[Giovanni's breathing gradually slows, the manic light in his face beginning to fade out into something approaching his usual calm, though clearly it's all still jumping in him, the violence, his love of it, something big and wide and open in his chest and he feels good, euphoria still lingering in his bones and nails and eyeteeth. Bright sparks of terrible light.
Finally the Handler settles a little, though there's a tension in him that shows in the way he grips the Bite, the wary glance he gives Giovanni, but then he's clearing his throat, standing straighter.
Heel, 68, and Giovanni begins to move as directed, still under the Handler's assessing stare, blood staining his arms up to the elbows, his teeth, his face, his hair-- he's drenched in it. Doesn't seem to care at all, and though there are a peppering of circular holes in his uniform from where the bullets entered, the flesh underneath, it's perfectly unmarred.
The Handler turns, begins to walk back towards the ship with Giovanni walking his usual two paces behind (the stiffness in the Company man's shoulders, his whiteknuckle grip on the blade, all things that suggest he's uncomfortable turning his back on the Dog, but he forces himself to do it all the same).
They're approaching one of the abandoned vehicles when it happens. Sudden movement, the report from the gun clanging loud in their ears, and suddenly the Handler slumps, hits the ground, the back of his head a bloody smoking mess from the bullet's exit. Giovanni doesn't so much as look up, just raises the pistol still held in his red-stained hand, pulls the trigger, and with a muffled thump the remaining hijacker drops dead to the dusty earth.
The Dog takes a few steps forward, looks down at the dead Handler with an expression of infinite indifference, glances over his shoulder at Steph.]
no subject
Finally the Handler settles a little, though there's a tension in him that shows in the way he grips the Bite, the wary glance he gives Giovanni, but then he's clearing his throat, standing straighter.
Heel, 68, and Giovanni begins to move as directed, still under the Handler's assessing stare, blood staining his arms up to the elbows, his teeth, his face, his hair-- he's drenched in it. Doesn't seem to care at all, and though there are a peppering of circular holes in his uniform from where the bullets entered, the flesh underneath, it's perfectly unmarred.
The Handler turns, begins to walk back towards the ship with Giovanni walking his usual two paces behind (the stiffness in the Company man's shoulders, his whiteknuckle grip on the blade, all things that suggest he's uncomfortable turning his back on the Dog, but he forces himself to do it all the same).
They're approaching one of the abandoned vehicles when it happens. Sudden movement, the report from the gun clanging loud in their ears, and suddenly the Handler slumps, hits the ground, the back of his head a bloody smoking mess from the bullet's exit. Giovanni doesn't so much as look up, just raises the pistol still held in his red-stained hand, pulls the trigger, and with a muffled thump the remaining hijacker drops dead to the dusty earth.
The Dog takes a few steps forward, looks down at the dead Handler with an expression of infinite indifference, glances over his shoulder at Steph.]
He was incompetent, anyway. No big loss. Hahah.