“Aconite isn’t hard to find, but if they caught you with it they’d dress you in your own guts.”

“I’d try it if I had a better plan than ‘I baked you some thanks-for-the-orgy muffins.’”

“A moment alone with a drink would be enough, if it was strong enough to mask the taste—”

“—oh, the cup would be poetic, and it’s bitter enough…”

He re-crosses his legs.

“…but it’d be ideal if you didn’t just use poison, anyway. I’m sure they’d point that back to me.”

“Is there something that would just put her to sleep…?”

“I’ll see what I can do. Are you in a hurry?”

Is he in a hurry? He spent weeks on the spaceship and woke up like usual. Is it proportionate? If he spends a year here will he be unconscious for a week? Can he keep up the charade indefinitely?

“I mean. Like. A little. Aren’t you?”

He laughs.

“If I were in a hurry everyone here would already be dead.”

So he’s hearing a no on getting one more blowjob for the road. 

“Okay. Well. How about we say I’d ideally prefer to avoid being in more than, like, one more battle.”

“Not as glorious as you expected?”

No he just no longer knows how to fight. 

“You could say that.”

“I’ll ride out tomorrow and see what I can find. But I expect you’ll want a backup plan.”

“I would love one, but short of yelling ‘look, over there!’ and stabbing her in the back I’ve got nothing.”

What, is he the only one here who can hatch a plot?

“Taking a hostage won’t work in shouting distance of anyone else. And if you had any support in the longhouse you wouldn’t be talking to me. I’m not sure there’s any crime you could frame her for that’s believable…Do you care if your friend lives?”

“Yes!!!”

Wait. That doesn’t make any sense. Objectively it works better if Z dies too in case it’s his dream after all. 

“…yeah.”

God fucking dammit. 

He thinks about it.

“It might help if you can figure out what she’s doing at night. She’s already out in the dark, alone, while everyone else is asleep…she’ll be conscious, which isn’t ideal, but you do have to accept some level of risk in a murder.”

“I guess I can try,” he concedes, dubiously. 

“Tell me when you find out. I’m curious.”

Convince me, his heart screams. 

Well. Maybe not his heart. 

“Will do.”

“…you don’t happen to be a good shot, do you?”

“No I do not.”

We do not speak of the summer camp archery incident. 

“That’s a shame.”

He leans on his palm.

“I’ll see what I can get for you, in the way of sleeping drugs. If she’s just an insomniac, she might even take them from you willingly.”

“Uh. I guess so.”

Somehow he feels weirder about that possibility???

“Don’t tell me you’re squeamish.”