THERE'S ALWAYS AT LEAST TWO VERSIONS OF A STORY. MOST TIMES THERE ARE MORE THAN TWO - THOUGH NOT EVERY VERSION STANDS EQUAL TO THE OTHERS. SOME ARE ONLY FOGGY MEMORIES. OTHERS ARE ONLY A GHOST OF A SUSPICION OF THE "REAL" TRUTH, WHATEVER THAT REALLY MEANT. AS FAR AS WHAT HAPPENED IN THAT TINY ATTIC ROOM IN THE LITTLE HOURS OF THAT DAY LAST OCTOBER, THERE ARE ONLY PIECES OF A STORY LEFT BEHIND. HERE'S THE PIECE THAT MATTERS: THE OFFICIAL STANDARD INVESTIGATION YIELDED NO EVIDENCE OF MISHANDLING OR INDICATION OF ROUGE BEHAVIOUR.
@0azrae7 / SOMETIMES THE BEST THAT WE CAN DO IS T'START OVA.
they knew this could happen. it was always important to note all the ways shit could go wrong and this was one of them: their best and only lead, lying dead at their feet. suddenly, what they'd joked about in the dead of the night before didn't seem so funny. charlotte had figured that she'd could get the guy to turn; recent intel remarked that his relationship with the ultranationalists had soured, and a sense of loyalty turned brittle made for a tempting target. but offer the deal in the wrong way, SHOW TOO MANY TEETH, and no promise of reward or revenge could distract from the ugly truth: that either way, he was trapped. NO WAY OUT. ONLY DOWN. six feet under, to be exact.
CHARLOTTE: WE LOSE HIM AND THAT'S BASICALLY BACK TO SQUARE ONE. GHOST: SOMETIMES THE BEST THAT WE CAN DO IS T'START OVA. CHARLOTTE [LAUGHING]: YEAH? YOU THINK SO? CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR, GHOST. IT MIGHT JUST COME TRUE.
it'd be easy to blame the asset for losing control of the conversation. but she could swear that she'd said all the right things, smiled, assured in all the right ways. he'd been nervous, sure. angry, too, but who wouldn't be? she'd understood where he was coming from, the unfairness of it all. yes, how dare they treat him that way, what, after all he'd done for them? sacrificed? for them! it wasn't right, no, but she knew how they could make it better. wouldn't that be good? to warm yourself by the ruins of the same empire that shunned you, knowing you're now set for life? time to look out for number one! that's right. it was all right. . . until the moment he, like a man possessed, reached for a nearby empty beer bottle, broke the glass on the table - edge, and drove the glass into his own throat before pulling it through and out with a guttural groan that sounded, to charlotte's ears, sickly satisfied.
she'd launched herself across the room with a shout, landing on top of the man, both hands pressed into his neck, blood gushing hot between her fingers. this is how ghost would find her mere moments later, straddling what remained of their best lead, uselessly ordering him to wait while his eyes slid over and in the last second of his life, saw the face of the grim reaper come to take him away.
as the body stilled, charlotte, still hunched over the dead man, heaved a deep breath, loosened her grip on the torn throat, and began to laugh. it was all giggles at first, the bubbly type of joy coming through clenched teeth and passed lips stretched thin into a grin. then, she straightened off the man's still torso and pushed back her hair with bloodied hands; pale flaxen strands greedily took up the crimson colour, her own temples now wet with smudged arterial spray. " Oh, I am in so much trouble! " the giggles returned, but the sound quickly mutated. next, charlotte was bursting with her usual, good - humoured laughter as she rolled her gaze upwards at ghost, her grin genial despite the pointed look in her eyes. " What you said last night. D'you get that from a fucking fortune cookie? Holy shit. Fuck me. Okay. "
a few more giggles escaped her, but that was apparently the last of it. " Okay, " she repeated, pushing herself off the corpse and, with a quick shake of her head and roll of her shoulders, stood to her full height, a foot planted on either side of the corpse's left leg. " Alright. We should, uh, probably get rid of the body, right? I can do the hands. Can you help me with the head, though, please? "
