[center][color=gray]There was no moonlight confidant to weave nightmares into soft slumber this time.[/color][/center]

[hr][sup][h1][center][url=https://open.spotify.com/track/2XWt36nIpTux6S7XnJqYhy?si=5b49ea356bd945ee][img]https://i.imgur.com/q3SUbiN.jpeg[/img][/url][b][color=black]G I L  E M O R Y  G A L A H A D[/color]
[color=lightgray] G I L  E M O R Y  G A L A H A D[/color]
[/b][/center][/h1][/sup]
[indent][sub][COLOR=SILVER][B]Location:[/B][/COLOR] [I]The Beach[/I] - [I]Dundas Island[/I][/sub][sup][right][COLOR=SILVER][b]Human #5.011[/b][/COLOR] [I]Sinking, Burning[/I][/right][/sup][/indent][sub][hr][/sub][INDENT][sub][color=SILVER][B]Interaction(s): [/B][/COLOR] [I] Lorcán, [@Lord Wraith] [/I][/sub][/indent]
[indent][color=gray]Gil wasn't sure how he'd ended up here, on the beach, eerily reminiscent of but a few short weeks ago before everything had gotten fucked up. All he [i]was[/i] sure of was the heat of the fire, the grittiness of the sand beneath his legs, and the feeling of the glass bottle in his remaining hand. 

Ha, the left hand. The hand left. His right was a stump. Between crushing, laceration, and acute frostbite, it'd been shorn off by medical decree halfway up his forearm. No more watches! Gloves half price! And dressing himself was tricky now. H.E.L.P. had been none, but he'd been assured a prosthetic and further physical therapy to support it could be secured when he was back continent-side, provided his insurance was up to date. Provided his insurance was retained. With current hyperhuman sentiment reaching lows even beyond the wake of the Hyperion incident, there were those rallying and lobbying for further stripping away. He lifted the wine bottle to his lips with his left hand, the movement awkward and unfamiliar with his non-dominant arm, and pulled deeply of an earthy and spiced red.

He sat in sullen silence, physically present but mentally drifting. The options had been laid before them by the academy faculty, or at least what was left of it - Foundation or Fend For Yourself. Foundation or Figure It Out. Foundation or Fuck Off. Well, Gil would Fuck Off then. Having resigned only a few days ago - gods, another lifetime, how many had he lived through now in the last handful of short weeks? - he had no need for an 'acting degree' anymore, the value of such a 'degree' from either P.R.C.U. or the Foundation a dubious proposition at best regardless. What was left for him now? The others talked of 'moving on', of forging new futures and new lives for themselves. Lorcán and his picture-perfect engaged-to-be-engaged beau, the pair of them set apart from Blackjack by virtue of their [i]absence[/i] of consequence, itself fuelled by their own [i]absence[/i] at the dance, mentioned his safety net in Crestwood Hollow. Gods, just the name of the town ripped through Gil like a fresh spear, another reminder of a previous life [i]long[/i] since torn away through both his own will and the forces of others acting upon him.

Gil himself had no real plan beyond finishing this bottle and starting another. There was the apartment in LA, rent quietly ticking over, and he supposed he'd return there to drink himself into oblivion or run out of money. Or run out of money by drinking himself into oblivion. And then he'd probably go back to England, back to mother and father. He'd probably end up an accountant like his dad. Bored out of his skull and mourning.

Katja was the only real surprise of the evening; Gil wasn't sure where she'd gone but she had been gone, and he'd considered her gone for good, possessed of the good sense to get away from the island before it became the inevitable death sentence, like it had become for so many others. He didn't look at her. Couldn't. Couldn't think about what she might have been able to do against the beast. Couldn't think about what had been done and lost in her place. Why had it been left to Cass the foolhardy, Torres the misguided, Rory the inept, Gil the inadequate? Instead of standing together as a team they'd each charged in alone, reckless and irresponsible, and they'd lost limbs and lives and entire persons as a result. Harper talked about 'Home', although Gil had no fucking idea what that concept was meant to stand for now, because it certainly didn't mean 'belonging' or 'safety' to him anymore, while Cleo - one of the few remnants of Eclipse, now among them as they sat not as teammates but [i]survivors[/i] - and Banjo talked about the Foundation. He wasn't going to protest. If they, or anyone else, wanted to delude themselves into thinking that place would be any safer, go right ahead. Gil wasn't even convinced they weren't directly behind everything that had happened; their presence had been unwelcome and vaguely sinister from the start of the year, and now it seemed with PRCU's closure and seizure, the Alexandria Foundation stood poised to become the foremost - and indeed, [i]only[/i] - authority on Hyperhumans across the globe. Even with Torres' untimely death, he couldn't imagine the upper leaders of the organisation to be unhappy with that outcome.

It was only when another pair arrived, both strangers to Gil, and mentioned Amma that he looked up. She held an ivory head of hair, and he held her hand with a fierce tenderness.

When she stepped forward to give him the ring, he initially, instinctively, raised his stump towards her; he faltered, awkward and inwardly cursing, before releasing the bottle and pushing his left hand out instead. She dropped a small ring into his waiting palm, and despite its small size it imparted a devastating weight upon him.
[right][i]mend instead of sunder[/i][/right]
Gil stood up suddenly, his own immediate fury surprising himself and overriding any feeling of drunkenness. Amma was all he had left. The only real connection left. What they'd shared at the dance...what he'd felt as they kissed...

He turned from the fire without a word, putting the shoreline behind him as he began to head back towards what remained of the PRCU ‘campus’.

Releasing his grip on Aurora, Lorcán’s eyes darted to Gil and he immediately gave chase.
[color=FE650D]“Dude, Gil!”[/color] Lorcán called as the pair rapidly departed earshot of the others. [color=FE650D]“Wait up! Where are you going?”[/color] He asked, desperately trying to get his friend’s attention, before finally taking hold of Gil’s right arm - right above where the rest of it used to be.

