'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?
[It's tempting. He promised to stay and take care of her today -- it'd be easy to remind him, to keep him there so they can talk and laugh and live. He says they could be close. She's got the sheet, so even if they haven't cleaned his clothes yet, he could hold her like he had the night before. It makes her heart flutter hopefully a moment before she lets go of the idea and feels it plummet to the lower rungs of ribs. If she wants to talk, laugh, and -- oh jesus fucking christ, she's pining for a fucking LIVE LAUGH LOVE wall decal or tattoo or some shit.
That's the final push she needs to make her decision, releasing what lingering hold she'd had on him to instead bundle the sheet tighter around herself. Ryder sighs and lets the fatigue settle deeper.]
Nnno. You should check -- on them... Um. Maybe get them ready... I -- don't know if we should lead them -- out unless we can keep -- them out. Or, um... Find way to be safe and let them go free.
[Every Witch Way is supposed to be a safe place to rest for everyone. It'd be nice if the other undead could learn to take Teo's example, but they didn't have the awareness for that. They were basically infants, and like hell she's ready to be a parent -- especially to a gang of toddlers out to chew her legs off. She doubts Teo is either.]
Maybe tonight? The other -- survivors shouldn't be out then either. And we can work on -- barricading in the morning?
[He waits, perfectly unaware of the horrifying revelations Ryder is having within the confines of her mind, a curse, it seems, that not even the apocalypse can scour from the land. Though she seems reluctant, she lets him go.
Checking on the dead, letting them go free. He hadn't expected it from her. It wasn't exactly safe for her. But he realizes that it's from looking at him that she's trying out ill-advised kindness for the dead. His expression softens, looking touched, fond, and grateful.]
I'll gather... below... Find a room... on the first floor... Get them all... together... You rest...
[Minding the other survivors is smart too. Safer for them and safer for him.]
Tonight... lead into the city... you be... ready in case...
[In case any decide to trail back up to her hideout while he away. He'd be leaving her alone again, which he doesn't like, but despite bundling her up and carrying her up the stairs, he knows she's capable.]
[He doesn't know how lucky he is, and she has no intention of telling him. Spare him this stressed suburban mom bullshit.
Ryder nods, switching to looking around their room instead of him, since all that would do is make her fret more by the second. Well, that and fluster the heck out of her, with that soft expression of his. Gosh and golly. She should make a new mental list of essentials, taking their new bounty into account. Shame that the wheels and rattle of its contents means that taking the whole cart with them isn't all that feasible.]
Yeah. I'll, um. I'll be quiet. [So they don't get distracted while he's parading them around... Ah, hm, she's not sure she likes the question that occurs to her, though she's pretty sure that's for the wrong reasons.] They're -- not gonna, um, like...smell me, or anything -- else, right?
[Not that she doesn't smell great by apocalypse standards, now! But it's weird to think about Teo, among the others, tracking her scent in an undead way. Experience stealthing around would tell her 'no', but she might be the only survivor that can get as definite an answer that there is, with him around.]
It's just when he's prepared to let that be that and head out that she throws a curve ball. And that metaphorical curve ball is landing square in the middle of his face. He makes an uncertain noise, grimacing and looking away.]
Well... I mean... you're clean and... you're not bleeding... You'd be... behind the door... Not really... the best sense... or anything... I'm sure it's... fine...!
[He smiles, but, it looks far more like a wince. Sure, he can't promise, but how likely is it?]
It'll be... fine... quiet... that's all... just quiet... and it's safe...
[Bleeding... Never before has Ryder been so grateful to not have a uterus, because she simultaneously doesn't know if she could handle asking Teo about menstrual blood without wanting to die and doesn't think she could hold her curiosity in -- further evidenced by the fact that the thought is still circling around her head after she's tried swatting it down like a pesky fly.
Just quiet! Being quiet is the only thing she has to worry about!]
Yeah. Uh. Sorry. I'll -- shut up now. Just need my, um --
[She leans to get a better look at where she's left her backpack, and more importantly, her book. Her hands make a gesture of a cover opening up.]
[Just a small assurance. He's good with her talking when he isn't walking the dead past her door. He hopes he can avoid her door, on that note.
He needs no more muted explanation. He moves to grab her backpack and brings the whole thing to her.]
Weave good stories... while I'm away...
[He makes his way to the door and shuts it quietly behind him. Then he's off to find the dead, to take their hands one by one and guide them down like they're no more than lost souls.]
