He finally did it, Annie. He almost did us in. I mean, even when we were working together, he was always a bit... oh, how to be considerate here... "reckless", shall we say? Even when we began to have differences of opinion on matters we could always talk them out; he always stayed somewhat within the realm of what I would consider sanity (at least for him).
I think, though, that the Rubicon has been crossed. We've had our Sterling Bridge and it turns out he was William Wallace. Not I. He is the victor, your Stuart the vanquished. He pays no real heed anymore to ... I don't know. I know he still wants his revenge, Annie, but I don't think he even remembers why. I know why I went down this path, but I've come to realize that it was a mistake. An awful mistake. I've lowered myself to their level, I've done things as bad as they've ever done, and for what? You're still gone. Nothing has brought you back. Nothing will bring you back. Whether or not I get our...my... "revenge" ... does it matter? In a cosmic sense, will anything change?
Not that you'd have any idea what revenge is, you twat. If Blade had done me in, and gotten you as well, the world may have been a better place. He's gone soft, Annie. Remember how the two of you would sit around during the Arts Festival and snicker at the arseholes who'd come up from London with their "refined airs" and their limping fucking wrists? Lets just say given your darling fragile little groom's recent behavior, I'm the only one laughing now. If your precious effing hubby doesn't have the stones to finish what he started, then bollocks to him, eh? I'll finish the fucking job for him. Oh yes.
And when I say finish, I mean FINISH.
He wants to be with his precious little beau again?
That can be arranged.
Annie - I don't know how much longer I have. He gets a hole blasted in us by a thunder cannon, he laughs it off the next day. He gets run through by Black Paladin's lance, he laughs about it the next day. 700 year old French witches turn him into a frog, he laughs about it the next day. Blade puts him on death's doorstep without breaking a sweat, he laughs about it the next day.
I'm the one dealing with the scars. I'm the one not laughing.
I need you. Here. Please.