sixthiterationlogs | There were so many times I thought I have died

WHO: Bobo Del Rey
WHERE: Both North and South Village
WHEN: First few weeks of February after returning
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Will update if needed

There are so many parts that I have hidden and that I yet lost - Either village, First wk of Feb

Bobo Del Rey is dead. Long live the King.

Much as Bobo rallied himself with the others, almost glad to have found himself with Eddie, Venom and Karen in that hell that passed for a temple - and he's sure there's something in that about religion and belief and faith and facing the truth but fuck all that noise - but just because they're the ones he was with, and therefor cared enough to help, he's caught up in so much more.

Like the fact that he did care about others. It's been so many decades since he's cared, and a lot of torture both given and received, and now he's having to face the truth. He's dead. Except instead of being sucked into Hell for more torture, to be further tormented until the heir died once more as they always did, he is here. There is no return. There is no torture. There's just this, and he's not sure what that means. Not for himself, or the confusion that has been haunting him since this place.

But once they're assured everyone has made it back, and that things are back to normal, Bobo is doing his best to get back to a normal life. When in the southern most village, he works on the butcher shop, trying to pull everything together. Cleaning up the entire shop from top to bottom, turning all of the hides, and working to bottle the ink he'd made from tallow soot, leaving the little bottles on the counter near the soap that Watney made.

When back to the north, he can be found often working on the former police station turned barn where they now houses a myriad of animals, including the new baby groffle that somehow the cowboys had managed to bring back with them after the video. They weren't doing much better than he was, but none of them were talking about it. Instead they kept working.

So he works on splitting logs, and preparing the land to add a pasture to turn them out into until the weather turns and they can take them out further from the village.

There are so many colors that I still try to hide while I paint - Off Color

If Bobo is conflicted over who he is and the man he will be, having a moment of his device going a bit wonky is not going to fix that.

He hasn't bothered himself too much with what the device color means, or about these powers that some speak of possessing. His isn't what he knows as being a revenant, and he's not sure what to think of being given something else, but he knows one thing.

In his mind that change in colors is a possible sign of a weakness that he isn't willing to admit to others. Especially after he finds himself standing in the middle of the butcher shop feeling what he can only describe as sad over the state of the animals in various degrees of death and dismemberment around him.

Ripping up some rag pieces he's kept around into thin strips, he wraps them around is wrists, over the palm of his hand, using them to hide the device, before going about his business. Business that is less the business he's chosen for himself and more spending time seeking out others in the inn. Approaching others if they don't seek him out, quieter and less boisterous than he usually is.

It would seem if the images of his death aren't putting him in mind of his past, and what he might become or refuse to acknowledge, well then the powers that be aren't willing to give him a choice.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Bobo had never bonded with the revenants because of their shared torment. He took over because if someone didn't, lives would be taken. What happened on the mountain, up at that shrine, and all they'd shared because of it - even if against their will - and for Bobo there is a difference in how he feels towards Eddie and Karen. Venom too, even if he's really not sure how to handle this. He'd kind of always thought it was a monster friend thing, and not a those were Venom's eyes staring at him from Eddie's face kind of thing.

But then there's a loaded question out there and he takes a deep breath, huffing it out.

"Alive, which is apparently better than I could be doing, so least there's that." And it's what he keeps telling himself, not thinking about if he'll return. He doesn't doubt Wynonna will finish them off without Bobo there to keep them under control. He's in Hell for good this time, and therefor this world is just about all he needs.

"Hanging in there," he says after a moment, thinking about his words and being honest in that. If only for Eddie's sake. "You? You doing okay?"

"I wasn't. My dad fucking makes me go catatonic. My therapist said it's because I have unresolved issues with identity and self-expression since he didn't give me an opportunity to-something-something-something."

He waves his hand, "It's not important. Point is I'm feeling better now. Despite how weird that is."

There's something very different about him. He seems stronger, more focused, more aware, "...What can I do to help you?"

"Or because your dad was a fucking asshole that needed to be gutted like a fish and his head put on a pike for all the other abusive assholes, but sure. Let's got with your therapist's analysis," Bobo says, apparently and obviously having feelings on what he's seen of Eddie's past.

His head cants, considering Eddie for a moment. To hear Venom speak of him, the things that Bobo has seen, he's a lot like Robert Svane. A good man, if a bit timid. Now he's waving away this past that's holding him down and says he's feeling better. Bobo isn't feeling at all better, and wonders what he's done to get to that point. Might be helpful for himself.

"I was actually about to start working on collecting soot for ink, and bottling what I've made. It's kind of tedious but if you want to help, the more the merrier."

Eddie agrees. There are days, when he gets angry or hurt or scared - where he fantasizes about taking it out on Carl Brock. Then he remembers the old man is all he has and Carl is his only family and he-

dismisses it.

Something trickles into the back of his mind as he chuckles, "...Good ole' Carl. I can help you with that. you make your own ink?

Like for writing?"

There's a note of hunger in his voice.

Bobo nods, giving a jerk of his head for Eddie to follow and heading for the back room once more. "There's a bunch here writing plans and stories and keeping notes, I guess," he says, shrugging. "But then they need ink to keep up. I remember my dad doing this when I was a kid and it's working out pretty good."

He glances back. "I also should pull out the first attempts from the smoke house. Some fish in there that might have worked out."

"...Would you show me how?" He pauses, and then-

"My dad's a lawyer. He's a dirtbag piece of trash son of a bitch. One of the few things he did that was right though was journal."

He moves to follow Bobo with his hands in his pockets, "...Like its sounds stupid. He was the kind of guy who hated shit like expressing emotions. When my mom died though he got into the habit and I read how sad he was and how much he missed her and..."

How much he blamed me

He shook his head.

"Never find your dad's journals. But I got into the habit. Trying to copy him. Then I became a journalist and he was still not proud so. There you go. Will you teach me how to make ink?"

"How to make ink? Sure. It's more time consuming than anything," he admits, holding up one hand, showing the dark grey tips. "And it stains," he adds. "I tend to wear my scrubs when working on it because it won't wash out."

He glances at Eddie as he talks about his dad though, knowing just a tiny bit of how much this man hurt Eddie and having no desire to forgive him. No matter how sad the bastard was.

"Well, mine's been dead for over a century. Hell, dead long before I died the first time," he admits. "So not a worry for me, but I can see it maybe being a smart thing in this place. No idea how many might come into this place after us. And, I know it's easier said than done but... fuck that asshole, okay? I mean, for fuck's sake, you're the kind of man that can get someone like Venom mostly under control, and he cares about you, and somehow that asshole couldn't find someone to be proud of? That's him trying too hard not to and that's bullshit."

There were so many times I thought I have died

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