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

"What is with those damned things?" His nose wrinkles, making a face. "I don't get why anyone finds that as a good pet." He shakes his head.

"It was good for me and Vasquez when I first got here. He understood my life, and I got where he was coming from. Made things easier I think when Faraday showed up."

"I don't know, they're terrifying nightmare creatures, I'm just grateful Anne doesn't have one. I like looking after the kitten, but if she had a croc dog, I would make her find someone else to look after it during the next crisis."

"At least the llamas or whatever they are look cute, and the unicorns," he says, waving a hand at them. "Have use. Same as that mess," he says, scritching the groffle. "I guess maybe yappy ugly dogs could be used for security?"

"A lot of people seem to like them. Must be something to it. I just don't get what." He's not really a pet person on the whole, despite the fact he quite likes animals.

"You a dog person otherwise?" He knows he's not, and honest about that. "I mean, never had a pet myself."

"I'm not a pet person. Taking care of Matt was a full time job." It's mostly a joke, but he just didn't have time for pets. College, then work. Marci wasn't really an animal person. "And animal fur on suits is a bad look for a high paid lawyer."

"Yeah, trust me. I know that feeling. I had a few dozen pets for the longest time. All on two legs, and never a desire to have the four legged kind after that," he admits, not even joking. Not in the least.

He chuckles at that. "Yeah I guess that could ruin things."

Foggy stares at Bobo. He is well aware that the man is not joking and he's feeling... conflicted about it.

Not because he disapproves, he knows those people were there willingly. It's everything else that's a bit conflicting.

As such, he's quiet for longer than might be socially appropriate.

"Don't get like that, Foggy," he says, waving a hand at him. "I don't mean like actual pets. More like kids. Murderous, dangerous, idiotic kids," he says with a snort. "But when you're responsible for that much you don't want to take on pets."

And he's not sure why he's making excuses and explanations but he is.

"I'm not getting like anything." He pets the groffle softly. "I'm very aware of the BDSM community and consensual pets, not getting into pet play or that. I was just thinking about it, not judging it. And you don't have to justify yourself to me."

"Wait, no. I didn't mean like that. I meant like they're attack dogs with a short chain. Very few of them am I intimate with, and most of them I would kill before sleep with," he says, nose wrinkling.

Though he doesn't like he is justifying himself, feeling like the worst parts of Robert were surfacing.

"Oh." Well, he had barked up the wrong tree there.

"You still don't need to justify yourself to me," he promised. "I get that your life before here was pretty messed up and you all sort of did what you had to to survive."

"Yeah, I'm realizing the wrong side of things are surfacing. I need to watch that,' he says, nose wrinkling. He really isn't accepting of ending up the mouse he had once been.

There were so many times I thought I have died

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