ＳＯＬＩＴＵＤＥ, noun

------

|| indie leo baskerville rp account ||

tracking tag: silentyetvolatile

pharisaisme:

The scent of blood was all he could focus on, the scent of blood was permeating the entire room. Rather hard to ignore when it was covering more of the Nightray’s body than it wasn’t. The scent was actually making him a bit nauseous, but Leo couldn’t bring himself to think too hard on it, not when his hands were grasping onto the scion’s jacket and the screams ricocheted off the walls and his forehead was all but resting on Elliot’s motionless stomach.

It was his fault.

Elliot was dead because of him.

Dead.

It was his fault. No one else’s.

In one respects the valet (well, now former valet) couldn’t wrap his head around this. Everything had happened so suddenly, and he’d been unable to save Elliot, if he was even capable of such a thing to begin with. But on the other hand, he knew this was an inevitability since he was the reason Elliot formed the illegal contract in the first place. His memories of the instance were muddled because of the lie that Elliot inadvertently told him, but there was something probably deep down in Leo’s psyche that knew his original memory hadn’t been wrong.

It just hurt since he remembered it too little too late.

And now his best friend’s corpse was beneath his hands, the warmth slowly fading out of Elliot’s body, wounds barely continuing to seep out blood from the irrevocable injuries that’d taken the Nightray’s life. He could practically hear Elliot’s voice in his mind, what he’d be saying and sound like if he knew how badly ruined his dress clothes were. 

Too bad he’d never heard that voice again in this lifetime.

The screams from his own throat were ringing in his ears so badly, Leo couldn’t much tell if he actually still was or if he was simply losing his mind a bit more and hearing things that weren’t even there. His mind was in too much of a jumble to comprehend much other than the little bubble he was in right now with Elliot’s body. The conversation between Oz and Gilbert not far away fell on deaf ears, all the noir could hear in his mind was Elliot’s name over and over.

To say Leo was having a bit of a mental breakdown would be the understatement of the evening.

All he could think about was how much he hated himself in that moment. Leo couldn’t even save his master when he’d spent that past few years being ready to put his own life on the line if it meant keeping his best friend safe, much like the valet in their favorite book series that Elliot had hated so much. He hadn’t even been able to fight or defend himself enough to stay conscious for anything. Leo remembered Elliot’s mother being decapitated, only adding to the bloodshed in the room, he remembered feeling a stirring inside of his body, one he’d rejected so many years ago, and he remembered trying to get close to Elliot, but another blast occurred and everything was a blank after that.

Until he came to and found an already dead Elliot a mere ten feet from him.

It was a sight the teenager could hardly stand, all he could say to himself internally was how this was all his fault, and that Elliot was dead because of him.

It’s my fault. It’s my fault. It’s my fault. It’s my fault. It’s my fault.

He wouldn’t much remember being taken away from his master’s body, everything would be too much a blur for him to remember any concise details in the days to come.

If he’d had the chance to die there and now beside his best friend, he would’ve, without a second thought. There wasn’t much else left for him now with Elliot gone anyway, so what difference would it have made if Leo left the mansion dead or alive?

No more dreaming of the dead as if death itself was undone. 

No more calling like a crow for a boy, for a body in the garden.