#charbot

The violent slam of an elezen man’s back against the unforgiving stone of a bluff deep in the Shroud was enough to finally pull him back to the land of the waking. There’s not much left of his memory of the day after having been sent a free drink from an admirer at the tavern. Were he a slightly smarter man he’d likely have realized that wasn’t a coincidence, but in fairness to him it did very suddenly have a large boot driving down against his chest. Trying to dislodge it quickly informs him that his arms and legs are bound up tight, so he can’t do much more than wiggle aggressively. “The fuck is going on? Untie me! Let me up! This isn’t a fucking game!”

“You’re right, it’s not.” The owner of that over sized boot leans down, throwing some extra weight onto the limb keeping him pinned and bringing her face into his view. Even with the metal plate and glowing red eye, it didn’t take him long to piece together who his captor was, nor find any comfort in the icy, expressionless look she had turned down upon him. “I believe you made it very clear a couple decades ago that we wouldn’t be playing games anymore, Charbot.”

“Brem?! What.. just.. let me go! You can’t still be pissed about some shit that happened when we were kids!” The roe pulls back on her pressure a bit, just enough to get him to start leaning up so she could drive him back down against the rock again. Chabot flies into a proper panic though as she unholsters her absurd revolver and presses it’s barrel against his neck. A stream of pleas come bubbling up out of the elezen even as his chin bumps against the gun’s cold steel as he does so. “No! Nononono! Please! Wh-whatever this is, it doesn’t have to be like this! I.. I have a wife! Children!”

“Married yourself a duskie, I know. Three kids, oldest is twelve yes? He’s about to be offered an apprenticeship with the leatheworkers, and your wife is coming into some gil. They’ll mourn, but like the rest of this star, they’ll be better off without you.” Pulling her gun back she sets her aim instead for the middle of one of his thighs, and before his pleading can even start to become coherent unloads a round with a thunderous CRACK that rings out through the wood. “About half the things that live out in the Shroud are going to race away from that. The other half are going to come looking for the leftovers. Feel free to keep screaming, that’ll keep them headed the right way.”