(no subject)

[polyturtle]

Who| Closed to Donatello and Clara
What| Don drank the water. Oops.
Where| Somewhere on the third floor
When| Week 5!
Warnings/Notes| Death and injuries. And a turtle tripping balls.

Drinking the water had been a bad idea. A bad, bad, bad idea. Even if he had known, at least originally, why he did it. However, at this point his memory of that was a bit shot. Or at least he was too distracted by the giant roombas that were chasing him to remember that.

Yes, giant roombas. They had started out small. But then somehow the Capitol made them very large. Large enough to flatten him like a pancake. So he was running. Running to find a hiding spot. Hiding spots which were looking to be increasingly less likely to find.

So he ran. And heaven help whoever got in his way.

Comments

[polyturtle]

"...Fine." Glare. "You have ten seconds to explain yourself."

[seestheman]

"I was just heading back from grabbing dinner while you ran into me. No one sent me and I have no reason to target you. Now, if you'd just back off, we can both walk away from this. Alright?" Her voice is low, quiet, and as soothing as possible, as if she's talking to a small frightened child instead of an angry, overgrown, bipedal turtle.

"If I stand up, will you let me walk away?"

[polyturtle]

At this point, Donatello might as well have been a small child, so affected by the water he was. Those eyes were still wide, and angry. A sign he didn't believe her, even now.

"What's to stop you from killing me with my back turned?!"

He didn't even stop to think about how illogical that question was.

[seestheman]

It takes all her willpower to not facepalm at his question. Is there a way to answer that without sounding...speciesist? Is that what it'd be? Or something else? No matter, she still protests.

"Your back's much better protected than mine would be if I turned around to walk away from you." That's a classy way to put it, right? "Just trust me, okay? I would never kill anyone in cold blood."

[polyturtle]

"No..." A growl came from Don's throat. "LIAR! Everyone that's left is a killer here! EVERYONE!"

And with that, he was done, and he lunged at her, eyes wide, snarl on his tongue.

[seestheman]

Clara doesn't even think about what she's doing when she draws the saber, all she knows is that her brain is screaming 'He'll kill you, do something!' when it comes out and sinks into the first soft spot that she can think of: his throat. The moment the tip of the blade sinks into his skin, she realizes exactly what she's done. "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry, please forgive me."

cw: blood

[polyturtle]

Don's eyes almost bulged out of his skill as he felt the sword lodge into his throat. He let out a gurgled gasp as his blood began to pour out.

His carotid artery. She got it. He was going to die; he...he'd been right. But he'd failed.


His legs wobbled from under him, and he fell to his knees. He shut his eyes, tears of shame falling from his eyes at failing Shepard in his promise to her.

"Gnnra..."

[seestheman]

Back in the Capitol, they're probably commentating on how it's a lucky shot or something like that. She doesn't feel lucky, in fact she feels anything but right now. Maybe more like a monster or something like that. She knows that by removing the blade, he'll bleed out faster. Or he should if turtles have veins and arteries like humans. She can't be sure right now.

She quickly debates it. Either way he's going to die, it's just a matter of whether she wants to try to save him and fail miserably or let him go as quickly as possible so he can just get back to the Capitol. Really, the answer's a no brainer.

Clara pulls the sword out with a horrified look on her face before dropping the weapon on the ground as she climbs back to her feet to try to help him get down on the ground as gently as possible. "I'm sorry. I swear, I didn't mean to, but you didn't exactly give me another choice." Of course he did, but it was a choice that she still isn't quite ready for yet. "I'm so sorry, please forgive me."

[polyturtle]

He needed to breathe, but he can't. He needed to say something, anything, but all that came out was a gargle. He looked up at Clara as she let him down, looking more like a frightened kid than the crazed, hallucinating threat he'd been before. But, then again, he still was, in comparison to Clara, a kid.

His hand still held onto his neck as all the blood left his body, until, at last, his hand loosened and went limp, his eyes staring up at Clara with an unspoken fear and shame that he would carry with him to the grave. He died at last.

Again. Again, and again, and...

[seestheman]

Clara wants to scream, to properly mourn him even if she doesn't know him that well, to be able to do anything other than just leave his corpse in the middle of the hallway where anyone can find him. But she can't, the mall will be closing down for the night sooner rather than later and she doesn't want to be left outside.

Instead she grabs her sword and gets back onto her feet, giving the corpse one last apologetic look before sliding the sword back into its sheath. She'll find a way to apologize to him once she's back in the Capitol in a day or so, she decides. But right now she can't focus on that, she needs to get moving before someone (or something, considering the roombas) comes and finds her.