Brendan stood next to the closed casket. Shoulders slightly hunched, clenched fist crushing the stem of the flower. The red still came up, blind-sided him when he wasn't staking it out. So much crap had gummed up the works he was lucky the bulls weren't on to his own role in this, but then not surprised -- they only knew the end of it when it was already duck soup.

The Pin. Tug. Poor Frisco.

Forget Poor Frisco. Forget Dode. They were reefworms; deserved to get what they got.

Laura. He was glad, now, he'd gone with his gut instead of his head. Glad he hadn't let her find another scape. Glad that if he couldn't raise Em, he'd found a way to raise payback.

Em. She'd been fed a line she couldn't help but swallow and then they'd had their hooks in her.

You're the only one who didn't know how this would end, Em. The rest of us were playing our angles, working toward payoff.

Brendan straightens a little, loosened his grip enough to lay the single bent daffodil on the polished bark. It says things he doesn't know how to say, words that aren't too short, too blunt, too violent -- they don't exist in his vocabulary.

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Awesome prompt, btw! It was cool that it was author's choice for fandom! =D