'it was the beginning of the end' if they could see her now, what would the handful of AO3 users that had commented on her fanfics think with as cheesy an opener as that?
[Her first "letter" is scrawled on her calf with pen despite the fact that there was a book with page after blank page at her side at all times. There was a lot she didn't do with that book. It wasn't used to make maps or an inventory list. It wasn't used as kindling. Even when she'd had a particularly rough bout of luck for a few days and she'd gone without food, the paper inside remained where it was. It worked out in the end...but it's exactly that sort of stubborn idiocy that made ditching her an easy decision for the last pair of survivors she'd been tagging along with. Well, screw 'em. They were the clear-out, gun-happy type of survivors instead of the quietly get what you need and avoid confrontation type, anyway.
Not like that weirdo on the outskirts of her vision. She'd only seen them a few times, and any attempt to casually make her way over only led to them disappearing. It was never a great idea to focus on them for too long. Her own scavenging and shelter-seeking had to take priority. Ryder's curiosity -- and, though it would be a fight to get her to admit it, her loneliness -- had made her waste too much attention on them today, and she was paying for it now that it was time to settle in. What a crappy place to bed down she'd found herself, and with only a smashed up protein bar to show for what efforts she could claim.
Hence her leg letter.]
If you're reading this, I'm probably dead, but a zombie didn't eat my leg before you found my body. Awesome! Sorry for lack of loot. :( Press F to pay respects, etc. etc.
[Nailed it. Definitely the type of message to leave behind just in case it's your last day, everyone can agree. Time to sleep and hope she didn't wake up with teeth in her jugular or someone alive ready to stab her in exchange for the bag of nothing she was using as a pillow. Maybe if she saw tomorrow, she wouldn't waste what was clearly the start of a lucky streak and get a move on.]
[He'd noticed them, of course. He always notices the gun-happy sorts. He feels doubly alert, the human part of him with his ever-pressing desire to talk to someone or at least know they exist, and the other part which has his gaze snapping up and puts a hungry growl in his throat before the other part of him can even register what it means.
Even if they weren't going his way, he always trails the survivors he finds. He never recognizes them. Even when he allows himself close, he stirs the memory of people but no particular person. But then, he doesn't allow himself close often. Too risky, and not just for him either.
He wishes he had this time. He sees the pair break off from the third with no explanation as to why. He couldn't tell if they were fighting or if there was a plan for differing directions. He only knows that no one was bit but that doesn't take a genius, or something like him, to figure out. But solo survivors rarely last long, whether from bites or other bouts of bad luck. He decides it's both safer for him and kinder for this soloist to stick with them rather than the rowdy pair.
Of course, that doesn't mean that all he does is follow. He can move through the cities and towns and even the overgrowth faster that most people. He doesn't have to worry about being overheard and moving quickly about feels natural. He takes it upon himself to scout, to see where the dead are huddled more and where the looting doesn't appear so significant. There's always the chance that the person he's helping out will be gone before he can get back to find them, but in those cases he figures it's just as well and that person will be fine... if they're not already dead.
This one is not dead. He knows that right away, contradicting the rather flippant message left behind, not in the perfectly servicable book, but on skin. He has... so many questions... But, he doesn't ask them. He leaves a box of likely-stale crackers, the cardboard battered but the inner bag still servicable, and he sets down a candy bar that was probably less-loved in the pre-apocalypse but would be valuable calories now. He finds the pen, considers the book which would be so much easier, but decides to write on the cardboard instead.]
Head east out of here. West is infested. No F today.
[It feels weird to see his own writing. It's the first time he's written anything since he woke up, but it's also the fact that, with writing, there's no pause or rasp in his words. It's exactly how he sounds in his head. But if he lingers too long, he's not going to have a head, so he gets moving, quick to replace the flimsy protections that he'd passed by to start with, all quiet and quick.]
No, really, what is she looking at? Words. Words and food? Without a source making itself known? Some fairy godmother bullshit. Was the zombie curse actually a fey thing and one of the perpetrators felt so bad for her that they decided, "oops, switch this one to Easy difficulty." Actually, yeah, maybe she's a video game protagonist? Not likely -- she's not a middle-aged white dude with scruff.
Well, while she puzzles over it, it's time to eat this candy bar she's suddenly very briefly worried she's allergic to, since she's never had it. How fucking sad would that be? In the end, there's no anaphylaxis, but also no real answer. There's a guess...but if it really is that person keeping their distance, then what the fuck? Just talk to her! She's pretty sure stalkers usually confront their victims. ...Maybe she's okay with this, actually.]
East, huh... [Given the whole food thing, Ryder can probably trust the directions. The problem...] Which fucking way's east? Do I look like a compass, spooky godmother? Ugh, some place has gotta have maps... What a waste of time.
[Frankly, it's the most she's said in a while, and her voice is more gravel than she'd like. Those other two hadn't been worth the effort, and unless she stubbed her toe out and about, there hadn't been too much to prompt any words. It wasn't exactly safe to go around talking to yourself these days.]
Except I've got a guardian angel that may or may not also be a stalker.
[Her commentary fades out pretty quickly, once she actually gets moving -- especially since in her initial search for a map, Ryder can't be sure she isn't heading west after all. Wouldn't that be hilarious? Big ol' fuck you to spooky godmother, get your ass out here.
Wisely, she decides not to endanger herself to bait her benefactor in the end. Map acquired -- along with a sturdier backpack, screwdriver, and thick black sharpie to add to the supplies she already carried -- she returns to her hideout from the night before to leave behind a thanks :) on the wall just in case, then sets out. Spooky godmother or just luck, Ryder's day goes a little easier. She only has to hatchet two zombies that would be too much trouble to avoid, and she's not desperate enough yet, but since she finds a few tins of cat food, she packs those up. Better than nothing. Maybe, if she was really lucky, she'd find a cat, then feel awful about not being able to provide more for it. Hm.
This time, her main defense when she starts falling asleep is fishing line she encircles her little camp with. It wouldn't be a barrier for long, but every little bit helped.]
Fingers crossed for no crawlers, [she says in a mumble to no one in particular. Whoever that was that helped her before was probably left behind in that town, or had already headed on towards the small city she'd be coming up on eventually.
...Still. Ryder unfolds the map so she can leave a message on an area that was in the other direction, and sets it and the marker down just outside her little web.
All set for sleep.]
You following me? If so, thanks for food and not killing me. You're not watching me while I sleep are you? Don't be creepy.
[He doesn't stay to listen for reactions. While it's tempting, that little bit of old humanity in the giving of gifts calling to him, there's no telling what actual reactions will be. It would be unwise and probably a bit too weird. Then again, it's the apocalypse. Who isn't weird now? He, most of all.
But he notices, from his hideout, that she follows his advice. She grabs a map-- something that garners a wheezing laugh from him-- and she heads out. He checks the hideout on one last look around the area, just to be sure there isn't anything left that might be worth taking before he goes his own way. He knows that anyone living this long wouldn't be foolish enough to leave things behind, but she leaves one thing that he'd have never looked for, and in truth, appreciates the most. A thanks. A smile. He feels one spread upon his face. He decides it's worth trailing after her a little farther.
