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Prompted by musing_way, of course.
Title: Last Day
Rating: R
Universe: Carogne
Continuity: Set just at the end of Sebastien's time under the General
Characters: Sebastien, two guards
Summary: What d'you think he's thinkin', knowin' today's his last day?
Wordcount: 380
Warnings: Sebastien the torturer, Sebastien the assassin
Claimer: Mine
Title: Last Day
Rating: R
Universe: Carogne
Continuity: Set just at the end of Sebastien's time under the General
Characters: Sebastien, two guards
Summary: What d'you think he's thinkin', knowin' today's his last day?
Wordcount: 380
Warnings: Sebastien the torturer, Sebastien the assassin
Claimer: Mine
"What d'you think he's thinking, knowin' today's his last day?"
Sebastien listened distantly, the two guards (Bodyguards, mischling, bodyguards. Just for your safety) at his door snickering to themselves over the fate of the prisoner. He didn't particularly want to listen, but one of them had the kind of voice that pierces even the deepest and most desperate reveries.
"Havin' spent five days with the Doc??" The second was incredulous. "I think he's thanking any god he can lay paws on! I mean, did you see his face?"
Sebastien almost laughed, at that. No. He hadn't seen the boy's face. Hadn't seen any of their faces. Not when they first saw him. Not when they realised what he was, what he meant to do. Not when the first blow was landed. Not when the last fell. Not when they knew they were going to die. Not when they realised they wanted to. He never saw their faces.
He wasn't sure if that was a blessing or not.
"Think he'll live to see it?" One of his jesters mused thoughtfully. "Looked fit enough. All things considered, I mean. But they never seem to make it. Not with the Doc. Don't ever seem to last long enough, with the Doc."
And that was true, too. Sebastien fingered the little vials secreted in his waistcoat, rubbing them silently like talismans in his perpetual darkness. They never did last, not long enough for the General to be the last thing they saw. Dying in the night, with no-one to watch them go, no-one to sneer as they drew their last breath. Was it enough? Could it be? But it was all he had, for now.
Not for much longer, maybe. What's he thinkin', knowin' today's his last day? Sebastien fingered the vials again, turning death over and over in his paws, musing. But the General didn't know, did he? Not yet. He would soon. Very soon. And Sebastien too, perhaps, if vengeance acted faster than poison, if the rat suspected even for the slightest moment before he died. This could well be his last day, too. What was he thinking?
He was thinking that he never saw their faces. Not even the General's. When they died by his paws. When they cursed his name. He never saw their faces.
He never would.
Sebastien listened distantly, the two guards (Bodyguards, mischling, bodyguards. Just for your safety) at his door snickering to themselves over the fate of the prisoner. He didn't particularly want to listen, but one of them had the kind of voice that pierces even the deepest and most desperate reveries.
"Havin' spent five days with the Doc??" The second was incredulous. "I think he's thanking any god he can lay paws on! I mean, did you see his face?"
Sebastien almost laughed, at that. No. He hadn't seen the boy's face. Hadn't seen any of their faces. Not when they first saw him. Not when they realised what he was, what he meant to do. Not when the first blow was landed. Not when the last fell. Not when they knew they were going to die. Not when they realised they wanted to. He never saw their faces.
He wasn't sure if that was a blessing or not.
"Think he'll live to see it?" One of his jesters mused thoughtfully. "Looked fit enough. All things considered, I mean. But they never seem to make it. Not with the Doc. Don't ever seem to last long enough, with the Doc."
And that was true, too. Sebastien fingered the little vials secreted in his waistcoat, rubbing them silently like talismans in his perpetual darkness. They never did last, not long enough for the General to be the last thing they saw. Dying in the night, with no-one to watch them go, no-one to sneer as they drew their last breath. Was it enough? Could it be? But it was all he had, for now.
Not for much longer, maybe. What's he thinkin', knowin' today's his last day? Sebastien fingered the vials again, turning death over and over in his paws, musing. But the General didn't know, did he? Not yet. He would soon. Very soon. And Sebastien too, perhaps, if vengeance acted faster than poison, if the rat suspected even for the slightest moment before he died. This could well be his last day, too. What was he thinking?
He was thinking that he never saw their faces. Not even the General's. When they died by his paws. When they cursed his name. He never saw their faces.
He never would.
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