#florioso

Planet Voss. 33, 32, 31…

1 minute, 13 seconds.

Last man standing.

Mafioso was the killer that round. That came as a relief, for Florence at least. She wouldn’t have to worry about death, even if just for a little while. She helped her teammates where she could, then ran off to hide until he’d done what he had to.

Now it was time for their own game. Florence stood up from her hiding spot, her eyes closed, and started to walk.

“Marco!”

There it was.

“Polo!” she called back, moving towards the sound.

“Marco!” Much closer this time.

Florence kept walking, still following the voice.

“Polo!”

Five seconds passed with no response. Did he hear her? Should she call back again?

Before she could say anything, two arms wrapped around her from behind, their grip gentle but firm. A familiar scratchy beard came to rest on the top of her head. Florence opened her eyes.

“Found you,” he said, his voice quiet.

How she’d missed that voice. Those arms. Her Mafioso. She let herself lean backwards against him, feeling his chest rise and fall with each breath.

“You always manage to sneak up on me, sir.” She reached up to caress his face. “How long has it been this time?”

“Two months. The boys said they miss you. See any of ‘em earlier?” He kissed the top of her head.

Florence hummed a yes.

“Contractee walked past me earlier. His whole face lit up when he looked over,” she replied. “He was too busy chasing someone to come and talk, though.”

They stood there in silence for a while. The both of them, alone, in the middle of a field at night… it would almost be romantic, if not for the knowledge that their time together would have to be cut short.

Mafioso broke the silence, reluctantly.

“I think it’s time, Miss Florence.”

“Already?”

They let go of each other, and Florence turned around to face him. His usual smile was only half there today. Still, she looked at him with so much intent. Taking in every detail, etching his face into her memory.

She got on her tiptoes and hugged him, resting her head on his shoulder. She knew what was coming. The tip of his sword was pressed against her upper back, his other arm around her waist.

How bittersweet, Florence thought. To die in her lover’s arms. To die by her lover’s blade. She didn’t mind, though. As long as she kept getting to see him.

She took a deep breath in, the smell of his cologne filling her nose. Another thing she’d try her best to remember.

“Tell the boys I miss them too.” She planted a kiss on his cheek. “Come visit again soon, okay?”

“Of course.”

His sword pierced through her, going straight through her heart before being pulled back out. A few seconds passed, and Florence’s vision went dark.

— — — — —

Mafioso dropped his sword and hugged her tight. He kept holding onto her even after she went limp, after her arms fell from his sides and her breathing stopped.

Slowly, he pulled away, careful not to drop her body, and laid her down gently on the grass. This part was always the hardest for him. Looking down at her face like this.

She was smiling. It was as if she were asleep, content in her dreams. He crouched down to kiss her forehead.