She never liked being midst sprawling trees in dense forests like this one.
... Nonetheless, it brought back a unique kind of nostalgia: the scent of gunpowder, the sweetness of the rotting element around them, the fact that this earth was filled with animals who are strong and people who are stronger than strong, how humans themselves aren’t much different from ones that walk on all fours and rip meat with their teeth. It wasn’t like her to think of these sort of existential things. The breeze was colder than it should’ve been. The afternoon-evening was humid and sticky to the touch but cottony in the mouth. She glanced over and whispered out a curt little “Hah!”, what a dialogue!
She thought the tired lines on his face were endearing--they looked absolutely savage--kind of like dimples; they looked like they belonged on his face, lovely, sleepy lines. He’s too young to have those lines.
Her tongue ran over her smiling canines as her finger caressed the trigger. “That’s abso-fucking-lutely dandy and all but... ... I hate this. Why don’t we go and finish this ourselves, Partner? Or is it more entertaining to sit here and watch them destroy themselves? It’s all up to you, Babe.”
Cults are cults. Today was a good day--you don’t get to watch this sort of thing happen often.