065. Coda

[samson]

[In the cabin, Brock and Molotov have been having a heated argument. As heated as an argument can be when it's completely silent, anyway. Gesturing wildly, choking gestures in the air, and a lot of pointing.

Finally, Brock manages to get her to understand he wants her to check on his car. It's important to make sure the Charger is safe, that the garage is secure; if worst comes to worst, they can pile in as many people as they can and make a quick getaway. Once she storms off to do as he asks (he's pretty sure she's going to scratch the paint deliberately but that's okay), Brock snaps open the journal and writes.]

[Like everything else lately, the following is written. Printed, actually; he's trying to make this as legible as possible so it can reach even little kids or people who aren't too literate.]

This is Brock. If you still need somewhere to stay, somewhere safe, I have a cabin southwest of the castle, off the main road. We can all take turns keeping watch, at least until we figure out wh

[The pen jerks to the side, leaving a jagged line and an ink smear.

There's the sound of... something... for about a half minute, sounds of violence. Blows landing, furniture being broken.

Then there's nothing.



And then the door slams. Hurried footsteps, stiletto heels on hard wood. The sound of something hitting the ground hard.

The pen touches the page again, the handwriting different than Brock's. A shaky, quick scrawl.



After, the sound of things breaking -- dishes, glass; fragile things that make noise when they break. Someone trying desperately to get the attention of someone. Anyone.]

Comments

[molotov]

[When he touches her, Molotov looks up, then immediately bursts into silent sobs, reaching over to wrap herself around his neck, desperate to feel grounded.

Ezio is probably the only person she trusts right now.]

[assassino]

[Ezio's quick to pull her in, his arms moving around her and one hand cradling the back of her head. Poor woman.]

[molotov]

[She cries into his clothes for a few minutes, clutching at them, then pulls back slightly to gesture vaguely at the people milling around Brock. She wants them gone -- she barely knows any of them, and they've stormed in like they own the place.]

[assassino]

[Ezio shifts, just enough to look over his shoulder at the rubberneckers. He nods and then pulls Molotov in close again, this time to pick her up and carry her to the bedroom. She doesn't need to watch any of this.]

[molotov]

[Molotov just clings to him like a child would, letting him carry her. She no longer feels like she can walk, or even stand, anyway.

It's strange. She's always reacted with violence before, attacked anything that broke her or that which she loves. But now, since space, she's just felt like her fire is gone.

She presses her face back into his chest. Maybe those things will do her a favor and come for her next. ]

[assassino]

[Ezio shifts her over onto the bed and stays with her a moment longer, cradling her to his chest. He lifts a hand to brush her hair out of her face more.

He wishes he could talk, leave her with some words of reassurance, but holding her will have to do for the moment.]

[molotov]

[Her hair is sticking to her face, from blood and sweat and tears, and she curls up on the bed, reluctant to let him go but still wanting him to go clear out the people hovering over her husband.

Looking up at his face, her own still smeared in blood, Molotov touches Ezio's cheek, trying to let him know that she's okay for him to go take care of business.]

[assassino]

[He lingers just a touch longer, long enough to get her point. Then, as he gently pulls away, he presses a quick chaste kiss to her forehead. Poor Molotov.

And then he steps out to handle the buzzards.]

[molotov]

[She rolls on her side to watch him leave, one arm tiredly snaking under the pillow.

His heart. They took his heart. And she feels like they took hers, too.]