Poisoned Waters | ✓

|𝟎𝟗| "𝐰𝐞𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲"

𝐓𝐇𝐄 pitter-pattering raindrops soothed Monet, while she stared at Westley from across the indoor picnic table. He tapped his fingers against the wood, as he stared at the wet windowsill.

Conflicted, she was. Monet thought of every possibility, but she still wasn't sure how to kill her bastard of a brother.

She used to look up to him, no matter how many problems he caused for the family—he did what he wanted, while she always stayed put. It first caused their mother to relapse in her alcoholism, resulting in them being sent to their dad living in Oxford. They never saw her again.

But they survived and thrived with their father, and Monet admired Westley's liberation, until he commanded for political uproar against their own father and destroyed the new world they'd built.

Everything Monet loved was gone. That was the last straw.

She should burn him alive, like those families that couldn't get out when their houses were set alight by the uncontrollable riot flames.

Maybe she would slit his throat and watch him bleed , like he'd done to those that were fighting with him as his allies.

Or she could gun him down, just as she had witnessed him doing to their merciful father.

Monet stared at Westley and could only see the dying faces of those he killed. If only she could kill him now, it'd be a struggle, but she was stronger than he knew her to be.

They were alone in the lounge area in the central building of Everwinter. It had started raining and Monet wasn't keen on walking home in it.

"It never stops fucking raining in this damn country. Can you believe people wanted to willingly live in England, must be tapped." he spoke to himself. "Hey, Mo, if Dad didn't live in Oxford, where would you have wanted him to live? That's where we'd be right now,"

Monet took a moment to think about it. "The Bahamas? Maybe in Dominica, would've been nice to see grandma."

Westley tutted, "Nah, he should've lived somewhere in America, do you know how many big up guns I could have to my name?"

"You know your arse can't be trusted with multiple guns," Monet laughed, half-playful but half-serious. "Still not that easy to buy guns, though,"

"It is in GTA," he childishly sulked.

"Well, Westley," she sighed. Before she replied, Noah swayed in, heaving at the sight of West.

"Tell you to come to my yard and you're here, fucking doughnut," His demeanour answered Monet's speculation before she noticed the whiskey bottle that he swung in his grasp, along with a tail comb. "You alright, chérie?" Monet smiled even wider.

"Have you seen the way it's raining out there? I made sure not to get my hair frizzy for your sake," Noah took a seat beside Monet, smiling grandly at the siblings.

It was amazing to see how much calmer Noah was when intoxicated, he didn't seem himself at all. "You're mad for trying to convince me that you're not an alcoholic," Westley tutted.

"Simply because I'm not, it's just that a finger of whiskey keeps the homeboy happy,"

"How big are your fingers, fam?" Monet pulled a face, he grinned at her softly, placing his slender fingers onto the side of the bottle, they were not nearly the size of the amount he'd drank.