[She's not sure she's ever going to get used to that... The someone not minding -- sometimes even looking forward to -- when she talks. Maybe he'll get tired of it after enough time, because it's the deprivation that made him like it in the first place. For now, it was okay. Ryder gives a small smile in return, murmuring something like a goodbye and good luck as she carefully extracts her book. Luckily she hadn't dumped the rest out, so in the event that she does have to make a hasty retreat, even if her selection isn't ideal, she won't be completely up shit creek. The odds of having to do anything more than maybe lock herself even further away in the bathroom were pretty low, thanks to Teo.
Stories, hm... Her expression softens to something serene and fond as she leans back against the headboard and flips open to a random blank page. Time to see what her imagination has to offer them.]
[He seeks out the dead. He has to take up that key do it, for some are still locked away in room. He finds a man alone, already lulled back into staring at nothing. That goes easy enough and he leads him down into what look a multi-purpose room. Time for it to have a purpose again.
He finds a woman in the hall. It unsettles him that she'd wandered even this close, but like the man, he leads her down.
The one after that is entirely unrecognizable as anything but it corpse and that unsettles him in another way, but he takes that hand too. He finds a family where two of the three corpses have already gone still, the sort of scene he really hates. He whispers that he's sorry as he goes.
He checks and he checks until he's sure he's gathered just about all of them. There's one last room, barricaded from the outside. He works to carefully move each piece of furniture. He hears growls, then scraping. He imagines those fingers are worn down to the bone and he remembers quite sharply, the feeling of clawing at a door. It's a wonder his fingers aren't the same.
He should've been minding that memory, or similar memories much more, for then he wouldn't have been surprised when the dead leapt at him, jaws snapping. He lets out a cry, pushing the dead back, and it stops. It almost confused, as if it has the mind to wonder how something that's not food could've freed it. This one's going to be trouble, he thinks. He takes the extra steps to bind its hands and try and cover its mouth as well. Just in case. Down to the room it goes and then all those dead are barricaded in together. It won't hold forever, but it'll hold until tonight, so long as they're quiet.
With that done, he makes his way back up to Ryder's room.]
It's me...
[He hopes she hears his warning before he opens up the door.]
['This is the story of a man named Teo, who was real and remembered, even if he couldn't remember himself well and didn't have enough for a biography.'
It's the one rule she has for her most prized possession and she's breaking it. For him. Maybe it's starting to lose seat on its long-held throne. That's the power of friendship, baby.
'He has a letter I've never read. A letter I've never seen. It was with him when he woke up, and even though it's been ruined with blood and time, he keeps it safe with him. Inside his pocket is a link to the life he had before all this.
Oh. By the way, this is taking place at the end of the world -- not the location, because the world is spherical so that doesn't exist, and I hope there's enough written word and intelligent life that this fact survives, but I can't predict the future. Humanity's let me down before. Now they're all dead: in the ground, on the ground, walking, or inside. I was like that, too, until I met one of these walking dead guys who felt the name Teo was right, so that's who he is. Funny that a zombie's the best guy I've ever known, and the only friend I've ever had.
I didn't know him before, so I don't have a lot to share yet. There might never be more, since he says flashes of memories come to him in little pieces and feelings. What I do know is that he's generous and compassionate. He's shown me that much, along with silly little doodles I've taped to the inside cover of this book.
Other things I know: - He's a Latino man in his twenties. He keeps himself covered up so others can't see he's undead. His left cheek is ripped off so you can see his teeth, so it would be pretty hard to argue against any accusation. - His eyes are dull and sensitive to light, so he wears goggles. - His hair is long. It was probably black or one of those darkest browns, but it's gone more gray. - His entire self is like someone dialed down the saturation level. His personality is still vibrant, even if he has to wheeze pieces of it out slowly, bit by bit, with lungs that don't work right anymore. As little as I've seen so far, I can make the judgment that his body is undeniably dead. - He can cook. He made me vegetarian sloppy joe today, or at least the apocalypse version. - He likes animals. They're not so fond of him now, what with the whole zombie thing. - He dresses like a punk. I don't know enough about the style or music to explain the patches that are sewn onto his clothes, but maybe he can tell me something. Stay tuned, reader. - He likes romance novels. Pretty sure he's bisexual. - On a related note, he mentioned cooking breakfast for partners after spending the night with them, but in various places. He remembers the electric buzzing sound that certain lights make. - He remembers probably sleeping in cars, like I sometimes do now for safety, but back when he was alive. - He's been shot before. His blood now is black. Zombies are able to mostly ignore pain because they always have a more prominent focus. For the rest, it's just hunger. He has hunger and the whims of his heart.'
Ryder pauses and listens with a frown. Even without the sound of people or television, lights or air conditioning...it was hard to make out all the noises. Damn walls, protecting her. Was that something, or her imagination? Was it him?
