Her faith in him is staggering, and perhaps hard-won. She kneels as if the cramped space of the helicopter is a confessional despite Venom Snake being a poor excuse for a priest.
"We're both murderers," he concedes. Her hands cradle his jaw, and his pulse is strong under her finger. "But it's on me to make sure that there's an end to what I do."
To stop the ebb and flow of blood with his stained palms, to keep that tide from washing over the rest of the world. His battle is against the human condition, and Eli's against her own; he doesn't have the yardstick with which he could ascribe a measurement to the depth of her proverbial sins. So he doesn't.
Their vehicle slows to a hover above the helipad, where Venom can see the faint outline of his XO in the rain. Flanked by a soldier holding an umbrella, sunglasses glinting coal-chrome under artificial lighting.
"...Kaz is gonna give you an earful." Venom can see his second-in-command already, remaining hand curled in tight-fisted austerity while his lips draw in a tight line. Ill-stitched seams holding a hurricane of a man together. Ocelot is curiously missing; busy in that Orwellian torture chamber extracting secrets from soldiers who should have known better, no doubt.
Venom draws up into half-crouch, dislodging himself from his companion to pry the heavy sliding door open. Before Miller can say anything, Venom silences him with a raised palm and a gesture towards their hard-earned contraband, yelling 'We'll talk!' above the spatter of rain and revolving blades.
With that done, he has the freedom to turn towards Eli and murmur: "I'll keep him busy. Go shower and rest."
no subject
"We're both murderers," he concedes. Her hands cradle his jaw, and his pulse is strong under her finger. "But it's on me to make sure that there's an end to what I do."
To stop the ebb and flow of blood with his stained palms, to keep that tide from washing over the rest of the world. His battle is against the human condition, and Eli's against her own; he doesn't have the yardstick with which he could ascribe a measurement to the depth of her proverbial sins. So he doesn't.
Their vehicle slows to a hover above the helipad, where Venom can see the faint outline of his XO in the rain. Flanked by a soldier holding an umbrella, sunglasses glinting coal-chrome under artificial lighting.
"...Kaz is gonna give you an earful." Venom can see his second-in-command already, remaining hand curled in tight-fisted austerity while his lips draw in a tight line. Ill-stitched seams holding a hurricane of a man together. Ocelot is curiously missing; busy in that Orwellian torture chamber extracting secrets from soldiers who should have known better, no doubt.
Venom draws up into half-crouch, dislodging himself from his companion to pry the heavy sliding door open. Before Miller can say anything, Venom silences him with a raised palm and a gesture towards their hard-earned contraband, yelling 'We'll talk!' above the spatter of rain and revolving blades.
With that done, he has the freedom to turn towards Eli and murmur: "I'll keep him busy. Go shower and rest."