He paints a pretty picture bathed in blood.
As if some outside force or mad painter had generously doused him in long sporadic strokes of crimson.
Ginger hair flies loose from any constraint whipping about in a self-made wind with reckless abandon, just as wild as its owners smile.
Heine looks away.
He has to.
It's either that or lose his precarious on the best of days control right then and there.
The spine laughs mocking what he has become.
What he has lowered himself to.
His skin crawls tingling uncomfortably, the beast has been all too silent as of late.
Quiet mollified he studies the brick in front of him.
Then punches it.
Grit and dust shower haloing about him.
A few cement particles stubbornly catch embedding themselves beneath his skin.
The grimes going to be a bitch to wash out of his hair later.
But the hit does the trick.
It centers him that brief moment of pain.
Brings back his focus to now, what he's about to do.
Heine sinks down on the ancient roofs edge.
Still stubbornly facing away from Badou's fight.
Settles himself and lets his eyes watch his hands rapid healing.
Anything but the scene behind him is good viewing right now.
Skin pink and raw crawls seeking its way over the pale bones to cover previously torn knuckles.
Fiendishly weaving itself back into the knitted pattern of small divided lines and broad spider web creases.
The intercity almost distracts him keyword being almost.
There is a malicious distinctive, humor edged laugh pounding at his temple.
The dogs chuckle echo's endlessly harsh and grating; slamming about the walls of his skull without reprieve.
Distantly the familiar and comforting sound of explicit's strung together, like gunshots jolts him back.
You know the whole rather ironic nails on chalkboard effect.
It takes him another moment to discern that it was more then just like gunshots there were gun shots.
That didn't worry him if, anything the ring about his ears was a slight annoyance.
However, the lack of return fire does.
Further prompted by a call of "Heine you sandy vagina help me out! This ain't no fucking time for your emo corner bullshit save it for later. Hurry the hell up ya fuckwad and get your scrawny ass down here ".
There is a pause then another "fuck" followed by another stream of insults and suggestions about where to stick the sun so it doesn't shine
"Heine a little help!" A brief pause. "Shit! Fuck! SHIT! That's it I don't care my ass isn't getting shot again! Hurry up and jump off the roof you'd be doing us all a fucking favor you stupid useless fuck ". Then some allusion or other about his mother and whoring.
He can't privately help but share the sentiment, not that he had to let Badou know that.
The man obviously needed a cigarette and was blowing things out of proportion again.
He'll buy him a pack of smokes for his trouble once all this is over with.
Badou is a champion, whiner.
Heine lets him stew for another minute before he measures the distance to the street floor.
Then quite literally springboards off the roof edge and into action.
Before he reaches his stressed comrade there is a yelp that akin to the cry of a wounded animal in duress.
He knows that sound.
Has heard it many times before Lilly made that sound when he-.
The creature cuts of that train of thought with an amused bark he can almost feel the thing sneering.
He does his best to ignore the dogs sardonic musings.
Heine cannot let himself fall in the trap of such taunts.
That sound, that cry this time a much deeper, shocked and hoarse voice.
Badou!
The world shrinks once more clearly dividing itself into two sides.
It is all simple again, easy us or them.
The good guys versus bad guys, no that isn't right he sure as hell ain't a saint.
No, the money from fulfilling the job or his partner.
For the first time in a long time, Heine feels pain.
It's a twinge at first, but seeing the vibrant red headed man thrown haphazardly about like a broken rag doll.
Hurts.
Hurts something terrible.
It's awful this sudden searing burn that has ignited in his chest, a fire that refuses to be quenched.
For the first time, he doesn't know what to do.
Somehow Badou still manages to look defiant.
As if he has the upper hand even while strewn carelessly amongst the wreckage.
Heine feels he is not sure, but now it sinks in.
He could lose, lose once more he is not sure what he would be losing.
A partner?
Certainly wouldn't be the only occasion.
Badou had defiantly been the best thus far.
Would be a shame, to lose his partner that is, not someone who could have been something more.
Who is he kidding?
But, a chord is most surely struck within.
One Heine didn't know he had that possibly only Nill had ever managed to even briefly reach and coax into song.
But Heine is not a musician he is a weapon harmonized to others downfall.
The enemy maliciously leers.
The lowlife continuously stabs the butt of his gun down on a faint looking Badou, who glares up at his tormentor through a agonized groan.
Not pleading never pleading for it to stop.
