when there was only one person whose security she had to ensure. Throw other people into the mix, with a bunch of crap like duty and loyalty, and things in her head got muddled. She hadn't even liked the boy, but now he was dead. Younger than she was, and dead, because of her.
She'd left the Lodge when she found out, and ran. She felt like tearing out of the place, screaming like a banshee, but no. It was just Watts, out for her regular morning jog. Only she ran farther than usual, following the roads until they weren't familiar anymore. She could probably find her way back fairly easily - just follow the street signs - but she could've been in the middle of Wolf territory for all she knew. She could've run straight into Hell and wouldn't have known it, though she thought that maybe she'd be right at home there. It couldn't be much different from what the world had become. Maybe that boy was better off, wherever he was now. Watts wasn't a big believer in a higher power, but she sincerely hoped so.
Feet thudding on the pavement and arms pumping, Watts stuck to the sidewalks. Running helped; after all, it made her too breathless for hysterics.