He finds her camp later. She's got line around it which he can see despite the dark, but in some ways the better nightvision was useless to the other dead, their brains too rotted out for them to be able to utilize the singular gift in any real way. He slips around it and spies the map, wondering if he might spot a destination there. Instead, he gets words, and his covered mouth twitches.
With a quick glance to be sure she's not secretly awake and watching, he replies, answers beside each question and statement.]
Yes. Is that okay? You're welcome. No. It's not like that.
[One could argue that he is creepy, but it's not the kind she means.]
Yes. But they don't like me.
[He pauses, then takes another moment to draw the tiniest of cat faces. That's enough wasting time. He needs to hunt. He leaves the place as it was, save for the smallest replies.]
[Bitch wishes she could be secretly awake. That'd be like catching Santa -- the real one, not a dad or uncle doing their very bad best. Instead, she sleeps better than the dead do, around these parts. Wakes up a few times and clutches a knife like she has any actual skill with it, but these heart-pounding moments never last long. She's not even awake enough to remember about her little note exchange when she does stir -- probably a good thing. It not only makes it easier to sleep, but it means that when she wakes up and packs up her things, she gets to remember and scramble over to the map to see if there's any reply.]
Huh.
[She can't...figure out all her feelings on this one, but amusement is in the mix. The marker comes with her, but the paper is torn and held into the ground with a stick. The little cat doodle is noticeably not left behind. That lives between the pages of her book now.]
If you're not creepy, go for it. If you were creepy you'd do it anyway.
[...What a weird note, if someone were to stumble on it without context. Not her problem!
It's hard to not talk to herself that day, even with the more frequent reminders. Even before she reaches the city and though she sticks out of sight off the road when it seems safest, there are more undead around. Drifters that didn't leave the city until there was no other choice -- because they weren't capable of making choices anymore. At least most of the time she could spot them from a distance because of their gait. Now and again she turns, taking a few steps backwards and holding her hand above her eyes so that she might catch sight of her spooky godmother. Sometimes. It's still weird as hell, but...hey. It works. She's out of crackers, though.
As she scavenges, Ryder finds herself torn. She had her future to think about, but if she took everything, would the mystery person be left without and eventually have to take their share from her? It would only be fair. She leaves things behind at first, but then she realizes that it didn't super matter -- they could take anything at any point. If she didn't have much to start with, that would only leave her with even less. She can address some of these feelings at the end of the day before she tucks herself safe inside a car that miraculously was left unlocked and had all its windows intact.]
Are you looking for something? What's your deal? asl
[It's tucked beneath the windshield wiper with an instant macaroni and cheese bowl -- relic of the good old days -- and a sealed box of chicken broth. It took her a few hours to make the final decision, but in the end she decided that his good deed the other night earned him the good stuff, while she would make do with the nearly empty bottle of gatorade she'd had to work up the nerve to sniff to make sure it wasn't actually piss. She's 97% sure, which is pretty damn good in apocalypse times!]
[The note left behind makes him laugh. It also makes him feel a little sheepish. There's no marker left behind, so he decides to hang onto it, at least until there's a means to reply back.
He catches her looking for him and he's a little less careful with hiding. He stays far back enough that there's no chance of her reaching him and no opportunity for conversation, but she knows he's there now and he knows that she knows. And she doesn't mind. It's kind of a weird back and forth, but he can't pretend he's not enjoying it.
She talks to herself, which makes him nostalgic, if there were a bitter kind of nostalgia. It wasn't too long ago that he spent the hours talking to himself, just to remember how speaking even worked. He watches a little more tense when she takes down the dead, an arrow ready, but his help proves to be unneeded, which is good, because he hates having to clean off used arrows. The rotten blood didn't taste right.
He finds a new note after he finds her again (having parted for one last hunt before entering the city proper). A few straggling dead meander about but move by like he doesn't exist, not seeing her with the car. He'll steer them further away in a minute. For now, he considers the new questions, these ones harder to answer.]
Home, outpost, people I knew once that's hard to answer Forgot/M/Here?
[Sounds like the form of an apocalyptic dating site. I love long walks on the corpse-laden beach... And not the delicacy that is instant mac. He has a feeling he would've appreciated this once, but it's no good to him now.]
Thank you, but I can hunt. Save your food.
[He pauses a moment, then adds one more thing.]
I'm Teo. You?
[Conversations are going to be slow like this. He considers just waiting until morning, actually staying to talk... but that's not a good idea. He'll wait until the evening, just as before. For now, he works on steering the dead away, then finding in his own place to settle in. Maybe he should find a place for her. They're in the city, which is never lacking in dead. Tomorrow is going to be interesting.]
[The car is real damn nice. As it turns out, it's been the rest stop for more than a few travelers, if she had to guess by the long-dried smears on the seats and the dirty blanket in the leg space. She never bothered checking for gasoline, not having a use for it herself beside the silly dream of being a badass protagonist that could accurately throw anything and who could recklessly abandon the world behind her to fire, but it's safe for her to assume it was drained back when driving was still something you could come across more than once in a blue moon. People finally had a reason to not seethe with hatred about traffic jams. To honor the little haven's usefulness, Ryder trades the dirty, forgotten receipts shoved between the seats for the wine opener-bottle opener tool that someone could find better uses for if they were creative or brutal enough. Or, you know, they were lucky enough to come across a good stock of alcohol.
Seeing the bowl there and unopened is a concern at first, but she relaxes again when she finds the note. Spooky godfather was okay. And had enviable skills, even if he doesn't remember how old he is... In the safety of the car, Ryder empties the noodles into something that will rattle significantly less, keeping a handful in her pocket to treat like the blandest hard candy in the world throughout the day. Sure, she could save it for a night she could actually heat up water and do things properly, but nah. The torn-off lid is tucked away with the receipts for future paper substitutes.
Looking for home and people he knew...but this Teo didn't come up to people he didn't know in order to find them. Chances were just too slim, maybe? Being on vacation when the apocalypse hit would have sucked for most people. She never even thought about the possibility until now. Or he could just be like her, doing better with people you couldn't attach faces to. Clamming up when it came to actually talking -- so bad to the point where it was easier to look like a crazy person with her nose stuck in a book without words than to reach out. Asking would be a lot of time and note space.
In order to encourage him to come along with her still, she doesn't leave her reply just yet. He gets another little smiley face drawn onto the front window's glass. It serves the purpose of marking the car as something friendly, too. Ryder pats the side of it as she leaves, not knowing that she'd actually be returning to it for another night.
The day is used to search for things that might have been overlooked, when she has the luxury between hiding, running, and killing. More near-hyperventilating than talking today, but for the first real day in the city, it isn't bad at all. She doesn't have a traditional need for the pads and tampons she finds, but it was possible to trade them to or do a good deed for someone who did -- and more importantly, they were useful for absorbing and stopping blood. Ibuprofen, somehow. When she finds a pack of refill rolls for a tape dispenser, she holds them up to wave them triumphantly in the hopes that Teo will share her excitement. Tape!! CDs to use as distractions. Two juvenile novels that will serve as distractions for her. Dumb teen romance shit. She'd almost rather have nothing, she glumly decides about the first one when she's drifting off hugging her book tight to her. Another gift to future survivors that found this hideout. If Teo wants it, he can pick it up himself, because leaving it out for him feels like it would send a really weird message. Their messages were strange enough. As of last night,]
Ryder 22(?)/f/here
And tired as fuck... Really adding to the stink of this car. Maybe the smell's the reason you're keeping your distance, huh?