The red haired devil has never begged for anything not even another smoke (only complains relentlessly that he needs one).
Not in all the span of fuck awful situations they have been in over the years, can Heine recall Bardou ever begging.
The eye-patched idiot takes.
Barges in without asking without a second thought.
Larger than life Badou who fills up any space he occupies, with the ease of someone who has always been there.
Who makes Heine's small dinky sized apartment feel bigger than it looks.
Is terribly small laying there.
Heine makes his choice.
The sleazebag doesn't even see it coming there is only a blur of white for a warning.
Then he too hits the ground with an audible thump and surprised shout before he falls.
Then he is desperately pleading so unlike Badou.
But like so many others before, questing for weakness.
" What's your motive. Please man cut me some slack, you're a businessman to aren't you? Let's cut a deal!" The insect drones on Heine has just about had enough of his pleading and is wondering if a shot to the leg will help shut him up.
Then he opens his mouth to keep blabbering trying for a different approach.
"I'm begging you this is all just one big misunderstanding!"
The mans eyes are wide and cagey they look everywhere but directly at him.
Seeing that the appeal to emotion isn't working the greasy haired guy reverts back to his original appeal.
"Is it the cash? I can offer you twice no double whatever they're paying! Its a good offer I'll even throw in a girl!"
All the while out the corner of his eye, Heine can see the mans grubby fingers inching their way under his coat.
Most likely towards a gun or for the twisted bastard of a semi automatic and some other new sig.
None of this endears the man to him.
This is his favorite jacket the only one not already overly riddled with bullet holes.
Plus the round metal pellets are unpleasant to spit back out.
He was tired of this "My gun will solve all mentality."
Especially when he see's its the exact same gun that hurt Badou.
That is all the motive Heine needs to roughly smash his boot into the mans hand.
Without a doubt crushing the fingers under the well soled shoe.
He doesn't want to make this slimes death quick.
Wants to drag it out, to torture for agonizing hours.
The beast cackles happily, amused.
The noise is transformed into a deep nasty hacking when voiced threw his own throat.
Kerberos howling his consent is ready to draw blood. The dog snarls fangs bared, mad eyes daring him to violence.
Yes, he thinks I could tear him apart.
Heines control wavers the temptation to slip his leash to much. A wicked smile dons his face, some flesh ripping is in order.
Beyond the field of his vision there is a low moan.
Badou making his injury further known.
A better person would have been quick to stop this.
Would have gone to aid their, friend?
He supposes after everything Badou is his friend.
They have been through enough together.
Badou is the only consecutive thing in his life, besides maybe Nell and the cagey priest.
Its not either of them, who find him.
Find him, at his lowest when he has crawled of to some shit hole to lick his wounds alone in dead quiet.
Its Badou who brings him fresh bandages and doesn't chiade.
Its Badou who senses that its hard enough for Heine to let himself be touched,
to invite touch, that this itself is something precious.
These silent moments are few and to be cherished and safe guarded.
The very notion is ridiculous. He cannot stop himself from thinking it anyway.
The childish part of Heine says Badou will be alright.
That the chain smoker is a big boy.
The truth is, that he has to be alright for Heine's sake.
For both there sake.
So Heine doesn't pause in his merciless rending of the worthless sack of meat and bones in front of him, and Badou wouldn't expect him to.
For a moment he longs for the echoing zing of Naoto's sleek black katana as it arcs through the air.
Envies her masterful skill of the ancient weapon.
It would certainly make carving out chunks less of a project.
But the blade is too efficient to clean a dispatchment.
Besides he is doing well enough on his own even with the lack of steel.
Heine always makes a mess of things.
He barely notes the man is dead in such a narrow minded frenzy is he, disgusted he flings the clawed corpse aside.
Absently he realizes the reinforcements have arrived.
He gleefully launches into the fray with abandon revealing in the screams and cries of abject horror.
Heine understands, what happened long ago has prepared him for this.
There is nothing else he is good for but this.
He focuses on the now the squelch and easy give of flesh beneath his claws.
He is something that can't be changed.
True chaos that doesn't end once he leaves the battle ground.
Something that can never be truly shut off , left waste and prowl the empty streets contently.
No matter how much he deludes himself.
The shadow of the grave will always haunt him and the dog is to be his only harsh counsel.
Heine cannot create, cannot heal, cannot love.
He is a machine of death fueled by terror continuously mocking those in life.
He is a killer.
This is the lie he chooses.