And Nothing Will Go Wrong!

[Latin For Dragula]

Justin left easily. Not so much as a goodbye. Perhaps it could be called rude when they offered him well wishes, but it was best to assume he was not a moron. Less politely, less diplomatically, their sentence could be distilled down to a single word, 'leave,' in confirmation to the sentiment he put forward. It should not be so surprising that he left without further protest.

He left easily.

Blaise watched him descend back over the crest where they ought have shot him. When they could no longer see him, they imagined him. They imagined him humbled by his lack of caution and paying closer attention to the path on the way down. Finding its stumbling blocks. Its blind spots. Its cover. They imagined him in places they had not seen holding his large, large gun to his face, and waiting. Listening. Holding his breath at every clatter of a rock that might signal their descent. But he did not need to be so close, did he? That is why he came here, to allow himself distance. A view. Acquisition of targets. Here he could find anyone close to the waterfall who left themself exposed.

And if he knew the way down, he did not need to search for a target. One would present itself in due time when they decided to leave.

Ah. So that was the game they were playing.

Blaise shifted the rifle from their lap and moved to lay on the ground flat, their rifle pointed at the path. They imagined Justin doing the same.

There would not be a second meeting.

((Blaise D'Aramitz Continued In February 13th, 1962))