I'd Kiss You But Then I'd Have To Kill You (Wil)

[WIL CROFT]

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[atrb=valign,bottom][bg=1b1d1b] Wil stared at Raiden for a long moment, nothing but sheer bafflement on his face. He shook his head and asked plaintively, "Are you actually and in fact serious? Do you even hear yourself talk? It's like a Saturday Night Live sketch: Emo Elf is Emo! The only way you could possibly sound less like you understand the reality around you is if you started speaking in ubba-dubba." He stalked over to Raiden, stepping around him to block his path. "Let me try being really, really, really clear about this. You're being stupid. And again: You. Are. Being. Stupid." A hard glare. "You've been bitten, stabbed, and shoved in the path of cold iron shot. You're exhausted, you're wounded, and I choose to believe that blood loss is impeding your brain function because if you actually going around saying things like 'if I pass out or die just leave me behind, I could care less' when you're not irrational from your injuries I don't see how you manage to tie your own shoes or feed yourself." "Go to the fucking car, okay? Patch yourself up, let me finish clearing this building and the lot behind to make sure there aren't any nasty surprises waiting for the civvies, and then we'll go back to the church and tend your wounds properly, then get you somewhere safe where you can sleep it off. Just--" he shook his head, frustrated more than he could even express. "Just stop being dumb. Just react rationally to the world around you. Just accept that this is reality and not a Poppy Z. Brite novel. Just wait in the goddamned car, would you?" God, it was like arguing with his wife. Only with even less hope of make-up sex afterward.

[WIL CROFT]

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[atrb=valign,bottom][bg=1b1d1b] That was it, Wil gave up. You can't save people who don't want to be saved, you can't make a junkie want to sober up and Raiden was more addicted to self-pity than many a heroin user Wil had known in his time. "Fine, I'm done. Do whatever the fuck you want to do, I'm done trying to treat you decent. Stomp around, mope about the lacerated rose that is your heart, do whatever it is that you do. I'm going this direction," he picked one at random and pointed, "and when I'm done clearing it I'm getting in my car and leaving town and you don't ever have to see me again or bear up under my horrifying attempts to treat you like a person or my hideously unreasonably expectations that you might do the same in return." He didn't even say goodbye, just turned in the direction he'd indicated earlier and left. If he was really, really lucky he'd never see Emo!Elf again.