...After a straight minute of straining to hear something that would pierce the calm, she returns to her secret notes.
'- He cares about me. He'll hold me even though he's scared of infecting me. If I get infected, I probably won't be the same as him. He wouldn't be able to hold me anymore. He doesn't want to lose me. - I care about him. I don't want to lose him. - This isn't enough. I want to know more.'
She adds their story so far, omitting a lot of the details. There's so many parts scribbled out from a misspelling or plain embarrassment. As much as she wants a record of his existence for the world -- his importance as a person and not a medical marvel or hiccup of fate -- she doesn't...want to share him. She only just got him.
The hallway has a muffled thump to it of steps approaching, so she quickly stashes her pen away and snaps her book shut.]
Hey. All clear over here with me and Chancellor -- [Ah. Teo enters her view and her voice falters shamefully.] -- Bounce. Um. You? I -- thought I might have heard...
[The things he would say if he knew she was writing of him. What he'd feel if he knew she was writing for him...
He doesn't know. He jokes knows the sound of her voice, of rustling movement, and the way she falters when he comes into view. He's glad to know her well enough that he doesn't attribute it to his own presence-- at least in the sense of being unwanted. It makes him look apologetic, at least up until she turns a question on him.
It's his turn to falter. He wants to say he's fine, but if she heard something... He lets out a rueful breath of a laugh and ducks his head.]
Last one... spooked me... [Which seems ridiculous since he's also undead, but--] Expected something... living... pounced... Fine of course... but...
[He pushes back a bit of hair and then goes to take a seat on the edge of the bed. He shrugs.]
[It takes her a second to register that the one "expecting something living" was the proverbial other guy, not Teo. When she's letting that and the fact that he got hurt again settle, he says something else to distract her and she's left staring. Did he...somehow know? There was no way he could know she was writing about what she knows of him so far, that would be -- impossible. She flicks her eyes to her fingertips and assures that they're free of ink to further assure herself of this before exhaling and crawling over to him. It's his turn to get the sheet wrapped around him, starting like a hood but wrapping around his torso as her arms guide it. Ryder takes up the spot behind him, letting a leg fall on either end and resting her forehead against him. Gosh. It's like some kind of drug, instantly stirring up that good dopamine everyone was low on these days.]
[In fairness, he wasn't that hurt. He'd managed to block what he needed to. That old leather jacket was good for more than just looking cool and keeping his letter safe.
She gives him a strange look and it makes his head tilt. Perhaps he shouldn't have said that. Maybe that's too morbid, breaking some rule or other he hadn't noticed. But then she's at his side, leaning on him and he leans just the slightest bit back, resting his head on hers. He feels some of his tension unwind for a second before that question. It makes his breath catch, but his words are calm.]
No... that was later... [He should be grateful for that. And yet.] It's not clear... it's... probably not different... than anyone's story... I remember... patches... something caught... my ankle... tried to bite... grazed... but I got away... just to be caught... too scared... too scared...
[And fear led to carelessness and carelessness... well.]
...fell on me... tried to grasp... to claw... [He reaches up, his fingers grazing his throat, where the gaiter covers most of the scratches.] tried to bite... stupid... blocked with... my arm...
[His eyes close. He sighs. There's not much more he needs to say there. He was bit. It was over.]
Found some... shed... can't recall... bleeding everywhere... hurt... I-I wished... I wasn't alone... wished... I'd lived... wasted chance... Fever was fast... It was all... too fast... too much...
[So much for being her hero. He'd gone out cowardly.]
[Later... After, he means. Ryder gives a soft hum to acknowledge that, privately weighing if that's good or bad. Probably good... It looks painful as hell. She doesn't know how much a face bleeds, but it's probably a surprising amount. Definitely would have brought even more attention to him, and maybe he wouldn't be sitting here telling her about it. His slow, strange way of speaking gives her plenty of time to roll the words around her head, first remembering the shape and feel of them so she could commit them to paper later. Hearing them comes after. Slow breaths are pulled from her like maybe she's flaunting how easy it is for her when his own were a clumsy brush of a bow against violin strings.
Maybe it wasn't an epic, original tale, but who cares? It's important nonetheless. Going out with a shriek or a whimper didn't really matter to her, either. He'd saved her in different ways from the start, and she's sure that the stereotypical, ideal hero would have been the same in that situation. Feeling alone when you've got a regular sickness was bad enough. It must be extra lonely to be dying. Besides, hiding away wouldn't have done a lot for him, but it was ultimately safer for the other survivors in the area. Even when acting out of pure adrenaline and maybe unaware of the good he did, Teo was kind. Everything else he says keeps the bitter smile from forming.]
