mun has started playing The Line. Willard is trying to ignore it. (canon is Apocalypse Now.)

[setyoufree]

Every time I think I'm free of you, I'm pulled right back in.

Guess it's the same damn way with everything.

But I don't... This game you're playing. Jesus, the fact that it's a game in the first place—

Fuck. I don't want to talk about it. I haven't got anything to say. I've seen enough of that shit to last a lifetime. It was burned into my head, worked its way into my veins. I never left. I never goddamn left, and the least you could do is leave me the fuck alone.

...there is one thing. That kid— That kid's starting to make a whole lot more sense.

I don't want to talk about it.

Comments

[scout_tactical]

Looks like you're starting to see the whole fucked up picture. We're a lot more similar than you knew before. Desert, jungle, it's all the same. The darkness can swallow you even in broad daylight.

[setyoufree]

[Shit.

Seeing the kid now... It's hard to sort the images, hard to make anything slow down long enough to get a clear picture, so eventually Willard settles for whatever words will come. something to stop the silence.]

Yeah, I...

It can do that.

...you okay, kid? I mean, you doing okay?

[scout_tactical]

[Lugo smiles a little, despite himself, nods slowly and folds his hands in his lap where he crouches.

He can see, though, that the man is starting to understand... and maybe he will start to realize that Lugo isn't the innocent little thing he seems to be. Sometimes even the nicest of packages wouldn't suggest the shit within.

Lugo tilts his head, lets it fall.]

I'm as okay as I can be, I guess. Lingering. Waiting.

[setyoufree]

[Willard had never assumed innocence. You don't get caught up in war without damning yourself one way or another. You don't get to the point Lugo'd been at without seeing more than your eyes were made to hold.

What he hadn't accounted for was the extent of the damage seen or the degree to which Lugo had been involved. Willard still isn't clear on much of it - the game isn't finished, and in any case he's been doing his best not to let the echoes in too far (he has enough of those, enough of the voice that has twined itself around his heartbeat) - but he's caught enough to understand that guilt's liable to run high.

And Jesus, with good reason.

(Not that actions or decisions necessarily mean one thing or another. Not that Willard's about to judge anyone. You do what you have to do and you do the only thing there is to do... or not, maybe it isn't the only thing but there's no going back after, and in any case there's no decent option. You make the choices you can, you take actions - because what else is there? - and you keep moving.)

It's becoming clear that this kid - "kid's" not really the right word, is it? - had more of an... awakening than Lance ever did. Lance had tuned out, let everything pass over him, and if he hadn't come out okay (from what Willard had seen, Lance hadn't come out very okay, at all), he'd at least missed the sharpest cut.

Willard tries to keep his focus on Lugo (like nothing's happened, like his mind his vision isn't ages away), but it's hard. It's hard to really look at anything right now.

Ever since the compound, it's been hard to see.]

You still haven't found a place?

[scout_tactical]

I actually did, for a while... didn't work out too well, initially. I have problems getting out to talk to people.

[It seems so ironic. He laughs at the concept with all of the vitriolic, roiling self-loathing in the pit of his belly. He's not too worried about hiding his teeth or playing the innocent. His actions have had time to settle and really become clear to him.

Lugo is, was, will always be a monster. Something lurking in the shadows, moving just at the corner of an eye in the darkness. That which takes away loved ones suddenly and without warning. He is something worthy of being hunted down and destroyed. Even when he is not hunting, when he is in situations like this, ones he is capable of playing through as the innocent, there's still a part of him, watching from deep inside.

It waits for just the right moment to strike.

He tilts his head just a little bit, watching Willard carefuly. He cares for the man, and this makes him softer, somewhat docile, even for all the terrible thoughts and feelings crawling under his skin.]

I've been doing a little renovating since then. Learned a lot about being alone, surviving...

[setyoufree]

[Willard has a feeling the kid... Lugo had learned enough about surviving before he'd left his own world. About one method of survival, at least. About how to act, how to do what's necessary in the moment. Or what seems necessary.

And was it? What Willard had seen of Lugo's own tale... How much of that could be classed as necessity? Destroy what you must, kill as many as appear without blinking an eye, because who can say where it ends? Where the borders of necessity are found. Willard had participated Willard had pulled the trigger Willard had given a gift of execution but the man was mad but the man was clearer-visioned than anyone the man had seen and what he had said of reason and must, Lugo and his comrades had carried destruction but what was the difference between one death and fifty and five hundred, what was the difference when it all came in the name of necessity? 'If I had ten divisions of those men.' 'Without judgment.' If I had—' 'Without—'

Hard to stop those thoughts once they start. Hard not to fall into them. But if he's going to be any good to Lugo (or not good, maybe he can't do good; maybe just be of use, be something almost solid), he's got to remain present.]

Yeah? Got any pointers you can share? About survival. I could use a few.

[It's a poor attempt at a joke, the tone light but too dry, the words falling flat because he's thinking about what Lugo might actually have found and because he knows it sounds hollow, but what else is there to say? You get out what you can and keep searching for words; that's all.]