Sorry about going in a circle today. Supplies. You always follow people? Why are you helping me? What do you hunt in cities?
What about dogs? (For liking them. If you hunt them them's the breaks but pls don't tell me.) (This is a not so subtle hint to draw me a dog.)
[He wonders about people in the olden days when he sees that smilie face. Did old pioneering women wait with bated breath for new letters in the mail? Did it take up their mind, their day, their hopes? Would instant messaging save him this anticipation or would he just crave even more even faster?
The realization that he needs a distraction stuns him so thoroughly he stops walking. He's always needed a distraction, but not from waiting for letters.
He follows, but not so close as in the days before. He's got his new mission in mind, and he tries to work as much as he can on it without losing her trail. It helps both that he's good at hunting and has every mechanism left in him made to track her down. But that is solidly creepy so he tries not to think about it too much.
He is around in time to see her waving tape, and from several blocks away, perched on the hood of a broken-in car, he lifts a thumb high in the air. Then he's off again.
She ends up touring around back to the car, which works out for giving him more time and also meaning that his efforts won't be wasted. He's searched and he's pushed the dead along like sleepy toddlers and he's gathered little bits that he's found here and there. All in all, he thinks he's done well and the note is his reward.]
Ryder of the apocalypse. The last horsewoman.
[What a dumb joke. But it's such a different name he can't help wanting to comment on it. He leaves the next sentence blank, jumping to the questions.]
Sometimes. I miss people but people are dangerous. Still want to help. I do better out here than most. And, you leave letters. Squirrels, birds, rats, raccoons. There's more than you'd expect.
[Dutifully, he draws a dog this time, the basic puppy mouth and floppy ears, big black eyes and a hanging tongue.]
I like them too. They also don't like me. The dogs that lived are very careful these days.
[He regrets that sentence, not because it isn't true, but because it makes him sad and also kind of implies hunting. He crosses it out. Now for the important part.]
Found a place. 3 blocks down, 2 left, apartment isn't barricaded. Up main stairs 1 floor. 2nd door. Dead cleared out. Cupboards half stocked. There's beds. All yours. Leave note and marker outside?
[The last is a request. She might have done it anyway, but it's the only thing he really needs right now and the thought that she might just settle into comfort and forget him from there leaves him uneasy enough to speak his wishes plainly.]
Pfh. He thinks I’m a badass or something. Little does he know, without him I could be dead. [The air doesn’t give a reply, which she’ll take as the universe agreeing.] Dumb.
[She likes it, though. The cool title and the idea that there would be silly things like that happening in the world again someday. ...It strikes her a second later that it wasn't "someday". This might be unconventional as hell, but that's just even more proof that it's really happening. She has a penpal in the apocalypse. A penpal that was both closer and further away than made any sense. Ryder shakes her head at herself and continues reading.]
Huh.
[The dog joins the little scrap of cat doodle in her book, and thanks to her findings yesterday, she’s able to secure them both nicely with tape on the inside cover. No losing them now. The other part...]
Never had someone ask me to move in so fast, [she tries to joke. For obvious reasons, it falls flat. But there was also the fact that she really doesn't know what to feel, now.
All yours, he says, and asks that she leave things for him outside. So he wasn't staying? Even though it's basically a utopia these days that he's offering? Why?
...If he wanted to hurt her, he would have done so already. It'd be a weird trick to pull now, baiting her in like that, but then, he was scratching words out now. Maybe that sort of thinking is what he's worried about? So...should she invite him? It would be less weird. Well, the situation, anyway. The idea of suddenly having another person right there has her more uneasy than she expected. It was just starting to feel like they could be friends.]
Things never stay that way, huh...?
[Not in person. The faintest sound of a groan in the distance reminds her that as easy as things have been, it isn't just herself and Teo out there. With a sigh, she lowers herself off the hood of the car again and starts walking.
Ryder doesn't follow the instructions, at least not right away. She'd finished up those stale crackers she'd been so dutifully rationing, which means that either her stomach is being a little bitch about hunger suddenly, or it's being stupid and twisting itself up in knots over all this. Her head's not properly in the game, either. A halfhearted attempt at searching suddenly becomes a whole-hearted panic when she's so careless that she knocks some bullshit to the ground -- only made worse because she's so stupidly gotten back in the habit of talking to herself that she shushes the noise on reflex.
Fuck? She's an idiot??? Good god, what must her spooky godfather think of this --]
No, nope. Literally what the fuck, Ry?
[Get somewhere out of reach, because as fortunate as she's been about the local population, there's no escaping the consequence of every action, and she deserved these ones more than she deserved that detention she got in second grade for cutting off Jana Larrman's ponytail. From a defensible perch, she can hack slowly away at the undead that heard her invitation. It takes longer than she'd like.]
Okay, [she sighs, running hands covered in thick, sludgy dead people blood through her hair.] Maybe stop fucking around and take his damn advice before you get yourself killed.
[Defeated but certain, at least, that she won't have to fight her way through a crowd again, Ryder makes her way to her new hideout so graciously provided by a man who would be an absolute fool to not regret helping her. Sorry, dude. No Ryder of the apocalypse here at this address. Too late to return to sender. Once she makes it to the door and marvels at how there really weren't any undead that had gotten in her way, Ryder cautiously...knocks...]
Teo?
[She should have looked over her shoulder more to see if he was trailing behind or not, but honestly she couldn't deal with the shame. A beat without a response though, and Ryder lets herself in. She peeks into all the rooms, looks in all the cupboards, opens every drawer, and takes the lid off the toilet tank before she sits in front of a window and zones out.]
This makes no fucking sense.
[Once again, the world silently agrees with her. Day's not even half over and she's ready to crash...but just before she does, she remembers to honor his singular request. Post-it notes and her marker left outside the door, while she's curled up on just the other side. Just in case.
Nothing from her this time, which she regrets as she closes her eyes. If he stayed because she wrote him notes, then...?]
[She's not taking the shelter. That's what he assumes at first. He feels stupid immediately. Why did he think that would be a good idea? Hand over everything, make it perfect-- in what world doesn't that sound like a trap? Not this world, that's for certain.
He did too much. He went too far, got too eager. Shame has him turning away, though he tries to pretend that it's hunger. He goes to hunt, to focus on himself for a little bit. This will teach him to use his damn brain.
Or so he thinks. One spattering of blood on pavement later, he notices the horde around him is shifting. They're not after the scraps in his hands (they never are), but undeniably moving together. He feels a surge of panic and he's in motion without even stopping to clean himself off. Moving with the crowd of dead is a whole other weight on him but not one he can focus on, until he's sure.
Of course, that's stupid. He searches, but he's not sure, not until later when (after he does opt to clean the blood off him) he goes to check the apartment.
There is and isn't a note. She left the chance for him to talk but hasn't left anything behind for him to talk about. He doesn't know how to feel. Relief? or disappointment?]
Sorry I missed the horde. I hope you're okay. I can look for anything, if you need it.
[He feels like he should say more, but he doesn't know what. He sighs to himself and slips the note under the door, preparing to head back out from there.]