I'm sorry.
[Not that saying it does anything. Her hands fall back again, avoiding his arms out of respect for his mistake and settling them where the back of his ribs are, underneath the sheet, his clothes, and his sallow skin.]
You think you -- wasted your life...? I -- can't picture...
[He blinks when he hears that apology. His brows furrow. It's not something he ever expected to hear. He's not sure he even deserves it. All the same, it overwhelms him. He feels her let go and he wants her back, but then she is back and he understands what she's trying to do.
He starts to speak but he hears his hitching breath.]
Sorry... hang on...
[He tilts his head up. He takes a minute or two just to breathe. He speaks then with a faint, rueful smile.]
Getting emotional... looks awful... if I cry... The worst...
[He says it like a joke, even though it isn't.]
I don't know why... don't know why... I felt that... but I did... I do... Something... I did something wrong... but I don't know... it's just... a feeling...
[He gives a lot of hollow jokes, she's starting to notice. He'd tried to do it about his arm, too, before they'd even been face to face. ...The fact that he was surprised she found out is a bit of a hollow joke in itself. Poor guy. Especially since now the person currently most dear to him is thinking about how she wants to see him cry. What a pal!]
Mm... I don't -- think mistakes make you waste your life. It's like, um, like a -- rough draft. If it's too late, then -- a parable. For someone else. That -- way is shitty. [A pause, then a cough of a regretted laugh.] With how mmmuch you do for -- me, it wouldn't surprise me... To be -- for others, I mean.
[Best pal he's got. Even if these particular words make him uncomfortable, he's still going back to leaning on her.]
You think I'm... a bad example...? [A parable. He understands that. A hard lesson for others to learn from. He hums.] Might be one... to myself... at least... Trying to do better...
[She lifts her head, and this time her face is burning from a storm of negative feelings rather than the pleased, embarrassing twittering of her heart. Was this another bad joke, or had she finally fucked up? As much as she wants to believe it's the former, the way he trails into more glum statements has her doubting it. He sounds like the voice inside her head. It makes her stomach flip-flop like a diver that's slipped backwards onto the diving board.]
I just -- um. Y-you said --
[Fuck. Fuck, fuck. Her fingers curl into the sheet, not wanting to lose this after finally getting comfortable enough to not question it so much. And why is she blaming him for her fuck-up? God. Talk, you goddamn idiot!]
[Her words catch. With her arms around him like this-- this way that would probably make his heart race, if it moved at all-- he can't see her. Even if he turns his head, there's the sheet. But she sounds panicked. Regardless of anything, he doesn't want that.]
Hey... it's okay... Still here... still listening... Explain again...?
[And now he's reassuring her even though she doesn't deserve it. Even though she should be the one spoiling him with kindness and praise, because even if he felt otherwise, she knows he was good for those around him. There was no way he wasn't. Her breathing is kept slow, but it comes out a little heavier than before as she squeezes her eyes shut and tries to concentrate on making words happen. They were hard to begin with, but this sort of thing... This was one of the reasons she'd shut down in conversations early on in life. Not often had she tried to actually fight back against the feeling, but Teo wants her to explain it better. Can she?
One hand releases its hold and moves to his back to push a finger enough that even through the jacket, he hopefully wouldn't have trouble feeling it. She carefully traces.
W A I T
She wants to phrase it another way, when her tongue and brain both loosen enough to let her. Please be patient, she miserably thinks over to him, letting her forehead fall against him again. He's there. He's listening.
After some time, it's fortunate the hotel is so eerily quiet, because it lets her pathetic voice be heard.]
You ssssaid... You -- y-you did something -- wrong. Um. ...Um.
[Boy, she hates herself. Rolling with things so far had always been pretty okay, but what if that made it seem like she didn't care? She'd have to be more careful, if she doesn't do the smart thing and keep quiet.]
But you s-said that, um. Wasted life. I don't -- think -- that's true. [Shaky exhale. Ryder wonders if she can bury herself in him fully. Let him be the grave he never got to have himself.] M-mistakes don't -- have to be bad. Um. You're nnnot. And -- and mistakes teach, s-so. Not a waste. You could -- never be. Please -- mmmake sense. Please.
[He waits and the world goes silent, their room and each other. He waits and he listens to her breath. Wait. He feels the letters on his back, surprising him at first, but he stills to focus and try and pick out the shape of each letter. She asks him to wait, so he waits.
At last, her voice comes. It's a relief to hear it. He nods. Yes. He did something... something...
