respired: i'll shoulder the load i'll swallow the shame (give me the burden give me the blame)
ᴋᴏʟᴛɪʀᴀ ·sᴜɴsʜɪɴᴇ· ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜᴡᴇᴀᴠᴇʀ ([personal profile] respired) wrote in [community profile] epidemiology 2016-06-23 03:27 am (UTC)

[ He doesn't answer right away. He looks to the cub, now half asleep, its breathing soft and even. His long, elegant fingers ghost over the soft fur of the cub's belly, and she shudders, but does not wake. ]

I learned a great deal from our time in Nalawi.

[ He thinks of how weak he was, how enervated. The field of poppies; the blood from his original death wound, blossoming through his tunic. He thinks of Shishi, warm under his palm. He thinks of Kida, and Ashraf, of so many others.

He stares into his bottle, now mostly empty. ]


I bore too much disrespect. Then, and before then. No more will I suffer it. No more will I remain subdued.

[ His grip on the bottle tightens. ]

As I lay dying in that field of red flowers, I thought at first that it was good, and right. That I deserved such a death.

[ He takes a last drink. ]

But I know now: I do not want to die, however much I might deserve it. I know that one or two here speak true when they claim to care for me. And I know that I will never suffer such disrespect from the others again. Not without consequence.

[ He looks back at Gilgamesh then, his eyes hard, searching. He does not miss the weariness in the other man's face; his voice. Abruptly, and with no segue, he goes on. ]

You are not well.

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