( limelight ) overflow

[featherduster]

i preemptively know i'll need this

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( AU )

[featherduster]

An older man with salt-and-pepper hair and Acidia robes sits in his leather swivel chair, one leg crossed at the ankle, one elbow on the oversized arm of the chair. He looks distracted, exhausted. You don’t feel bad for him, and the idea of sitting yourself never even occurs.

He taps the paper on the desk in front of him, then slides it over. There’s a name -- Eugene River -- and a photo, likely snatched from some social media somewhere. Your stomach constricts, that way it does when you want to panic but you know that’s not a luxury available to you.

“Just make it quick,” the man says, like delegating one of a thousand tiresome tasks on a given work day. You read on -- details on his home address, work address, places he’s been regularly sighted within the past month. You’re suddenly thankful you haven’t met up with him in that time.

“Why?” you hear yourself ask. You’ve never asked that before.

The man looks up, exasperated.

“Did we raise you to ask fucking questions?”

You say nothing, feeling a phantom pain in your fingers.

The man waves a hand, like he’s dealing with a toddler who won’t stop asking obvious questions. “He’s been running his mouth. Nightshade wants it dealt with,” he gives you a long look. “So deal with it”

You take it for the dismissal it is and hurry from the room, letting the door close behind you. You can feel your heart hammering in your throat, the physical sensation the only tell to what your emotions might be doing. You rarely check on those. They’re not even supposed to be there if you want to survive, or at least keep your bones unbroken.

Why Eugene? Yeah, he runs his mouth. But he’s a good person. He makes this world better, which is more than he can say for any of the miserable fucks in Cordionna.

Oh, but you do recognize this emotion: resignation. Not that you’re going to do it -- absolutely fucking not -- but that you aren’t, and what that will entail. You’ll lose the only home you’ve ever had. You’ll be separated from your brother -- god, what would you even say to him? You don’t even know how long you’ll survive what will most certainly be the Family’s vengeance, or at least their desire to tie up loose ends.

Eugene will be alive, though. And you’ll be out of this fucking place.

You suck in a breath and set your jaw, moving away from the office door; you’ve got some research to attend to.