His brows furrow. He feels her so close.]
I understand...
[He wishes he could see her right now. He wishes he could pull her close, like any normal person.]
I just... I died... that could've been... it for me... [Should've been, a voice in his head whispers.] Whatever I did... or didn't do... it was long enough... and big enough... that I felt that way... It's scary... I don't want to... miss things again...
[He says he understands, but she keeps questioning if he really does. What if he only wants her to calm down and shut up so they can move on from this, but he still feels like shit because of her? He obviously already does because of the situation -- dying makes you feel shitty! -- but what if all she's done is make it worse by trying to correct his feelings? Selfish, stupid girl. She can't stop clinging to him, one part comfort and another part terrified he'll move away.]
...Yeah. [Great commentary.] Y-you...deserved more.
[Some would argue that everyone did, but not Ryder. Lots of shitty people out there deserving to spend the rest of their lives worrying about being zombie food. "Eat the rich" indeed.]
If -- you w-want. We'll do -- things. [Whatever he wants to do...even if he'd only just got done telling her that living at her side was all he wanted. Of course there would be more than that. It was stupid of her to just accept that and decide to sit pretty doing her own thing. She wasn't even good at that.] Always. S-so it -- feels less.
[Deserved. He's not sure about that. Especially now, he's not sure he deserves anything. But he wants. He wants and he's selfish enough to take it. To live, even if it's a threat to others.
But here she is, still reassuring, still doing her very best. She promises they'll do more and he feels himself smile, a bittersweet ache in his heart. He leans back against her. He lets his melancholy disolve.]
We are doing things... silly goose...
[Surely she's noticed. But then she keeps thinking she hasn't done enough.]
We've been... living... I've been... alive with you...
[He's insisting that thing that makes no sense again, and the only thing keeping her from shaking her head in disbelief is the fact that he's leaning into her, now. So...she's not allowed to argue. She holds him back enough. He'll tell her something more he wants someday, maybe, if she's better about hearing him.]
...Mm.
[They're living...and he came back. That's what's important. Hesitantly, Ryder lets her tension ease, unclenches her fingers, and loosely worms her arms around Teo's waist, weak and limp outside of what's necessary to hold him.]
[He feels her arms wrap around him. He grips the edges of the sheet so he can more confidently hold her arms in place. He imagines staying here, just like this, in the warmth of her... and her words.]
Glad to... be here...
[Even undead. Even with all that means. He's here, present and away. He's here and held and safe.]
[She might be able to fall asleep like this, she thinks. It'd be a really uncomfortable sleep, but a lot of sleeps are uncomfortable these days. Well, not these days specifically, because the most recent days have been full of pampering and included mattresses. The general apocalypse days. Those these days.
But she doesn't actually want to sleep, as exhausted physically and emotionally as she is. She wants to take a minute or two to gather herself up again, then switch to resting her chin on him instead of her forehead.]
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storywalks) wrote2021-11-17 08:42 pm
no subject
That's the final push she needs to make her decision, releasing what lingering hold she'd had on him to instead bundle the sheet tighter around herself. Ryder sighs and lets the fatigue settle deeper.]
Nnno. You should check -- on them... Um. Maybe get them ready... I -- don't know if we should lead them -- out unless we can keep -- them out. Or, um... Find way to be safe and let them go free.
[Every Witch Way is supposed to be a safe place to rest for everyone. It'd be nice if the other undead could learn to take Teo's example, but they didn't have the awareness for that. They were basically infants, and like hell she's ready to be a parent -- especially to a gang of toddlers out to chew her legs off. She doubts Teo is either.]
Maybe tonight? The other -- survivors shouldn't be out then either. And we can work on -- barricading in the morning?
no subject
Checking on the dead, letting them go free. He hadn't expected it from her. It wasn't exactly safe for her. But he realizes that it's from looking at him that she's trying out ill-advised kindness for the dead. His expression softens, looking touched, fond, and grateful.]
I'll gather... below... Find a room... on the first floor... Get them all... together... You rest...
[Minding the other survivors is smart too. Safer for them and safer for him.]
Tonight... lead into the city... you be... ready in case...
[In case any decide to trail back up to her hideout while he away. He'd be leaving her alone again, which he doesn't like, but despite bundling her up and carrying her up the stairs, he knows she's capable.]
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Ryder nods, switching to looking around their room instead of him, since all that would do is make her fret more by the second. Well, that and fluster the heck out of her, with that soft expression of his. Gosh and golly. She should make a new mental list of essentials, taking their new bounty into account. Shame that the wheels and rattle of its contents means that taking the whole cart with them isn't all that feasible.]
