One hour after Pyro had left RED base, and their argument was still fresh on Sniper's mind, her accusations cutting him to the quick. Truth be told, he couldn't put his loyalty to her into words, couldn't formulate just how he felt about her. He could repeat her words to him, but they were apparently meaningless to her if they weren't his own. That didn't mean they didn't accurately portray how he felt, but she wanted more- more than he knew how to give her at that moment.
Two hours, then three, and he had still been sitting on the top step, his stewing having simmered down to nothingness as he realized she wasn't coming back. Her absence left him hollow, both himself and the house not much more than shells, the space filling with an unnerving silence without the sounds of her in the kitchen, in the bedroom, speaking to him. He'd still have been sitting there, waiting at the fourth passing hour had he been alone in the house; however, he wasn't. Teriyaki was the one who dragged him from his vigil, scratching at the door for his afternoon walk. RED had sighed, stood, and obliged. He still had a job to do for someone.
Four days after her departure, and he'd taken the dog and was staying at his townhouse, deciding he didn't want to be there when she came home. Anger had taken hold of him, bitterness festering in his chest from the wounds she'd inflicted. He'd tried his best to show her what she meant, to be a better person for her, and look at the thanks he got! She hadn't even pretended to be happy to see him, jumping right to accusing him of everything under the sun, from leaving her entirely to infidelity. He'd brought her a gift— not something he'd pulled out of someone's yard, but a real gift, one he'd put a lot of effort into— and she'd had the gall to claim he was gallivanting about.
It was a slap to the face, and one he considered a wake-up call. He didn't need her. She'd said he was trying to be something he wasn't— which admittedly he was, but he was trying to be someone better, someone who acted the same way he felt, someone capable of making her happy— and now she was the one out doing who knew what with who knew whom. Just the thought of that burned him, fires in him stoked with jealousy.
Six days after her exodus, he and Teriyaki took to the woods; embittered wrath had become a creature he could no longer control, manifesting itself in a tantrum that left his townhouse in shambles, furniture shredded, coffee table kicked on its side and bearing long marks from his knife. He'd convinced himself he didn't need her, nor did he need anybody. All he needed were his weapons and the wilderness that surrounded the city, the uncivilized forest closer to home than the tall buildings and concrete walls of Paradise. His dog went with him, always at his master's call. They would watch each other's back. That was their shared job, now.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2012-04-30 05:47 am (UTC)Two hours, then three, and he had still been sitting on the top step, his stewing having simmered down to nothingness as he realized she wasn't coming back. Her absence left him hollow, both himself and the house not much more than shells, the space filling with an unnerving silence without the sounds of her in the kitchen, in the bedroom, speaking to him. He'd still have been sitting there, waiting at the fourth passing hour had he been alone in the house; however, he wasn't. Teriyaki was the one who dragged him from his vigil, scratching at the door for his afternoon walk. RED had sighed, stood, and obliged. He still had a job to do for someone.
Four days after her departure, and he'd taken the dog and was staying at his townhouse, deciding he didn't want to be there when she came home. Anger had taken hold of him, bitterness festering in his chest from the wounds she'd inflicted. He'd tried his best to show her what she meant, to be a better person for her, and look at the thanks he got! She hadn't even pretended to be happy to see him, jumping right to accusing him of everything under the sun, from leaving her entirely to infidelity. He'd brought her a gift— not something he'd pulled out of someone's yard, but a real gift, one he'd put a lot of effort into— and she'd had the gall to claim he was gallivanting about.
It was a slap to the face, and one he considered a wake-up call. He didn't need her. She'd said he was trying to be something he wasn't— which admittedly he was, but he was trying to be someone better, someone who acted the same way he felt, someone capable of making her happy— and now she was the one out doing who knew what with who knew whom. Just the thought of that burned him, fires in him stoked with jealousy.
Six days after her exodus, he and Teriyaki took to the woods; embittered wrath had become a creature he could no longer control, manifesting itself in a tantrum that left his townhouse in shambles, furniture shredded, coffee table kicked on its side and bearing long marks from his knife. He'd convinced himself he didn't need her, nor did he need anybody. All he needed were his weapons and the wilderness that surrounded the city, the uncivilized forest closer to home than the tall buildings and concrete walls of Paradise. His dog went with him, always at his master's call. They would watch each other's back. That was their shared job, now.