Week 3, Sunday Post-Execution - Sanji

[fragileprophet]

[Well, at least Ion is roughly taking his own advice. He hasn't stopped breathing, yet. But it feels like everything else in the world has stopped. Once the execution dispersed and Ion had nobody else left to comfort, the energy drained out of him like a faucet left abandoned. He probably would have collapsed right in the foyer, but willpower alone kept his feet moving. The wise choice might have been to head back to his room, but after the weekend, after what just happened, he needs a break from babysitting Natsuo. It's not that it bothers him to do it, but he knows he won't be any comfort to anyone for awhile.

Ion ends up in the music room. Usually, he takes a seat at the full-scale harp, but instead he finds himself cradling a handheld-sized version in his lap, huddled against corner in the back. He's not even making music, just softly plucking the same sad cord as he stares off into nothing, head lulled against the cool stone.]

Comments

[concasse]

... Oi now. Don't get me wrong, I don't think you should be blaming yourself personally. Somehow I doubt you voted her partner into the hot seat.

[Maybe it seems like a contradiction to his previous claim, but Sanji glances at Ion from the corner of his eyes without looking directly at him for now, a soft frown playing on his face.

It sounds too much like Ion is wishing the two of them had traded places -- that Rapunzel had "deserved" to live where he had not. It should be no surprise Sanji isn't going to let this stand without challenge.]

We made assumptions and fucked up, but life's precious no matter how you slice it. [A pause. He looks at his fingers, flexing them] ... There's no way a girl like her would've accepted anyone dying in her place, anyway.