SENDOFF.

[openterrain]

[ Does it ever stop?

Maybe not, but Jean doesn't actually have an issue with that. The immediately visible zombies have been taken care of and the group is ready for any others that might shamble their way. It's still the dead of the night as Jean moves about the town square, gathering up every last bit of dry wood he can find and building up the basis of what could become an impressive bonfire. Strangely, he leaves it unlit - or perhaps not so strangely, since it really should be time to move on.

Instead, Jean goes back - back into the school and through the hallways and down to the courtroom. He makes several side trips as he goes, gathering up rope and matches and spare blankets along the way. He's not particularly surprised to see that Kimblee's corpse has been a bit abused since they last left him, nor is he depressed or angry or pleased.

Kimblee got what he deserved.

Jean takes the time to carefully wrap Kimblee's corpse in the spare sheets and secure them with rope, more out of consideration for the more squeamish of his fellow survivors than any respect for Observant himself. Wrapping him up is pretty simple, luckily. Dragging him back up the stairs and all the way over to the bonfire is simple, but not easy. He's a big, heavy bastard as it turns out and the very first hints of dawn are glimmering on horizon by the time Jean finally gets him over to the bonfire. Unsurprisingly, Jean will happily accept any offers to help with the body moving process.

There's no pomp or ceremony to Kimblee's 'funeral'. There's no moment of silence, no carefully selected works, not even a few personal possessions tossed onto the pyre with their tormentor of the past two months. Jean simply kindles a few sparks at the base of pyre, and then steps back to watch the flames grow into a blaze and consume flesh and wood alike.

... He does take care to stand upwind of the pyre, however. Burning bodies aren't exactly a pleasant scent. ]

Comments

[forcegalactic]

[He marked it down many, many weeks ago and can't recall what drove him to doing that. It might have been how the two had the biggest egos in the class, or that they were members of the Stripfell Club, or their animosity pre-murder could make for good sexual tension. Basically: it could be done, so it had to be done. But as even Mordecai was disgusted by the pairing, the fic remained unfinished to the end.

He pulls out another sheet of paper, this time a story about Rakka the ghost detective. If Rakka looks carefully, she can read several sentences.]

...Rakka, it's like someone findin' your private journal and showin' it off to everyone. I hafta get rid of it and move past this moment of shame, that's all.

[charcoalfeather]

[Ah, the Stripfell club; one of the many things that surprised Rakka at the start, yet slowly became... simply a thing that happened. She never took part - thank goodness no one ever suspected her of anything.

She spies the paper as he pulls it out, curiously spotting her own name a couple of times in the sketchy text. She looks almost apologetic (likely because she was) when she looks back at him.]

...I'm sorry. I understand if that'll make you feel better.

[forcegalactic]

[Don't think he doesn't notice her looking over his shoulder, but he doesn't pull it away immediately. That would make him all the more suspicious.]

...You takin' a bit of curiosity with this story? [He tugs it out of the pile.] Yeah, it's about you. Nothin' bad, just somethin' to help me get through each execution.

[charcoalfeather]

[She pauses as it's obvious she's been caught red-handed. Forgive her, Mordecai, it's difficult to be inconspicuous with a beacon hanging over your head.]

A story... [Blink blink.] about me? You really wrote something like that?

[She sounds almost delighted, until the execution part. There's a bit of a pause as she stammers her words.]

Was it before or after I...

[forcegalactic]

[Halos are supposed to mean you don't sin. And Rakka would bump it against Mordecai's head if she had leaned in any closer.

He looks down to re-read the story one last time.]

Well, what do you think? It'd have to be after you died, or else I wouldn't need to write down somethin' to remember you. [He fans out the tall stack of papers and--good god how much did he write in those six weeks he was alive?] Marty suggested I pick up writin' while stuck here, so I started with Byakuren Hijiri. Decided to continue on with the folks that got murdered.

[His policy: don't write about the murderers. Except Dio, because he liked him.]

Never did end up with a story for all a' us, but seein' that we're alive and well - much as vampires can be considered alive - we don't need no memorials no more.

[charcoalfeather]

[Seeing as he was giving it a once over, Rakka didn't feel too bad now if she looked at it too. Detective Angel Ghost Rakka...

Even if she might never see the whole story, it looks like quite the read.]

Well, I think it looks very interesting. I've never had anybody write a story about me before, usually I'm the person making the stories. [It was just one time, but how often does one get to write about the beginning of the world? Maybe she should keep at it when she returns home...]

Hmm... Even if you didn't, there's still the story about what happened to all of us here. What about that? It even has a happy ending.

[Murder, suspense, romance... what more did you need? But it's obvious by her quiet, few giggles that she's joking. A little, at least.]

I'm never going to forget this.

[forcegalactic]

Feelin' honored that you're the main character in story. [He looks at Rakka, then at the story, then back at her.] Well, I don't exactly hate it. Can't hurt to let you read it a bit.

[How can he say no to a face like that? It's not every day he meets someone so genuinely nice and deserving of nice things.]

Yeah. If you include the dyin' horribly part. Much prefer the version where we're all in high school and worry about normal high school things instead of bein' stuck here forever and comin' up with a plan to kill a shadow monster.