[It's one of the few times since all this started that she wakes up in the night feeling normal. Or...as close to normal as she can get. The point is that it's dark inside and out, and rested, and she's on the hard floor, but she doesn't wake up terrified. She's safe. After rolling over onto her knees, she sighs because he's safe, too. Well. Of course he is, if he was able to set all this up for her. Guiltily, Ryder realizes that the relief is a little more for the fact that she's getting something from him yet again when she had nothing for him in return. When did he sneak this through? Surely not just seconds ago. It couldn't possibly be the littlest of little pushes she'd needed to wake up.]
Only injury is to my ego. [Her voice is dry, but audible through the door.] Goddamn miracle.
[Let's see... Pen, pen...]
Gotta ask how the hell he did all this... Fuck, I wanted to know what the deal is with animals hating him, too. Don't they know he's spooky godfather? Agent Mulder was 'Spooky', too, and everyone loved him. Well, he's David Duchovny, of course people love him.
[Maybe it's the weird hour, or maybe it's finally being back in something resembling home. Maybe it's the idiotic brush with death! Whatever the reason for her free rambling, it doesn't really matter.]
God, I wanted to be Scully, though... Queequeg got done so dirty. Bet he would've liked helpful spooky godfathers. Shit, what was I writing?
[It's only soft, infrequent expletives from there until she slips her reply under the door. And then realizes that she could have opened the door.
...
It was more fun this way. Like a secret agent. Ryder the apocalypse spy. Spypocalypse.]
I'm okay. Just did something stupid. You've done too much for me to be sorry about anything. Glad you're okay. Hope I didn't fuck anything up for you. Is this yours? Nice magnets if so.
[Probably the only good thing about the fridge, now. Whoops.
...Wait, shit! Another note follows.]
How come animals don't like you? I think dogs hating people is a bad person thing but you seem nice on paper. Scully or Mulder?
[He hears a voice. He's already partway out when he hears it and, tentatively, he meanders back. He keeps his steps silent, which is definitely not the fair thing to do, but he wants to hear. He wants to know...
He thinks he's missed some context when he's close to make out what's actually being said. He can't really follow it. It blends into cursing and he wonders if she's at all okay.
Then it appears. The note. He approaches slow, still wanting to maintain the silence. Then he kneels and takes up the note. Notes, rather.]
I startled you. I noticed. I could've helped you fight. But no, nothing messed up here. It's not my place. I just found it. Didn't look at the magnets.
[Maybe, if or when she moves along, he'll go back around to peek at them. Now it's time for lying. Sort of.]
I have a trick. It keeps the dead away but it scares the animals too. Those are from a show, right? I don't remember well. Sorry. :(
[He pauses then, hesitating. It's not wise. But... steeling himself, he slips the notes under the door anyway.]
[Oof. She really should've stuck to the bed. Her back cracks as she gets up and stretches her arms up. After food, she'd flop down on one of those to appreciate it properly. For now? She thinks she saw some graham crackers that need demolishing in one of those -- HOLY FUCK
Her hands slap over her mouth a second too late to stifle the surprised yelp that was startled out of her by the paper's appearance. The rational, well-rested half of her brain informs her that undead do not slide mail under doors and if it was another survivor, they would be opening the door. It's only her mysterious new friend that would do this. The half of her brain that is a meek little girl thrown into the real world just before that real world went to absolute shit and has faced more death than she ever would have thought despite that gloomy goth phase she had that lasted all through middle and high school -- that half? That half is frozen stiff and wondering how effective a pen would be for homicide. Self-defense-flavored homicide, naturally.
But she does creep back over eventually and crouch next to the note, deciding to read it just in case it says "OPEN THE DOOR AND YOU DIE" or something helpful like that.]
Oh...
[Deep breath in so she can heave an even deeper sigh. It doesn't make the guilt lessen any.]
[His still heart seizes despite all reason. He heard the yelp but it's the call of his name that freezes him most. He can't speak. He shouldn't speak. He swallows hard, warring with himself, considering simply making a break for it down the hall as if the dead were after him. Or maybe he can stand here and nothing will happen, the door will stay shut, they can keep up with letters and distance and safety and nothing will change.
He draws a wheezing breath which sounds exactly like the dead. Ragged, raspy, and faint, he speaks.]
... I'm... here...
[He doesn't even know if she'll hear it. He doesn't if he wants her to hear it.
The running idea is looking better and better. Or maybe he can hold the door shut... no. No. He'll run for it. He readies himself. Three... two...]
[A shiver runs down her spine. Oh fuck, oh fuck, undead slide mail under doors. No, that's dumb, that's Teo's handwriting. So it's just -- it's just whispering time now. Okay. That makes sense! There could be zombies around anywhere and also it's nighttime. Her voice immediately takes on a similar hush...except for the whole wheezing rasp thing he's got going on. Also she's much more indignant.]
Dude, you freaked me out! What the fuck! You could just knock!
[...It's his hideout, he could do more than just knock if he really wanted.]
[You know, that's fair. Either way she would have been startled, and she wouldn't put it past herself to open the door on reflex, no matter how long it's been. She really wants to be offended, though. This is rude as hell, bucko. What really stops her pursuit of that conversation is the realization that he hasn't just left it to her for her own comfort, but that...he doesn't want to come in. He doesn't even want her to open the door.
Ryder rests her palms against it and leans to put her eye to the peephole, not that it reveals much. He's still all bundled up.]
...It's perfect. You don't -- you... You're obviously sick. [He sounds like he needs a lung transplant, maybe, but like hell that's happening. Is he going to die? The thought makes her heart ache unexpectedly, and it only hurts more to know that it's more out of her own loneliness than the value of someone else's life. If he died, who would help her? Who would leave her notes and draw her pictures?] You should be resting. You've done more than enough.
[To think, she almost wasted it.]
There's still water here. Even if you don't want to come in, let me bring you some. Okay?
[Her huff has more of a growl to it this time with her being so unused to stifling more embarrassing reactions around others -- you needed others around for that -- and she drops her forehead to join her hands against the door. Guy was as stupidly stubborn as her, only he was actually good. Dropping all this on her and insisting he take none of it. Keeping her safe. Keeping her company. He says he's not sick and he'd asked for means of initiating communication, but still she wonders if...]
You're not going to kill yourself, right...? [Ugh, there goes her composure. What if -- what if he really did leave that kind of note for her to find? What if she couldn't expect anything more after that?] Come on, don't leave me alone now that I've gotten used to having you.
[He stills. Out of everything, that's not a reaction he ever imagined. Or ever could have. His breath shudders with the shock of it. And then comes another noise. It's hard to tell what it is. He suspects it will sound vaguely horrifying with his rasp. But he laughs. The irony is too much.]
No... no...
[He moves, settling himself down against the wall. He's still close enough to hear her and let her hear him (which may or may not be a comfort), but now he's committed to staying.]
I wanna live... [The honesty of that one statement washes over him.] I wanna live... I'm not gonna... do that kind of...thing... I'm okay...
[Horrifying, maybe, but mostly because she's convinced he's dying right then and there, and her hand goes for the doorknob before it dawns on her. Is he...laughing at her? Jerk! She's worried because some stupid article or class or something warned her about people giving away all their possessions, and he's laughing!! Unbelievable. He deserves to have this door opened on him. If she thinks like that, she can redirect all those dumb feelings trying to make her cry.]
