[While Momo seems to think she has turned off her own feed as well, she accidentally presses the wrong button and ends up calling him back. If he picks up, he'll hear the sound of sobbing.]
[He does pick up, thinking she might yell at him— which, frankly, would be preferable to silence— but instead hears a sound that somehow wounds him worse than any words. Everything in him aches, his hand trembling as he sets the phone on the coffee table, unable to bring himself to shut it off.
Down onto the couch he goes, casting a bleary-eyed gaze over the den of his townhouse, the sound of her sobbing filling the room as his mind turned. What did he have left? Not Pyro, not his dog. Not even his coffee mug. He'd given her his name- that was no longer only his, either.
He pulls his rifle out of the holster, pushing a rattled sigh through him. He's got his gun, but somehow, that's not enough anymore. It hadn't been in some time. He had a gun, but not the job, not even someone to protect with it. What was the point?
He empties his pockets onto the table next to the phone, the feed still on. Bullets, a few packets of sleep aid, his pen, the jar of Jarate, and a few stray Sleeper darts. All of it somehow feels worthless in light of the sound coming through the phone, something he knew he'd broken and couldn't repair.
Hobbling to the kitchen, he gets himself a glass of water and brings it back to the table, setting it on the surface near the phone with a clunk. He tears open one of those packets and pours it in, his hands shaking terribly as he knows getting any rest without her near is going to be difficult.]
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notintehkitchen) wrote2012-02-24 08:42 pm
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Down onto the couch he goes, casting a bleary-eyed gaze over the den of his townhouse, the sound of her sobbing filling the room as his mind turned. What did he have left? Not Pyro, not his dog. Not even his coffee mug. He'd given her his name- that was no longer only his, either.
He pulls his rifle out of the holster, pushing a rattled sigh through him. He's got his gun, but somehow, that's not enough anymore. It hadn't been in some time. He had a gun, but not the job, not even someone to protect with it. What was the point?
He empties his pockets onto the table next to the phone, the feed still on. Bullets, a few packets of sleep aid, his pen, the jar of Jarate, and a few stray Sleeper darts. All of it somehow feels worthless in light of the sound coming through the phone, something he knew he'd broken and couldn't repair.
Hobbling to the kitchen, he gets himself a glass of water and brings it back to the table, setting it on the surface near the phone with a clunk. He tears open one of those packets and pours it in, his hands shaking terribly as he knows getting any rest without her near is going to be difficult.]