im so heartbroken over Amsel and Scott im legit going to cry myself to sleep
As far as I know, he’s killed himself vizh his drugs.
I’m sorry to have shattered any preconceived notion of my being a kind und compassionate man.
So very sorry.
I never claimed to be a man of good morals nor standing of zhe same quality.
If I vere giving him false hope, it vould be to dangle zhe promise of a pharmacy’s stores in front of his nose, only for zhere to be nothing at all waiting for him. But zhat is beside zhe point
I did try. I did care.
Zhere is no point in trying any more vhen zhe one you are investing effort in does not, himself, care.
I vas trying to help und comfort, ja. ‘Trying’ being zhe key word.
Zhat incident only aided in bringing forth zhe realisation zhat Scott does not vant help. He vill do as he desires, und I have not zhe authority—nor zhe patience. I doubt he vould listen to me—to force him otherwise.
Vhat is zhe point you are attempting to make here?
I am not concerned zhat he is dead, if he is dead, for zhere is no sense in worrying one’s self over zhe dead - zhey are dead. ‘Game over’, if I am to use zhat idiom correctly. Zhere is nothing I can do about it. I cannot undo death, I can only bring it about.
So, ‘no’, if you vant a short answer
If he is alive, I am certain I am among zhe last he vould like around him. If zhat is zhe case, zhere is still nothing I could do.
The voice that invited the sniper’s attention was not one of blatant familiarity as it approached him, the speaker peering out from behind her peculiar mask.
Amsel had seen the girl about once or twice - most often around Eliza when he did (admittedly, the two were endearing in the other’s company. Eliza adopted something of a motherly disposition which struck as both sweet and bitter). He could not deny the curiosity, fully, of a young sort - Not even he was that mean spirited - however the expression he wore was anything but ‘friendly’.
"Not as much as zhe beating I earned for it, no." His was a mix between a scoff and a laugh, and certainly wrought from soured recollection, "It vas more a scratch zhan anything else. My nose vas not even broken - Vhy do you ask?"
Why she wanted to speak to him of all people, Annie had no idea. But she found out about him through Eliza when she spotted the two kissing in the hallways (thankfully, the Medic hadn’t sensed her presence, too engrossed in sucking off the Sniper’s face to pay attention to her surroundings.)
He was Eliza’s beau. Her closest confident, friend, and lover all rolled in one.
But unlike Eliza, who was tolerant of others, Amsel was more rough and didn’t want to be bothered with. In other words, one wrong move and she could have an angry Swiss snapping at her heels.
She swallowed nervously but did not break eye contact, too fascinated by the scar that decorated the bridge of his nose to look away. “…It looks deep,” was all she said, fingers itching to touch it. “It doesn’t look like a scratch. Its almost as if someone had used a butcher knife to slash it open. Wasn’t your entire face bleeding?”
The mask obscured the majority of the girl’s face, and in accordance, the tells so easily given to the eye with the open exposure of one’s facial features. It had a way of putting the sniper ill at ease, even if only by a minute degree - Call it paranoia and you’d be just in the accusation.
Still, all was not lost, as what he could see of Annie’s expression declared something of unease, certainly that greater than his own - Her empty swallow and odd stance was a generous give-away. Though, along with nerves set to stand on end, there was also a glimmer of curiosity with which the younger presented.
"Vell, ja. It vas deep - I suppose I have suffered enough cuts to consider zhis," The point of a bony forefinger tapped the bridge of his nose for effect, "Shallow."
A butcher knife? Amsel entertained a mild laugh at the proposed notion — no, he’d have faced that sort of treatment years later. With a single eyebrow lifted, the sniper regarded his conversational companion the begin of a smirk bearing his own brand of curiosity, “Nein. No knife. Try glass, instead. Take my advice, do not steal a truck if you do not know how to operate it.”
Gunfire rang relentlessly outside of cement and glass walls, while bootfalls echoed within. Her head still spun from Respawn, but Eliza pulled open the grating on the lower levels of RED’s base with a determined heave—she would simply have to return that sniper’s courtesy.
She had no time to dwell on it as she heard the call for ‘Medic!’, and legs pumped beneath her as she heard several of her comrades yell and go for cover. Revenge would have to wait—there was a defense to be upheld.
Never should it be mistaken, the shot he took was, indeed, a courtesy. A simple head-shot. Just one, quick and clean - It was a grace permitted to few others, and this lady medic was lucky enough to have earned the sniper’s kindness in death.
Like the clear cut image of shock affixed in the dying gasp held by that same medic as behind her head a spray of blood and gore, that lifeless drop, Amsel’s grin had yet to fade. Oh yes, his wily elation had only grown thicker when through his scope he spied his darling songbird—a tad more.. lively than when she’d been sent through to Respawn—emerge from the depths of her base.
He watched the malice creasing her brow, took delight in her stare full of hungered determination to exact revenge. Game on - Amsel had surely not made it a secret of purposefully targeting the RED.
But first came to bait his prey. What else to draw a medic forth but the harrowed cries of an injured team-mate?
Simple enough lure her to the open, leaving the shadows to his own for to have a more.. direct approach. Afterall, his blade had not seen enough blood this day and it was about time to remedy that.
Off he went, steps quick and quiet, kukri drawn.
my late and terrible half of an art trade with bangbangkopfschuss
my excuse as to why it’s so terrible and disproportionate is that I doodled it on a small scrap of paper during a con, and I wasn’t looking at it from the best angle. yes that my excuse imSORRY
[How can it be late if there was no deadline? Haha!
Anywho— this is anything but ‘terrible’, you doof! I adore the way you draw my dumb baby, and he looks so smug here it is fantastic!
Stop being so critical of yourself! I love it, thank you so much! <3]]