[ Five sits on his bed with his flask of scotch, peering down at the communicator with eyes that sting with exhaustion. The footsteps down the hall are able to remind him that there's people here around him now, but it's a cold comfort. Luther misses the entire point, like so many of their other siblings—it's simply trading in one danger for another.
How many possible, calculable ways can his family turn out, dead, dead, dead. ]
If that's how it's going to be, well, what else is there to say?
no subject
How many possible, calculable ways can his family turn out, dead, dead, dead. ]
If that's how it's going to be, well, what else is there to say?
[ Goodnight, Luther. ]