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"Pay me back for this drink, with this bullet..."
He tunes the voice of his friend out after that, or more accurately, he tries his best not to pay much attention to what he says next. It would be cruel, afterall, not to listen to the last words of a dying friend.
So Ashveil watches his friend down another swing of his bottle in hand, the second to a pair half held by Ashveil, as the other hand holds a loaded gun. He stares off into the distant ocean, the two having found a quiet and scenic hill overlooking the vast sea of this particular region, trying to forget the many things he has seen and heard.
The drinks had been his companions' idea, something nice to do as a get together after so long. Although It hasn't been very long since the two had seen each other, the difference in the two compared to then could practically be night and day, so maybe it is still fitting for a long awaited reunion. Perhaps even as a final send off, if his words are anything to go by. Ashveil would much prefer it if it were not.
Ashveil stands, a dark expression on his face as he moves to walk off. Taking his untouched bottle with him. He'll pay his friend back, of course, but it can wait. His friend doesn't seem to mind his sudden departure, continuing to drink his sorrows away and look out to the beautiful scene of nature they've found themselves in. He doesn't seem to mind either, as Ashveil's steps abruptly stop. Hardly making it any distance before he's turned back. Taking in both the scenery and his friend's figure.
It's isolated, and especially for the time of night, no one is here. As if the two just have all the time in the world to each other, and themselves. Ashveil raises a hand, in a sort of salute. If you could call such a thing a salute, but the two won't be seeing each other for a long time, so it feels wrong not to. At least in some sense.
His companion finally speaks up again, "How about this, when we meet again, you can buy the drinks next time" he huffs, and it almost sounds like a sad laugh. Ashveil isn't too sure his friend can laugh anymore, regardless, "everyone can be there, too, just like old times" he stares at the bottle in hand and moves it around mindlessly, losing himself in his own memories.
There's a long stretch of silence, briefly broken by a voice straining against a raw emotion bubbling inside his chest. Until a voice, calm as it could be, speaks up, "Yes, until we meet again" Ashveil still doesn't make any attempt to move, not to walk away nor to move any part of his body more than he already has.
His raised hand shakes a little, and Ashveil's never been known to shake when afraid, but these days new problems seem to present themselves every chance they get. He knows he needs to just get on with it and leave, but a part of him doesn't want this night to end.
His friend finishes the last of his bottle, a soft sigh escaping his lips, "The sky's awfully beautiful tonight, don't you agree?" his friend lifts his head a little higher, and it sounds as though he has a smile on his face. The first in a very, very, long time. He doesn't try to turn his head back to Ashveil as the question hangs in the air, perhaps he knows there isn't a point of expecting a response. Perhaps not wanting to see what's there.
The defining silence in wake of Ashveil's nonexistent answer is broken by the firing of a gun. Only to be returned to pure silence, as the last echo of the shot rings out. He'll never know for sure if his friend was smiling or not.
"The sky would be even more beautiful if you were still up there, my bright star" tears begin to well in his eyes, but there's no point in regretting what has been done. He's never been one to go back on his promises, afterall. No matter how much they may pain him.
La Mancha stares at the corpse of his friend, his comrade, his ranger, which he has killed with his own hand. He asked for this, he had wanted to have the weight off his shoulders, wanted to lessen the burden for the rest of them, but his absence has only left a much heavier weight upon the rangers own chest.
He wants to curse his friend, shake his limp body for answers he'll never receive and curse him out for being a selfish bastard. For leaving La Mancha to handle his body alone. He recalls how his friend didn't have any family, none that would mourn him anyhow, another thing he's stuck tackling alone it would seem.
The leader of the Galaxy Rangers doesn't do any of that, however, instead he slowly walks back to where he had sat moments ago. Being mindful of his friend, who won't be waking up anytime soon to move himself.
La Mancha tosses the gun without much thought, watching as it tumbles down the hill further than he could've thrown it and touches the waves as they come in and out of the shore. Eventually it'll be consumed by those unceasing waves and rolling tides, and La Mancha decides that when it does, it'll be his cue to finally leave.
He thinks on what his friend said, as he asked for him to put a bullet in his head.
"But don't let this burden you, either, you have enough to carry now"
What a challenging last wish, the ranger bitterly muses, as guilt claws through his chest and into his heart. He doesn't go back on his promises, though, so he takes a breath and finally cracks open the other bottle Akuji paid for. La Mancha believes he can finish it for him, if nothing else.
As the night nearly finishes, a Shadow crawls its way out from La Mancha's arm, and the ranger finally turns to look at Akuji again. He owes him this, too, to remember the last of his face. Not much time has passed since the shot went off, Akuji has not had the time to rot, but it still feels wrong to see a man so passionate in his beliefs for justice to be utterly still in death. He's not smiling, either, something between pain and calmness paints his expression, but the corners of his mouth are wrinkled.
The Shadow dances over Akuji's face, as if trying to caress him. Yet the gentle feeling doesn't last for long. A wide and hungry mouth suddenly grows, snarling as it takes in its meal, and snaps shut. The Shadow doesn't get much more of a chance to enjoy its free reign, as La Mancha pushes down hard on each of the nails piercing his metal wrist, the unnatural thing howls in incomprehensible pain and curls back in on itself. Cowering in his arm once more.
The Lead Hunter's gaze falls to the shoreline, down where the gun fell a few hours ago, and sees no sign of the weapon. As if consumed, not too unlike its previous owner. Silently, La Mancha stands and walks away. Leaving as he wishes he could've long ago tonight, with a dear friend still in this world.