[ he remembers. he knows it now. he sees a corpse, one he made, and most of the time what he feels is satisfaction. killing david is satisfying. the trespassers, survivor or killer. and back before it was the same, too, after a certain point. that was right, after all. it was the way of the world. he was on top. he was entitled to their deaths. so of course he enjoyed them, and still does.

but he also understands the frustration of killing someone who won't stay dead. that's this whole fucking place. it's why he's learned to take the satisfaction of the short term kill and let it ease the rage. otherwise, he'd probably be dead already. ]

So you didn't even like it. Gettin' back at me after all that.

[ his smile, just visible now, is thin and unamused. ]

You ain't such a piece of shit, or else you'd be gloating.

[ he down the rest of the whiskey in the mug and lets the burn mingle with the rest of the burn that runs through him every day. it's not nearly enough to get drunk on, or even really buzzed, but it's enough to keep the cleaver hanging off his belt instead of in his hand. ]

Dead's dead. Take what you can get around here. Cave in the ghost's skull, it's not like he's gonna get any less mad if you grovel about it.