Good. I'd have to kick your ass otherwise.
[She wishes her tone was stronger, but Ryder supposes anything is strong in comparison to his. The sound of him moving to the floor gets her to exhale and lower herself as well.]
You're...pretty amazing. [ANYWAY] Uh, does talking hurt? We can write. I don't mind. I'm...better that way.
[He laughs again, that same breathy rasp as before, though lighter this time. For all he knows, she could try that and win. But to hear spoken is amusing anyway.
This is... care. Someone's caring. It feels alien, but not unwelcome. He hears something that sounds like a compliment, and he hums a question in turn. He probably misheard...]
It doesn't hurt... any more than... what's usual.... [That doesn't sound promising, he realizes.] If you're better... then we can... keep writing...
[That's something you'd hear in a shippy fanfic, not real life. But then, zombies weren't supposed to be a real life thing, either. Ryder pushes herself back up onto her feet.]
Hold on. I'm gonna grab something to eat. [And a cup of toilet tank water. It's only a little bit to stall -- she wasn't starving thanks to the odd bedtime she'd picked and the fact that Teo had kept her from running out of anything, but the fact of the matter is that the cupboards were half-stocked!! She can stand to indulge a little in some nervous eating.
Okay. She's back and pressing her ear to the door to listen first.] So -- the X-files. That's the show. Your choices are a hot FBI agent that believes in aliens and no one takes seriously, or a hot FBI agent that's a doctor and explains the weird shit that happens with science. I don't know how to describe David Duchovny in a way that makes him sound not like just any other white dude, but Gillian Anderson is a short redhead that was the lesbian awakening for a lot of young girls in the 90s.
[It's only after hearing that little "um" that it occurs to him to be slightly embarrassed. He doesn't go red because he cant' and it wouldn't be visible anyway under the gaiter and welding goggles, but the embarrassment is definitely real and pleasant.
He'd meant to say it was nice hearing living people speak in general. But... he wouldn't deny that listening to her talk specifically was nice too.
She's gone and back and then launching into an explanation of an old tv-show. He grins behind the gaiter.]
Counter question... Am I... saying who I'm... more like... who I'm friends with... or who I... would date?
[In the hypothetical world where any of that's an option.]
I like... an open mind... but a smart friend... would be handy... do you think... either is into... latino men?
[The single note of laughter is muffled, which he'd see was because she has her glass raised to her lips if he wasn't insisting on staying outside. It's a pretty good counter question.]
Why not all three? A nicer version of Fuck Marry Kill.
[Plus it's more conversation and more opportunities to learn about her spooky godfather. She probably should know more about him, since he gave her a house, and all.]
You know, I don't remember if they ever dated people in the show... They were one of those pairs that were basically married, but never got together? Until suddenly they had a baby. Or the baby was actually an alien's, or...? Man. Can't even find out, anymore.
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storywalks) wrote2021-11-17 08:42 pm
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Not like that weirdo on the outskirts of her vision. She'd only seen them a few times, and any attempt to casually make her way over only led to them disappearing. It was never a great idea to focus on them for too long. Her own scavenging and shelter-seeking had to take priority. Ryder's curiosity -- and, though it would be a fight to get her to admit it, her loneliness -- had made her waste too much attention on them today, and she was paying for it now that it was time to settle in. What a crappy place to bed down she'd found herself, and with only a smashed up protein bar to show for what efforts she could claim.
Hence her leg letter.]
If you're reading this, I'm probably dead,
but a zombie didn't eat my leg before you found my body. Awesome!
Sorry for lack of loot. :(
Press F to pay respects, etc. etc.
[Nailed it. Definitely the type of message to leave behind just in case it's your last day, everyone can agree. Time to sleep and hope she didn't wake up with teeth in her jugular or someone alive ready to stab her in exchange for the bag of nothing she was using as a pillow. Maybe if she saw tomorrow, she wouldn't waste what was clearly the start of a lucky streak and get a move on.]
no subject
Even if they weren't going his way, he always trails the survivors he finds. He never recognizes them. Even when he allows himself close, he stirs the memory of people but no particular person. But then, he doesn't allow himself close often. Too risky, and not just for him either.
He wishes he had this time. He sees the pair break off from the third with no explanation as to why. He couldn't tell if they were fighting or if there was a plan for differing directions. He only knows that no one was bit but that doesn't take a genius, or something like him, to figure out. But solo survivors rarely last long, whether from bites or other bouts of bad luck. He decides it's both safer for him and kinder for this soloist to stick with them rather than the rowdy pair.
Of course, that doesn't mean that all he does is follow. He can move through the cities and towns and even the overgrowth faster that most people. He doesn't have to worry about being overheard and moving quickly about feels natural. He takes it upon himself to scout, to see where the dead are huddled more and where the looting doesn't appear so significant. There's always the chance that the person he's helping out will be gone before he can get back to find them, but in those cases he figures it's just as well and that person will be fine... if they're not already dead.
This one is not dead. He knows that right away, contradicting the rather flippant message left behind, not in the perfectly servicable book, but on skin. He has... so many questions... But, he doesn't ask them. He leaves a box of likely-stale crackers, the cardboard battered but the inner bag still servicable, and he sets down a candy bar that was probably less-loved in the pre-apocalypse but would be valuable calories now. He finds the pen, considers the book which would be so much easier, but decides to write on the cardboard instead.]
Head east out of here.
West is infested.
No F today.
[It feels weird to see his own writing. It's the first time he's written anything since he woke up, but it's also the fact that, with writing, there's no pause or rasp in his words. It's exactly how he sounds in his head. But if he lingers too long, he's not going to have a head, so he gets moving, quick to replace the flimsy protections that he'd passed by to start with, all quiet and quick.]
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No, really, what is she looking at? Words. Words and food? Without a source making itself known? Some fairy godmother bullshit. Was the zombie curse actually a fey thing and one of the perpetrators felt so bad for her that they decided, "oops, switch this one to Easy difficulty." Actually, yeah, maybe she's a video game protagonist? Not likely -- she's not a middle-aged white dude with scruff.
Well, while she puzzles over it, it's time to eat this candy bar she's suddenly very briefly worried she's allergic to, since she's never had it. How fucking sad would that be? In the end, there's no anaphylaxis, but also no real answer. There's a guess...but if it really is that person keeping their distance, then what the fuck? Just talk to her! She's pretty sure stalkers usually confront their victims. ...Maybe she's okay with this, actually.]
East, huh... [Given the whole food thing, Ryder can probably trust the directions. The problem...] Which fucking way's east? Do I look like a compass, spooky godmother? Ugh, some place has gotta have maps... What a waste of time.
[Frankly, it's the most she's said in a while, and her voice is more gravel than she'd like. Those other two hadn't been worth the effort, and unless she stubbed her toe out and about, there hadn't been too much to prompt any words. It wasn't exactly safe to go around talking to yourself these days.]
Except I've got a guardian angel that may or may not also be a stalker.
[Her commentary fades out pretty quickly, once she actually gets moving -- especially since in her initial search for a map, Ryder can't be sure she isn't heading west after all. Wouldn't that be hilarious? Big ol' fuck you to spooky godmother, get your ass out here.
