Pandemic Roleplay

"You don't even know, Viola," he muttered bitterly. "I've done things that even running away could never make up for." Suddenly, he could feel himself standing there again, with that cursed gun. The man on his knees in front of him, burlap sack over his head, shaking in fear and mumbling incoherently. In hindsight, he'd probably been praying to whatever god he believed in. Shouts from that tobacco-chewing man. Insults. Threats. Moby couldn't do it. Pain on his back, fiery and searing. And then he pulled the trigger.

Moby sighed a shuddering sigh. He'd stopped crying and now he was only left with heavy guilt. Turning, he embraced Viola, burying his face in her shoulder.

He sighed. "I had to kill a man. It—it's an initiation thing in the gang. If you don't complete it, you're either kicked to the curb or killed yourself, depending on how good of a mood the leader's in. The person's life doesn't get saved either. Someone still shoots them." Moby shuddered again. "They force you to do things. Eventually you just comply numbly, without thinking. The gangs... They convince you that you'll find family within their ranks, but they don't care about you. They promise that you'll be loved, but you just end up getting raped and beaten. And you can't leave, or you'll die."

He shrugged, falling silent. Viola was warm and comforting as always, but even she couldn't take away memories. Moby closed his eyes, which were red and puffy from crying. "You would've thought I was a monster..."

"Thank you, Viola. But I'm still a murderer, and I have to live with that burden." Moby shook his head. "I dunno... Just... Thank you. Thank you for being here. Thank you for supporting me every time I break down like this, which seems to now be happening with increasing frequency." Moby gave a watery laugh. "I'm a mess, aren't I?"

"That sounds perfect," Moby said, nodding quickly. He pushed up his glasses and stood. "By the way, are you alright? it looks like that glass did a number on your shoulders."

"Alright," Moby acquiesced. "Just don't use too much of it. We might need it for something more serious than a few scratches." Another wave of guilt washed over him, even though he knew it wasn't really his fault. Because of the gang, they hadn't been able to trade with the people of the town. Now they might not have another chance to restock their supplies for a while.

Moby winced at the sting of the chemical. "That is, if they've left. They might still be hanging around, waiting for me to come back. Or they've decided to stay the night, just because it's a long way back to the city they come from."

"We'll just have to be careful and not make any reckless decisions that could get us hurt." Moby sighed. The disinfectant was cool on his shoulders as it evaporated. "Thank you," he murmured, reaching up and putting a hand on her wrist as if to tell her that was enough.

Moby noddded, kneeling across from her. He took a new cotton ball and copied Viola's process of getting it wet with the rubbing alcohol. "We'll be okay," he said as he gently wiped her shoulders and arms with the cotton. Moby narrowed his eyes slightly in concentration, not wanting to miss a single scratch.