[How she wishes she didn't know how it was done! Or, for that matter, that she could feel uncomplicatedly guilty - or uncomplicatedly free of guilt - for that moment the red-black hole had blossomed in Dave's chest, or the smell of blood and brains and smoke when all was done. She hadn't known, until then, how strong a man's brains smelled.]
[She shifts her weight, trying not to show her discomfort, trying not to give him more fuel to his mockery. Knowing that's a fool's game, but trying anyway. And there is a kind of relief in saying it aloud, to someone who wasn't there.]
I shot 'em. Dave through the heart. Avery through the head.
Made a hell of a mess. A mule kick might've gotten less brains on the wall. [For a moment, there, something almost cracks in her voice. She rallies herself, sets her jaw again.] But it was what I'd come to do, if it came to it, and so I did it, I guess. And I don't give a fuck what glory ye do or don't give.
Who did you kill? [A lot of people, she'd guess, one way or another. He seems the type - and again she thinks of Clay Reynolds, bitter and puffed-up and bloodthirsty. But she's curious, even so.]
no subject
[She shifts her weight, trying not to show her discomfort, trying not to give him more fuel to his mockery. Knowing that's a fool's game, but trying anyway. And there is a kind of relief in saying it aloud, to someone who wasn't there.]
I shot 'em. Dave through the heart. Avery through the head.
Made a hell of a mess. A mule kick might've gotten less brains on the wall. [For a moment, there, something almost cracks in her voice. She rallies herself, sets her jaw again.] But it was what I'd come to do, if it came to it, and so I did it, I guess. And I don't give a fuck what glory ye do or don't give.
Who did you kill? [A lot of people, she'd guess, one way or another. He seems the type - and again she thinks of Clay Reynolds, bitter and puffed-up and bloodthirsty. But she's curious, even so.]