Wisely, she decides not to endanger herself to bait her benefactor in the end. Map acquired -- along with a sturdier backpack, screwdriver, and thick black sharpie to add to the supplies she already carried -- she returns to her hideout from the night before to leave behind a thanks :) on the wall just in case, then sets out. Spooky godmother or just luck, Ryder's day goes a little easier. She only has to hatchet two zombies that would be too much trouble to avoid, and she's not desperate enough yet, but since she finds a few tins of cat food, she packs those up. Better than nothing. Maybe, if she was really lucky, she'd find a cat, then feel awful about not being able to provide more for it. Hm.
This time, her main defense when she starts falling asleep is fishing line she encircles her little camp with. It wouldn't be a barrier for long, but every little bit helped.]
Fingers crossed for no crawlers, [she says in a mumble to no one in particular. Whoever that was that helped her before was probably left behind in that town, or had already headed on towards the small city she'd be coming up on eventually.
...Still. Ryder unfolds the map so she can leave a message on an area that was in the other direction, and sets it and the marker down just outside her little web.
All set for sleep.]
You following me?
If so, thanks for food and not killing me.
You're not watching me while I sleep are you?
Don't be creepy.
Do you like cats?
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But he notices, from his hideout, that she follows his advice. She grabs a map-- something that garners a wheezing laugh from him-- and she heads out. He checks the hideout on one last look around the area, just to be sure there isn't anything left that might be worth taking before he goes his own way. He knows that anyone living this long wouldn't be foolish enough to leave things behind, but she leaves one thing that he'd have never looked for, and in truth, appreciates the most. A thanks. A smile. He feels one spread upon his face. He decides it's worth trailing after her a little farther.
He finds her camp later. She's got line around it which he can see despite the dark, but in some ways the better nightvision was useless to the other dead, their brains too rotted out for them to be able to utilize the singular gift in any real way. He slips around it and spies the map, wondering if he might spot a destination there. Instead, he gets words, and his covered mouth twitches.
With a quick glance to be sure she's not secretly awake and watching, he replies, answers beside each question and statement.]
Yes. Is that okay?
You're welcome.
No.
It's not like that.
[One could argue that he is creepy, but it's not the kind she means.]
Yes. But they don't like me.
[He pauses, then takes another moment to draw the tiniest of cat faces. That's enough wasting time. He needs to hunt. He leaves the place as it was, save for the smallest replies.]
no subject
Huh.
[She can't...figure out all her feelings on this one, but amusement is in the mix. The marker comes with her, but the paper is torn and held into the ground with a stick. The little cat doodle is noticeably not left behind. That lives between the pages of her book now.]
If you're not creepy, go for it.
If you were creepy you'd do it anyway.
[...What a weird note, if someone were to stumble on it without context. Not her problem!
It's hard to not talk to herself that day, even with the more frequent reminders. Even before she reaches the city and though she sticks out of sight off the road when it seems safest, there are more undead around. Drifters that didn't leave the city until there was no other choice -- because they weren't capable of making choices anymore. At least most of the time she could spot them from a distance because of their gait. Now and again she turns, taking a few steps backwards and holding her hand above her eyes so that she might catch sight of her spooky godmother. Sometimes. It's still weird as hell, but...hey. It works. She's out of crackers, though.
As she scavenges, Ryder finds herself torn. She had her future to think about, but if she took everything, would the mystery person be left without and eventually have to take their share from her? It would only be fair. She leaves things behind at first, but then she realizes that it didn't super matter -- they could take anything at any point. If she didn't have much to start with, that would only leave her with even less. She can address some of these feelings at the end of the day before she tucks herself safe inside a car that miraculously was left unlocked and had all its windows intact.]
Are you looking for something?
What's your deal?
asl
[It's tucked beneath the windshield wiper with an instant macaroni and cheese bowl -- relic of the good old days -- and a sealed box of chicken broth. It took her a few hours to make the final decision, but in the end she decided that his good deed the other night earned him the good stuff, while she would make do with the nearly empty bottle of gatorade she'd had to work up the nerve to sniff to make sure it wasn't actually piss. She's 97% sure, which is pretty damn good in apocalypse times!]
no subject
He catches her looking for him and he's a little less careful with hiding. He stays far back enough that there's no chance of her reaching him and no opportunity for conversation, but she knows he's there now and he knows that she knows. And she doesn't mind. It's kind of a weird back and forth, but he can't pretend he's not enjoying it.
She talks to herself, which makes him nostalgic, if there were a bitter kind of nostalgia. It wasn't too long ago that he spent the hours talking to himself, just to remember how speaking even worked. He watches a little more tense when she takes down the dead, an arrow ready, but his help proves to be unneeded, which is good, because he hates having to clean off used arrows. The rotten blood didn't taste right.
He finds a new note after he finds her again (having parted for one last hunt before entering the city proper). A few straggling dead meander about but move by like he doesn't exist, not seeing her with the car. He'll steer them further away in a minute. For now, he considers the new questions, these ones harder to answer.]
Home, outpost, people I knew once
that's hard to answer
Forgot/M/Here?
[Sounds like the form of an apocalyptic dating site. I love long walks on the corpse-laden beach... And not the delicacy that is instant mac. He has a feeling he would've appreciated this once, but it's no good to him now.]
Thank you, but I can hunt. Save your food.
[He pauses a moment, then adds one more thing.]
I'm Teo. You?
[Conversations are going to be slow like this. He considers just waiting until morning, actually staying to talk... but that's not a good idea. He'll wait until the evening, just as before. For now, he works on steering the dead away, then finding in his own place to settle in. Maybe he should find a place for her. They're in the city, which is never lacking in dead. Tomorrow is going to be interesting.]
no subject
Seeing the bowl there and unopened is a concern at first, but she relaxes again when she finds the note. Spooky godfather was okay. And had enviable skills, even if he doesn't remember how old he is... In the safety of the car, Ryder empties the noodles into something that will rattle significantly less, keeping a handful in her pocket to treat like the blandest hard candy in the world throughout the day. Sure, she could save it for a night she could actually heat up water and do things properly, but nah. The torn-off lid is tucked away with the receipts for future paper substitutes.
Looking for home and people he knew...but this Teo didn't come up to people he didn't know in order to find them. Chances were just too slim, maybe? Being on vacation when the apocalypse hit would have sucked for most people. She never even thought about the possibility until now. Or he could just be like her, doing better with people you couldn't attach faces to. Clamming up when it came to actually talking -- so bad to the point where it was easier to look like a crazy person with her nose stuck in a book without words than to reach out. Asking would be a lot of time and note space.
In order to encourage him to come along with her still, she doesn't leave her reply just yet. He gets another little smiley face drawn onto the front window's glass. It serves the purpose of marking the car as something friendly, too. Ryder pats the side of it as she leaves, not knowing that she'd actually be returning to it for another night.
