There's a ringing in his ears, and at first he thinks it's just the echo of the shots he fired; it takes a moment longer for him to realize that the sound is the sirens that have been going off ever since Sharon started bringing this nightmare reality to Hadriel's already-nightmarish landscape.
This isn't right.
Mello watched Sharon fall to the floor, but he approaches her now - slowly, cautiously, finger still on the trigger of his pistol, ready to fire again if necessary. It isn't, though; she isn't moving, isn't breathing, he can see that much, now that he's close. Why are the sirens still going off? He crouches to the floor next to her body, intently observing for any unpleasant surprises - he's seen a horror movie at least once in his life, after all - but again, nothing unexpected happens. He peels off the glove of his right hand and touches the side of her neck, checking for a pulse - nothing.
She's dead, and it hasn't stopped the world from going to absolute shit. Which means he was wrong. Again.]
Damn it.
[Something catches his eye, though - the photograph that fell out of her hand. He picks up the crumpled paper and studies it closely for a moment - it's hard to make out the faces in this semi-destroyed state, but he does finally place them with a spark of recognition. The dream. It must have been hers. Who are these people, then? Her family? Friends? People who are important to her, that's for certain; you don't keep photographs of people who aren't significant in some way.
There's no time to ponder the meaning of the photograph any further, because he needs to get back to the temple, back to Near and more or less out of harm's way. Mello gently folds Sharon's hand around the photograph, even more gently brushes her eyelids closed with the tips of his fingers, then stands and tugs the glove back over his hand. He turns and makes his way out of the apartment, back down the stairs, placing a hurried call to Hope while on the move.]
no subject
There's a ringing in his ears, and at first he thinks it's just the echo of the shots he fired; it takes a moment longer for him to realize that the sound is the sirens that have been going off ever since Sharon started bringing this nightmare reality to Hadriel's already-nightmarish landscape.
This isn't right.
Mello watched Sharon fall to the floor, but he approaches her now - slowly, cautiously, finger still on the trigger of his pistol, ready to fire again if necessary. It isn't, though; she isn't moving, isn't breathing, he can see that much, now that he's close. Why are the sirens still going off? He crouches to the floor next to her body, intently observing for any unpleasant surprises - he's seen a horror movie at least once in his life, after all - but again, nothing unexpected happens. He peels off the glove of his right hand and touches the side of her neck, checking for a pulse - nothing.
She's dead, and it hasn't stopped the world from going to absolute shit. Which means he was wrong. Again.]
Damn it.
[Something catches his eye, though - the photograph that fell out of her hand. He picks up the crumpled paper and studies it closely for a moment - it's hard to make out the faces in this semi-destroyed state, but he does finally place them with a spark of recognition. The dream. It must have been hers. Who are these people, then? Her family? Friends? People who are important to her, that's for certain; you don't keep photographs of people who aren't significant in some way.
There's no time to ponder the meaning of the photograph any further, because he needs to get back to the temple, back to Near and more or less out of harm's way. Mello gently folds Sharon's hand around the photograph, even more gently brushes her eyelids closed with the tips of his fingers, then stands and tugs the glove back over his hand. He turns and makes his way out of the apartment, back down the stairs, placing a hurried call to Hope while on the move.]