Turbinio

Some More Whiskey

You moaned and leaned against Cadichon's neck, hugging the animal. Its fur was icy and covered with snow.

''I'm sorry...'' You sobbed, hiding your face in the animal's large body. ''I'm sorry, I would never leave you here! If he had killed me... You would have ended up dying here in the cold... I'm sorry!''

The mule snorted, pricked up its ears, and didn't flinch at your touch. At this point, all your weight was resting on Cadichon's body.

The snow was on your face, neck and shoulders. Each heavy, cold flake then melted into a tiny warm stream, running down your chilled skin. The sensation was quite distinct, separate from the agony of pain that ebbed and receded. You tried, now, to focus on the man behind you, to force your attention away from the distant, faint voice in your mind, the one that said things in an even tone, as if making notes in a clinical report: "You have strained muscles and tendons, of course. There was probably a tear in some internal tissue, judging by the spasms in your abdomen. Your windpipe was violently obstructed and there are still sequels. In general, all this should be fatal. The displacement of some bones in your hand is numbing the extremities of your body and causing your vision to dim. They say that hearing is the last sense to fade away; it appears to be true.''

''Who are you?'' You asked, not sure if you were talking to the voice or the man.

''You know the son of the Zeppeli family, don't you?''

''Who the hell are you?!'' You tried to scream, but your throat hurt terribly.

''You're going to answer me that and tell me exactly what happened. Who was the man who took Magenta?''

You took a deep breath and looked down. That man's accent was quite similar to Gyro's.

''You know that guy that Diego saved?'' You turned slowly towards him. ''He did talk about a bastard named Wekapipo.''

''If he doesn't use that tiny brain to hold a gun, then he won't use it to know who the bastard is either.''

You paused for a moment, looking at a silvery glint on the snow. One of your revolvers. Ignoring all the pain you were feeling, you leaned as nimbly as you could and drew your gun, propping an elbow on Cadichon.

''I can decide who the bastard is. I asked you a question.''

Even with a gun pointed at his head, the man didn't hesitate. His eyes were a deep, steady amber. A hand hovered over his hip, holding a familiarly shaped holster, whose rounded compartments held an orange orb studded with circular embossing. You immediately regretted that you had wasted your time not shooting Magenta.

''Yes, I'm Wekapipo. Now answer my question; who are you?" He looked ready as a hound, not underestimating your urge to shoot him.

''(Y/N).''

''The healer witch?''

''I think so.'' Your brows furrowed and your finger was on the trigger. ''If your partner is alive and so are you, then what happened to Gyro and Johnny? I want to shoot you regardless of the answer, so don't lie to me.''

There was no doubt that Wekapipo had steel balls, just like Gyro's. Though confused and tormented, you tried your best to stay focused. His holster unhooked and the safety on your revolver clicked in one flick of your thumb.

''If you intend to shoot me because of them, then put the gun down. They're alive.'' For a moment, the weight and tension in your shoulders were gone, but you didn't lower the gun. ''Magent isn't my partner, and I believe you and I are on the same side.''

''So they just made peace with two government terrorists? I find it hard to believe you.''

''Miss, I insist you put the gun down.''