The day is used to search for things that might have been overlooked, when she has the luxury between hiding, running, and killing. More near-hyperventilating than talking today, but for the first real day in the city, it isn't bad at all. She doesn't have a traditional need for the pads and tampons she finds, but it was possible to trade them to or do a good deed for someone who did -- and more importantly, they were useful for absorbing and stopping blood. Ibuprofen, somehow. When she finds a pack of refill rolls for a tape dispenser, she holds them up to wave them triumphantly in the hopes that Teo will share her excitement. Tape!! CDs to use as distractions. Two juvenile novels that will serve as distractions for her. Dumb teen romance shit. She'd almost rather have nothing, she glumly decides about the first one when she's drifting off hugging her book tight to her. Another gift to future survivors that found this hideout. If Teo wants it, he can pick it up himself, because leaving it out for him feels like it would send a really weird message. Their messages were strange enough. As of last night,]
Ryder
22(?)/f/here
And tired as fuck... Really adding to the stink of this car. Maybe the smell's the reason you're keeping your distance, huh?
Sorry about going in a circle today. Supplies.
You always follow people?
Why are you helping me?
What do you hunt in cities?
What about dogs?
(For liking them. If you hunt them them's the breaks but pls don't tell me.)
(This is a not so subtle hint to draw me a dog.)
no subject
The realization that he needs a distraction stuns him so thoroughly he stops walking. He's always needed a distraction, but not from waiting for letters.
He follows, but not so close as in the days before. He's got his new mission in mind, and he tries to work as much as he can on it without losing her trail. It helps both that he's good at hunting and has every mechanism left in him made to track her down. But that is solidly creepy so he tries not to think about it too much.
He is around in time to see her waving tape, and from several blocks away, perched on the hood of a broken-in car, he lifts a thumb high in the air. Then he's off again.
She ends up touring around back to the car, which works out for giving him more time and also meaning that his efforts won't be wasted. He's searched and he's pushed the dead along like sleepy toddlers and he's gathered little bits that he's found here and there. All in all, he thinks he's done well and the note is his reward.]
Ryder of the apocalypse. The last horsewoman.
[What a dumb joke. But it's such a different name he can't help wanting to comment on it. He leaves the next sentence blank, jumping to the questions.]
Sometimes. I miss people but people are dangerous.
Still want to help. I do better out here than most. And, you leave letters.
Squirrels, birds, rats, raccoons. There's more than you'd expect.
[Dutifully, he draws a dog this time, the basic puppy mouth and floppy ears, big black eyes and a hanging tongue.]
I like them too. They also don't like me. The dogs that lived are very careful these days.
[He regrets that sentence, not because it isn't true, but because it makes him sad and also kind of implies hunting. He crosses it out. Now for the important part.]
Found a place. 3 blocks down, 2 left, apartment isn't barricaded.
Up main stairs 1 floor. 2nd door.
Dead cleared out. Cupboards half stocked. There's beds.
All yours.
Leave note and marker outside?
[The last is a request. She might have done it anyway, but it's the only thing he really needs right now and the thought that she might just settle into comfort and forget him from there leaves him uneasy enough to speak his wishes plainly.]
no subject
[She likes it, though. The cool title and the idea that there would be silly things like that happening in the world again someday. ...It strikes her a second later that it wasn't "someday". This might be unconventional as hell, but that's just even more proof that it's really happening. She has a penpal in the apocalypse. A penpal that was both closer and further away than made any sense. Ryder shakes her head at herself and continues reading.]
Huh.
[The dog joins the little scrap of cat doodle in her book, and thanks to her findings yesterday, she’s able to secure them both nicely with tape on the inside cover. No losing them now. The other part...]
Never had someone ask me to move in so fast, [she tries to joke. For obvious reasons, it falls flat. But there was also the fact that she really doesn't know what to feel, now.
All yours, he says, and asks that she leave things for him outside. So he wasn't staying? Even though it's basically a utopia these days that he's offering? Why?
...If he wanted to hurt her, he would have done so already. It'd be a weird trick to pull now, baiting her in like that, but then, he was scratching words out now. Maybe that sort of thinking is what he's worried about? So...should she invite him? It would be less weird. Well, the situation, anyway. The idea of suddenly having another person right there has her more uneasy than she expected. It was just starting to feel like they could be friends.]
Things never stay that way, huh...?
[Not in person. The faintest sound of a groan in the distance reminds her that as easy as things have been, it isn't just herself and Teo out there. With a sigh, she lowers herself off the hood of the car again and starts walking.
Ryder doesn't follow the instructions, at least not right away. She'd finished up those stale crackers she'd been so dutifully rationing, which means that either her stomach is being a little bitch about hunger suddenly, or it's being stupid and twisting itself up in knots over all this. Her head's not properly in the game, either. A halfhearted attempt at searching suddenly becomes a whole-hearted panic when she's so careless that she knocks some bullshit to the ground -- only made worse because she's so stupidly gotten back in the habit of talking to herself that she shushes the noise on reflex.
Fuck? She's an idiot??? Good god, what must her spooky godfather think of this --]
No, nope. Literally what the fuck, Ry?
[Get somewhere out of reach, because as fortunate as she's been about the local population, there's no escaping the consequence of every action, and she deserved these ones more than she deserved that detention she got in second grade for cutting off Jana Larrman's ponytail. From a defensible perch, she can hack slowly away at the undead that heard her invitation. It takes longer than she'd like.]
Okay, [she sighs, running hands covered in thick, sludgy dead people blood through her hair.] Maybe stop fucking around and take his damn advice before you get yourself killed.
[Defeated but certain, at least, that she won't have to fight her way through a crowd again, Ryder makes her way to her new hideout so graciously provided by a man who would be an absolute fool to not regret helping her. Sorry, dude. No Ryder of the apocalypse here at this address. Too late to return to sender. Once she makes it to the door and marvels at how there really weren't any undead that had gotten in her way, Ryder cautiously...knocks...]
Teo?
[She should have looked over her shoulder more to see if he was trailing behind or not, but honestly she couldn't deal with the shame. A beat without a response though, and Ryder lets herself in. She peeks into all the rooms, looks in all the cupboards, opens every drawer, and takes the lid off the toilet tank before she sits in front of a window and zones out.]
This makes no fucking sense.
[Once again, the world silently agrees with her. Day's not even half over and she's ready to crash...but just before she does, she remembers to honor his singular request. Post-it notes and her marker left outside the door, while she's curled up on just the other side. Just in case.
Nothing from her this time, which she regrets as she closes her eyes. If he stayed because she wrote him notes, then...?]
no subject
He did too much. He went too far, got too eager. Shame has him turning away, though he tries to pretend that it's hunger. He goes to hunt, to focus on himself for a little bit. This will teach him to use his damn brain.
Or so he thinks. One spattering of blood on pavement later, he notices the horde around him is shifting. They're not after the scraps in his hands (they never are), but undeniably moving together. He feels a surge of panic and he's in motion without even stopping to clean himself off. Moving with the crowd of dead is a whole other weight on him but not one he can focus on, until he's sure.
Of course, that's stupid. He searches, but he's not sure, not until later when (after he does opt to clean the blood off him) he goes to check the apartment.
There is and isn't a note. She left the chance for him to talk but hasn't left anything behind for him to talk about. He doesn't know how to feel. Relief? or disappointment?]
Sorry I missed the horde.
I hope you're okay.
I can look for anything, if you need it.
[He feels like he should say more, but he doesn't know what. He sighs to himself and slips the note under the door, preparing to head back out from there.]
no subject
Only injury is to my ego. [Her voice is dry, but audible through the door.] Goddamn miracle.
