David Bossie (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nottheboss) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
etrayalogs2026-03-06 03:52 am
nottheboss) wrote in etrayalogs2026-03-06 03:52 am
(no subject)
WHO: David Bossie and Cloud
WHERE: The chocobo farm and later the subway tunnels
WARNINGS: Violence, death
Bossie hasn't slept in two days. He's tried, but not very hard. Closed eyes here, startling awake a few minutes later. Has he taken his meds? He can't remember. Can't find them, in any case, too distracted when he looks for them to really track them down.
He thinks about going to find Harold, asking him for that potion or tonic or whatever you want to call it, the miracle that gives him dreamless sleep. But it's well past midnight by the time that thought occurs to him.
By that time he's already out walking, breathing soft behind his mask, weapons strapped to his back and waist.
He goes to the chocobo farm, a half formed idea in his head. Birds calm him. They always have. Even these weird, big, dumb chicken looking alien birds. He'll just watch them a while, and then he'll find someone.
Slit their throat. Knife to the brainstem. Easy as hell. He'll hear God then.
He creeps in slow, sticking to the darkest shadows he can find.
WHERE: The chocobo farm and later the subway tunnels
WARNINGS: Violence, death
Bossie hasn't slept in two days. He's tried, but not very hard. Closed eyes here, startling awake a few minutes later. Has he taken his meds? He can't remember. Can't find them, in any case, too distracted when he looks for them to really track them down.
He thinks about going to find Harold, asking him for that potion or tonic or whatever you want to call it, the miracle that gives him dreamless sleep. But it's well past midnight by the time that thought occurs to him.
By that time he's already out walking, breathing soft behind his mask, weapons strapped to his back and waist.
He goes to the chocobo farm, a half formed idea in his head. Birds calm him. They always have. Even these weird, big, dumb chicken looking alien birds. He'll just watch them a while, and then he'll find someone.
Slit their throat. Knife to the brainstem. Easy as hell. He'll hear God then.
He creeps in slow, sticking to the darkest shadows he can find.