Yeah. I'll, um. I'll be quiet. [So they don't get distracted while he's parading them around... Ah, hm, she's not sure she likes the question that occurs to her, though she's pretty sure that's for the wrong reasons.] They're -- not gonna, um, like...smell me, or anything -- else, right?
[Not that she doesn't smell great by apocalypse standards, now! But it's weird to think about Teo, among the others, tracking her scent in an undead way. Experience stealthing around would tell her 'no', but she might be the only survivor that can get as definite an answer that there is, with him around.]
I just need to be -- quiet.
no subject
It's just when he's prepared to let that be that and head out that she throws a curve ball. And that metaphorical curve ball is landing square in the middle of his face. He makes an uncertain noise, grimacing and looking away.]
Well... I mean... you're clean and... you're not bleeding... You'd be... behind the door... Not really... the best sense... or anything... I'm sure it's... fine...!
[He smiles, but, it looks far more like a wince. Sure, he can't promise, but how likely is it?]
It'll be... fine... quiet... that's all... just quiet... and it's safe...
no subject
Just quiet! Being quiet is the only thing she has to worry about!]
Yeah. Uh. Sorry. I'll -- shut up now. Just need my, um --
[She leans to get a better look at where she's left her backpack, and more importantly, her book. Her hands make a gesture of a cover opening up.]
no subject
Don't mind... when you talk...
[Just a small assurance. He's good with her talking when he isn't walking the dead past her door. He hopes he can avoid her door, on that note.
He needs no more muted explanation. He moves to grab her backpack and brings the whole thing to her.]
Weave good stories... while I'm away...
[He makes his way to the door and shuts it quietly behind him. Then he's off to find the dead, to take their hands one by one and guide them down like they're no more than lost souls.]
no subject
Stories, hm... Her expression softens to something serene and fond as she leans back against the headboard and flips open to a random blank page. Time to see what her imagination has to offer them.]
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He finds a woman in the hall. It unsettles him that she'd wandered even this close, but like the man, he leads her down.
The one after that is entirely unrecognizable as anything but it corpse and that unsettles him in another way, but he takes that hand too. He finds a family where two of the three corpses have already gone still, the sort of scene he really hates. He whispers that he's sorry as he goes.
He checks and he checks until he's sure he's gathered just about all of them. There's one last room, barricaded from the outside. He works to carefully move each piece of furniture. He hears growls, then scraping. He imagines those fingers are worn down to the bone and he remembers quite sharply, the feeling of clawing at a door. It's a wonder his fingers aren't the same.
He should've been minding that memory, or similar memories much more, for then he wouldn't have been surprised when the dead leapt at him, jaws snapping. He lets out a cry, pushing the dead back, and it stops. It almost confused, as if it has the mind to wonder how something that's not food could've freed it. This one's going to be trouble, he thinks. He takes the extra steps to bind its hands and try and cover its mouth as well. Just in case. Down to the room it goes and then all those dead are barricaded in together. It won't hold forever, but it'll hold until tonight, so long as they're quiet.
With that done, he makes his way back up to Ryder's room.]
It's me...
[He hopes she hears his warning before he opens up the door.]
Everything... okay...?
no subject
It's the one rule she has for her most prized possession and she's breaking it. For him. Maybe it's starting to lose seat on its long-held throne. That's the power of friendship, baby.
'He has a letter I've never read. A letter I've never seen. It was with him when he woke up, and even though it's been ruined with blood and time, he keeps it safe with him. Inside his pocket is a link to the life he had before all this.
Oh. By the way, this is taking place at the end of the world -- not the location, because the world is spherical so that doesn't exist, and I hope there's enough written word and intelligent life that this fact survives, but I can't predict the future. Humanity's let me down before. Now they're all dead: in the ground, on the ground, walking, or inside. I was like that, too, until I met one of these walking dead guys who felt the name Teo was right, so that's who he is. Funny that a zombie's the best guy I've ever known, and the only friend I've ever had.
I didn't know him before, so I don't have a lot to share yet. There might never be more, since he says flashes of memories come to him in little pieces and feelings. What I do know is that he's generous and compassionate. He's shown me that much, along with silly little doodles I've taped to the inside cover of this book.
Other things I know:
- He's a Latino man in his twenties. He keeps himself covered up so others can't see he's undead. His left cheek is ripped off so you can see his teeth, so it would be pretty hard to argue against any accusation.
- His eyes are dull and sensitive to light, so he wears goggles.
- His hair is long. It was probably black or one of those darkest browns, but it's gone more gray.
