[ What's a little more trauma on top of an already huge pile of trauma? Nothing more than a single drop of water added to the bucket, that's what.

Dokja snaps his head around and Eustace stays right where he is to meet that gaze head on, as if he hadn't just suggested some ludicrous idea as bad as Dokja's own. He sounds convinced of this idea anyway, the fear from before already largely gone from his voice, carefully drained back into the small container where it's usually kept. ]

You can, but it'll be easier if I do it.

[ (Easier for who? No point in dwelling on that.) ]

I know what I'm doing. You won't have to worry about aiming wrong or making sure you have enough strength to finish it.

[ He states it simply like it's some undeniable fact, which it may as well be for him. He's been trained to kill, has been shaped precisely for the task of snuffing out problems with the least amount of trouble possible. And though it makes him sick to think about turning those skills on someone undeserving of them, better to do something than to sit around passively with no other option left than to wait.

Man. It's really a good thing Gray isn't around to hear them discussing Dokja's death like they're discussing what to have for dinner tomorrow. ]