Re: Downtown Repose: Alex/Kratos &c
The little boy was far better at languages than his father, and when he spoke it was in nearly accent-less American English, and he even picked up on some of the half-spoken things Alex said, which judging from the expression in Kratos' eyes, he didn't understand at all. "Sorry, sorry, sorry." A small hand touched Alex's shoulder. "I won't forget," Atreus said. He sounded like he would be sick at any moment, and was holding it in by sheer will. Kratos repeated what he had said to him before, the sharp tone, and the boy replied in flat defiance without looking up: "Nei."
Kratos looked unhappy and disapproving, like his son had gone to the movies without permission. The big man looked down at Alex again. He was armed too, the shaft of a large carved axe apparent from over his massive shoulder. Kratos was gray too, but it was the color of his skin, ashy and darkened only by dirt and old tattoos. The two of them were something out of an old Viking tapestry.
The big man looked over the room with a flattened mouth. In heavily accented English he said, "The wound is bad. A mistake. Pain a long time this way. You want me to end pain?" Kratos didn't come from a world of hospitals, where surgeons saved the day and you might recover from an arrow low in your chest if they caught it in time. In his world this wound was mortal, and Alex would die. It was only a question of how long.
Kratos looked at Alex's face and thought he would not be right again. Atreus lied and said, "Yes, you'll be right again. We'll get help, okay? I'm so sorry."
Kratos made a neutral sound that definitely did not sound as if he agreed.