- His entire self is like someone dialed down the saturation level. His personality is still vibrant, even if he has to wheeze pieces of it out slowly, bit by bit, with lungs that don't work right anymore. As little as I've seen so far, I can make the judgment that his body is undeniably dead.
- He can cook. He made me vegetarian sloppy joe today, or at least the apocalypse version.
- He likes animals. They're not so fond of him now, what with the whole zombie thing.
- He dresses like a punk. I don't know enough about the style or music to explain the patches that are sewn onto his clothes, but maybe he can tell me something. Stay tuned, reader.
- He likes romance novels. Pretty sure he's bisexual.
- On a related note, he mentioned cooking breakfast for partners after spending the night with them, but in various places. He remembers the electric buzzing sound that certain lights make.
- He remembers probably sleeping in cars, like I sometimes do now for safety, but back when he was alive.
- He's been shot before. His blood now is black. Zombies are able to mostly ignore pain because they always have a more prominent focus. For the rest, it's just hunger. He has hunger and the whims of his heart.'
Ryder pauses and listens with a frown. Even without the sound of people or television, lights or air conditioning...it was hard to make out all the noises. Damn walls, protecting her. Was that something, or her imagination? Was it him?
...After a straight minute of straining to hear something that would pierce the calm, she returns to her secret notes.
'- He cares about me. He'll hold me even though he's scared of infecting me. If I get infected, I probably won't be the same as him. He wouldn't be able to hold me anymore. He doesn't want to lose me.
- I care about him. I don't want to lose him.
- This isn't enough. I want to know more.'
She adds their story so far, omitting a lot of the details. There's so many parts scribbled out from a misspelling or plain embarrassment. As much as she wants a record of his existence for the world -- his importance as a person and not a medical marvel or hiccup of fate -- she doesn't...want to share him. She only just got him.
The hallway has a muffled thump to it of steps approaching, so she quickly stashes her pen away and snaps her book shut.]
Hey. All clear over here with me and Chancellor -- [Ah. Teo enters her view and her voice falters shamefully.] -- Bounce. Um. You? I -- thought I might have heard...
[Something?]
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He doesn't know. He jokes knows the sound of her voice, of rustling movement, and the way she falters when he comes into view. He's glad to know her well enough that he doesn't attribute it to his own presence-- at least in the sense of being unwanted. It makes him look apologetic, at least up until she turns a question on him.
It's his turn to falter. He wants to say he's fine, but if she heard something... He lets out a rueful breath of a laugh and ducks his head.]
Last one... spooked me... [Which seems ridiculous since he's also undead, but--] Expected something... living... pounced... Fine of course... but...
[He pushes back a bit of hair and then goes to take a seat on the edge of the bed. He shrugs.]
Never forgot... how I died... Irony...
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Was that how, um... Your face?
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She gives him a strange look and it makes his head tilt. Perhaps he shouldn't have said that. Maybe that's too morbid, breaking some rule or other he hadn't noticed. But then she's at his side, leaning on him and he leans just the slightest bit back, resting his head on hers. He feels some of his tension unwind for a second before that question. It makes his breath catch, but his words are calm.]
No... that was later... [He should be grateful for that. And yet.] It's not clear... it's... probably not different... than anyone's story... I remember... patches... something caught... my ankle... tried to bite... grazed... but I got away... just to be caught... too scared... too scared...
[And fear led to carelessness and carelessness... well.]
...fell on me... tried to grasp... to claw... [He reaches up, his fingers grazing his throat, where the gaiter covers most of the scratches.] tried to bite... stupid... blocked with... my arm...
[His eyes close. He sighs. There's not much more he needs to say there. He was bit. It was over.]
Found some... shed... can't recall... bleeding everywhere... hurt... I-I wished... I wasn't alone... wished... I'd lived... wasted chance... Fever was fast... It was all... too fast... too much...
[So much for being her hero. He'd gone out cowardly.]
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Maybe it wasn't an epic, original tale, but who cares? It's important nonetheless. Going out with a shriek or a whimper didn't really matter to her, either. He'd saved her in different ways from the start, and she's sure that the stereotypical, ideal hero would have been the same in that situation. Feeling alone when you've got a regular sickness was bad enough. It must be extra lonely to be dying. Besides, hiding away wouldn't have done a lot for him, but it was ultimately safer for the other survivors in the area. Even when acting out of pure adrenaline and maybe unaware of the good he did, Teo was kind. Everything else he says keeps the bitter smile from forming.]
I'm sorry.
[Not that saying it does anything. Her hands fall back again, avoiding his arms out of respect for his mistake and settling them where the back of his ribs are, underneath the sheet, his clothes, and his sallow skin.]