Gil reacted viscerally, yanking his stubbed arm from Lorcán’s heated grip with a violence unlike him; he whirled around, eyes ablaze. He pointed his stump in Lorcán’s face, accusatory, unavoidable.
[color=FCE205]“I’m going to find Alyssa. She sent that thing away, and condemned Amma to whatever Hell with it. She’s going to tell me what she did, and then she’s going to send me there too. Or I’ll find my own way. Or I’ll die trying. Or all [i]damn[/i] three!”[/color]

He stepped back from Lorcán, disdain creeping in at the edges of his voice and corners of his mouth. [color=FCE205]“You leave with your bride-to-be. Crestwood Hollow’s supposed to be lovely this time of year. The rest of us didn’t make it out quite so [i]tidily[/i].”[/color]

Lorcán’s brow furled, the ambient temperature rising between the two. Something had changed in Gil; he had noticed it before the dance in the wake of the Trials, but now, the person who stood before him was a shell of the man that Lorcán had thought he knew. A broken soul, desperate for answers and resolutions. 

[color=FE650D]“Like I knew what was going to happen that dance. You think I wanted to miss the fight, to be absent while friends were injured and others died? Had I known what was coming, I would have been there, and I would have made sure you weren’t.”[/color] Lorcán explained, minding his tone though an edge was still there. He was tired, his emotions were raw, and he was already blaming himself. One of Blackjack’s powerhouses - perhaps next to Amma herself - and the natural enemy of ice. Lorcán was more than aware that his presence could have tipped the tides in their favour. 
[color=FE650D]“I’m sorry I wasn’t there Gil; I’m sorry about your injuries; but if you’ve got a plan, let me help. Anything you need from me, it’s yours. But don’t storm the gates of Hell alone, because I...”[/color] He paused, gesturing back to the team. [color=FE650D]“[i]We[/i] can’t lose anymore of our own, and you’re one of us now, whether you like it or not.”[/color]

[color=FCE205]“[i]Now?[/i] I’m one of the team, [i]now?[/i]”[/color] Gil scoffed. [color=FCE205]“Not when I joined Blackjack a year ago? Not when the Foundation came in to undermine the academy? Not when the Trials were sabotaged and we nearly died? But since I’ve watched half the senior year get slaughtered, Amma get dragged off the face of the earth, and [i]lost my arm[/i], [i][b]now[/b][/i] I’m ‘one of us’? Well, I didn’t know there were such prestigious entry requirements. Next time I’ll make sure my application gets lost in the mail.”[/color]

He breathed deep. He was drunk, and that wasn’t helping, but the simmering anger it fed off was very real. 
[color=FCE205]“Do what you want, Lorcán. I can’t blame you for wanting to put everything that’s happened on this fucking island far behind you. Move to the other side of the continent, pretend it never existed in the first place. Find a job. Buy a ring. Settle down and raise a bunch of ginger hype kids. I [i]wish[/i] it was that easy. Fuck, a couple of weeks ago it [i]was[/i] that easy! Coast out the year, lay a few birds, sign some [i]fucking yearbooks![/i] Then a quick flight back to LA and my career was back on track. Now everything’s [i]fucked[/i]. Robbed of its meaning. Amma…I don’t know how we connected but we did, christ I’ve never felt anything like it. I’ll do anything to feel it again. I’d [i]die[/i], if I can feel it again. So follow me if you want; but you said it yourself. We can’t lose anymore of our own.”[/color]

He stopped. His eyes were red and watery, but he refused to let a single tear fall. He just stared defiantly back at Lorcán, arms at his sides. The wine bottle hung loosely in his fingers, last remnants sloshing inside.

[color=FE650D]“You know that’s not what I meant.”[/color] Lorcán replied in a defeated tone, [color=FE650D]“I just…”[/color] He paused, his lower lip quivering slightly in the darkness.

[color=FE650D]“I had an unconventional friendship with Amma, but she was someone I called a friend.”[/color] He began. [color=FE650D]“If it wasn’t for Amma, like, I wouldn’t be standing here today, and it kills me I wasn’t there to return the favour. So yeah, I’d get it if you totally hated me, I’d get it if you never wanted to see me or this place ever again, but I owe [i]her[/i]. I owe her more than anyone. If there’s a chance she’s alive, we- no, [i]I[/i] need to see this out.”[/color]

Lorcán looked at his feet, sheepishly dragging his flip-flop clad feet through the loose sand.
[color=FE650D]“You’re one of my closest friends, Gil. I can’t begin to understand what you’re feeling, but I don’t want to lose you too.”[/color]

Gil moved to cock his head and put his hands on his hips, only to stumble when his right hand didn’t meet his pelvis - just the space where it used to be. He rubbed his eyes with his left instead, unconsciously holding his stub behind his back, out of sight. 
[color=FCE205]“Then…I’ll call you. When I’ve found Alyssa, and she shows me how to go after Amma, I’ll call you. And then you can decide whether you really want to follow me or not.”[/color]
He tucked the wine under his armpit and held out his left arm, proffering his remaining hand to shake in agreement.

Lorcán extended a hand to complete the gesture, instinctually putting forth his right before doing a quick shuffle to his left. It was awkward and felt unintuitive to shake with his left, but they sealed the deal. The darkness hid the slight relief that appeared on Lorcán’s face after Gil agreed, and he hoped that meant the pair would stay in contact, and their friendship would persist.

Some of Gil’s words lingered in Lorcán’s head as he turned to walk back to the campfire, giving his friend one last look before he did.

[i]Find a job. Buy a ring.[/i]
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