[Let's see... Pen, pen...]
Gotta ask how the hell he did all this... Fuck, I wanted to know what the deal is with animals hating him, too. Don't they know he's spooky godfather? Agent Mulder was 'Spooky', too, and everyone loved him. Well, he's David Duchovny, of course people love him.
[Maybe it's the weird hour, or maybe it's finally being back in something resembling home. Maybe it's the idiotic brush with death! Whatever the reason for her free rambling, it doesn't really matter.]
God, I wanted to be Scully, though... Queequeg got done so dirty. Bet he would've liked helpful spooky godfathers. Shit, what was I writing?
[It's only soft, infrequent expletives from there until she slips her reply under the door. And then realizes that she could have opened the door.
...
It was more fun this way. Like a secret agent. Ryder the apocalypse spy. Spypocalypse.]
I'm okay. Just did something stupid.
You've done too much for me to be sorry about anything.
Glad you're okay. Hope I didn't fuck anything up for you.
Is this yours? Nice magnets if so.
[Probably the only good thing about the fridge, now. Whoops.
...Wait, shit! Another note follows.]
How come animals don't like you?
I think dogs hating people is a bad person thing but you seem nice on paper.
Scully or Mulder?
no subject
He thinks he's missed some context when he's close to make out what's actually being said. He can't really follow it. It blends into cursing and he wonders if she's at all okay.
Then it appears. The note. He approaches slow, still wanting to maintain the silence. Then he kneels and takes up the note. Notes, rather.]
I startled you. I noticed.
I could've helped you fight.
But no, nothing messed up here.
It's not my place. I just found it.
Didn't look at the magnets.
[Maybe, if or when she moves along, he'll go back around to peek at them. Now it's time for lying. Sort of.]
I have a trick.
It keeps the dead away but it scares the animals too.
Those are from a show, right? I don't remember well. Sorry. :(
[He pauses then, hesitating. It's not wise. But... steeling himself, he slips the notes under the door anyway.]
no subject
Her hands slap over her mouth a second too late to stifle the surprised yelp that was startled out of her by the paper's appearance. The rational, well-rested half of her brain informs her that undead do not slide mail under doors and if it was another survivor, they would be opening the door. It's only her mysterious new friend that would do this. The half of her brain that is a meek little girl thrown into the real world just before that real world went to absolute shit and has faced more death than she ever would have thought despite that gloomy goth phase she had that lasted all through middle and high school -- that half? That half is frozen stiff and wondering how effective a pen would be for homicide. Self-defense-flavored homicide, naturally.
But she does creep back over eventually and crouch next to the note, deciding to read it just in case it says "OPEN THE DOOR AND YOU DIE" or something helpful like that.]
Oh...
[Deep breath in so she can heave an even deeper sigh. It doesn't make the guilt lessen any.]
Uh, Teo? You still there, or...?
no subject
He draws a wheezing breath which sounds exactly like the dead. Ragged, raspy, and faint, he speaks.]
... I'm... here...
[He doesn't even know if she'll hear it. He doesn't if he wants her to hear it.
The running idea is looking better and better. Or maybe he can hold the door shut... no. No. He'll run for it. He readies himself. Three... two...]
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Dude, you freaked me out! What the fuck! You could just knock!
[...It's his hideout, he could do more than just knock if he really wanted.]
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[His voice raises a little bit in volume, but not by much. For every pause is another raspy breath.]
Sorry... about scaring you...
[He's probably not helping that now, he thinks.]
Is it... okay in there...? I can... look for better...
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Ryder rests her palms against it and leans to put her eye to the peephole, not that it reveals much. He's still all bundled up.]
...It's perfect. You don't -- you... You're obviously sick. [He sounds like he needs a lung transplant, maybe, but like hell that's happening. Is he going to die? The thought makes her heart ache unexpectedly, and it only hurts more to know that it's more out of her own loneliness than the value of someone else's life. If he died, who would help her? Who would leave her notes and draw her pictures?] You should be resting. You've done more than enough.
[To think, she almost wasted it.]
There's still water here. Even if you don't want to come in, let me bring you some. Okay?
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No.
[He says it so quickly, it makes him cough. It's a half-minute of helpless wheezing, not helping his case.]
I'm okay... I'm okay... I have... an old injury...
[It was true. But then, she was right too. All the same, her concern is unwarranted.]
Keep the water... I don't need it...
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You're not going to kill yourself, right...? [Ugh, there goes her composure. What if -- what if he really did leave that kind of note for her to find? What if she couldn't expect anything more after that?] Come on, don't leave me alone now that I've gotten used to having you.
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No... no...
[He moves, settling himself down against the wall. He's still close enough to hear her and let her hear him (which may or may not be a comfort), but now he's committed to staying.]
I wanna live... [The honesty of that one statement washes over him.] I wanna live... I'm not gonna... do that kind of...thing... I'm okay...
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Good. I'd have to kick your ass otherwise.
[She wishes her tone was stronger, but Ryder supposes anything is strong in comparison to his. The sound of him moving to the floor gets her to exhale and lower herself as well.]
You're...pretty amazing. [ANYWAY] Uh, does talking hurt? We can write. I don't mind. I'm...better that way.
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This is... care. Someone's caring. It feels alien, but not unwelcome. He hears something that sounds like a compliment, and he hums a question in turn. He probably misheard...]
It doesn't hurt... any more than... what's usual.... [That doesn't sound promising, he realizes.] If you're better... then we can... keep writing...
... I like hearing... you speak though...
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Um.
[That's something you'd hear in a shippy fanfic, not real life. But then, zombies weren't supposed to be a real life thing, either. Ryder pushes herself back up onto her feet.]
Hold on. I'm gonna grab something to eat. [And a cup of toilet tank water. It's only a little bit to stall -- she wasn't starving thanks to the odd bedtime she'd picked and the fact that Teo had kept her from running out of anything, but the fact of the matter is that the cupboards were half-stocked!! She can stand to indulge a little in some nervous eating.
Okay. She's back and pressing her ear to the door to listen first.] So -- the X-files. That's the show. Your choices are a hot FBI agent that believes in aliens and no one takes seriously, or a hot FBI agent that's a doctor and explains the weird shit that happens with science. I don't know how to describe David Duchovny in a way that makes him sound not like just any other white dude, but Gillian Anderson is a short redhead that was the lesbian awakening for a lot of young girls in the 90s.
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He'd meant to say it was nice hearing living people speak in general. But... he wouldn't deny that listening to her talk specifically was nice too.
She's gone and back and then launching into an explanation of an old tv-show. He grins behind the gaiter.]
Counter question... Am I... saying who I'm... more like... who I'm friends with... or who I... would date?
[In the hypothetical world where any of that's an option.]
I like... an open mind... but a smart friend... would be handy... do you think... either is into... latino men?
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Why not all three? A nicer version of Fuck Marry Kill.
[Plus it's more conversation and more opportunities to learn about her spooky godfather. She probably should know more about him, since he gave her a house, and all.]
You know, I don't remember if they ever dated people in the show... They were one of those pairs that were basically married, but never got together? Until suddenly they had a baby. Or the baby was actually an alien's, or...? Man. Can't even find out, anymore.
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