You think you -- wasted your life...? I -- can't picture...
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He starts to speak but he hears his hitching breath.]
Sorry... hang on...
[He tilts his head up. He takes a minute or two just to breathe. He speaks then with a faint, rueful smile.]
Getting emotional... looks awful... if I cry... The worst...
[He says it like a joke, even though it isn't.]
I don't know why... don't know why... I felt that... but I did... I do... Something... I did something wrong... but I don't know... it's just... a feeling...
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Mm... I don't -- think mistakes make you waste your life. It's like, um, like a -- rough draft. If it's too late, then -- a parable. For someone else. That -- way is shitty. [A pause, then a cough of a regretted laugh.] With how mmmuch you do for -- me, it wouldn't surprise me... To be -- for others, I mean.
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You think I'm... a bad example...? [A parable. He understands that. A hard lesson for others to learn from. He hums.] Might be one... to myself... at least... Trying to do better...
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[She lifts her head, and this time her face is burning from a storm of negative feelings rather than the pleased, embarrassing twittering of her heart. Was this another bad joke, or had she finally fucked up? As much as she wants to believe it's the former, the way he trails into more glum statements has her doubting it. He sounds like the voice inside her head. It makes her stomach flip-flop like a diver that's slipped backwards onto the diving board.]
I just -- um. Y-you said --
[Fuck. Fuck, fuck. Her fingers curl into the sheet, not wanting to lose this after finally getting comfortable enough to not question it so much. And why is she blaming him for her fuck-up? God. Talk, you goddamn idiot!]
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Hey... it's okay... Still here... still listening... Explain again...?
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One hand releases its hold and moves to his back to push a finger enough that even through the jacket, he hopefully wouldn't have trouble feeling it. She carefully traces.
W A I T
She wants to phrase it another way, when her tongue and brain both loosen enough to let her. Please be patient, she miserably thinks over to him, letting her forehead fall against him again. He's there. He's listening.
After some time, it's fortunate the hotel is so eerily quiet, because it lets her pathetic voice be heard.]
You ssssaid... You -- y-you did something -- wrong. Um. ...Um.
[Boy, she hates herself. Rolling with things so far had always been pretty okay, but what if that made it seem like she didn't care? She'd have to be more careful, if she doesn't do the smart thing and keep quiet.]
But you s-said that, um. Wasted life. I don't -- think -- that's true. [Shaky exhale. Ryder wonders if she can bury herself in him fully. Let him be the grave he never got to have himself.] M-mistakes don't -- have to be bad. Um. You're nnnot. And -- and mistakes teach, s-so. Not a waste. You could -- never be. Please -- mmmake sense. Please.
[That last bit's for her.]
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At last, her voice comes. It's a relief to hear it. He nods. Yes. He did something... something...
His brows furrow. He feels her so close.]
I understand...
[He wishes he could see her right now. He wishes he could pull her close, like any normal person.]
I just... I died... that could've been... it for me... [Should've been, a voice in his head whispers.] Whatever I did... or didn't do... it was long enough... and big enough... that I felt that way... It's scary... I don't want to... miss things again...
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...Yeah. [Great commentary.] Y-you...deserved more.
[Some would argue that everyone did, but not Ryder. Lots of shitty people out there deserving to spend the rest of their lives worrying about being zombie food. "Eat the rich" indeed.]
If -- you w-want. We'll do -- things. [Whatever he wants to do...even if he'd only just got done telling her that living at her side was all he wanted. Of course there would be more than that. It was stupid of her to just accept that and decide to sit pretty doing her own thing. She wasn't even good at that.] Always. S-so it -- feels less.
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But here she is, still reassuring, still doing her very best. She promises they'll do more and he feels himself smile, a bittersweet ache in his heart. He leans back against her. He lets his melancholy disolve.]
We are doing things... silly goose...
[Surely she's noticed. But then she keeps thinking she hasn't done enough.]
We've been... living... I've been... alive with you...
[In a sense.]
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...Mm.
[They're living...and he came back. That's what's important. Hesitantly, Ryder lets her tension ease, unclenches her fingers, and loosely worms her arms around Teo's waist, weak and limp outside of what's necessary to hold him.]
I'm -- ...m'glad y'ere.
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Glad to... be here...
[Even undead. Even with all that means. He's here, present and away. He's here and held and safe.]
Thank you...
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But she doesn't actually want to sleep, as exhausted physically and emotionally as she is. She wants to take a minute or two to gather herself up again, then switch to resting her chin on him instead of her forehead.]
I wanna see you cry, though.
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