storywalks | she's a work in progress

[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.

Then... an adopted alien baby... Hmm... I don't know if... I'm ready for... fatherhood... maybe I can... be their one-night stand... some years before...

[Certainly, none of this is ridiculous.]

The way I see it... with stories... since we can't... check for sure... I just make up... whatever I don't know... fill in the blanks...

[Much like he does with his own memories. For every missing piece, he imagines a dozen possibilities.]

Your turn...

[Look, the fact she was having a conversation with a real, live person (cough) and it was working needs to be cushioned by the weird topic choice. It feels like something she'd be able to discuss with people online and nowhere else. Keeping the door between really was the better choice. She could pretend. She didn't have to clam up, too stressed to figure out how she was expected to react. It also means that she can safely match the shamelessness.

...Okay, she'll keep commentary on any dadness and how she feels about that to a minimum. It is basically their first meeting. A little shame.]

The first and only time they had a threesome... They'll look back on your time together with fondness, I'm sure. I mean, from what you've shown me, you're a very generous individual.

[Now if she learns that he's so selfish a lover that he won't go down on anyone, this friendship is OVER.]

You already gave the perfect answer. I guess... [Hm, it's a tough one even though she's been given the different options of what picking one or the other means.] Uh, you might've already heard me say I wanted to be Scully... That was probably because of her looks, fuck, I just unlocked the reason behind why I dyed my hair red all the time, didn't I? I hate using my head, though, so I guess I ended up Mulder. Dreaming up stories.

Two Mulders, huh...

[The emphasis on generous makes him cough, sputter, and laugh again. Tragically, he has to claim a full title of selfishness for himself. He won't be going down on anyone anytime soon. Or doing anything ever.]

What an honor...

[He listens for her answer. The muttering feeds into his smile. Wannabe red-head huh? No lack of hair dye in the apocalypse but a woeful lack of working showers. Maybe with a good rainfall...]

Two Mulders... Two people... believing in monsters... and end times... guess that makes us... the smart ones... after all...

[Reasons to weep for humanity, maybe.]

Though maybe... end times... isn't entirely right... you're still here...

[Friendship. Over. And they could either wait for a rainfall or find a river and dunk this trashgirl's head in. If she dies, she dies. If she dyes, she dyes.

Ryder can't help her own chuckle, though she does it into the back of her hand to quiet it before taking a bite of graham cracker. Fuck, that's good. If she died now, it would suck to be Teo and all, but at least she would have had this as her last meal. Needs some whipped cream. Good luck with that, Ry.

Oh. Speaking of them being the smart ones. Right, he's being something like sentimental? Maybe? Not quite, but her brain's focused on other things enough that she doesn't feel compelled to dig out a mental thesaurus. Instead, murmurs the lame opener she'd gotten stuck in her head at the beginning of all this.]

'It was the beginning of the end... In the end there would be no heroes that had their hard work pay off. They wouldn't save the day. But there was a lot between the end and the beginning we were in. Plenty of room for people to try the title out.'

...It's thanks to you that I'll be around even longer. I might still be stuck back where you found me, contemplating eating my own arm, otherwise.

[If she dyes she dyes... At least he can say with certainty that the brightness of color doesn't make too much difference to the dead. Usually.

He listens to stifled laughter. He hears normal living sounds. If she died, he'd be left without. It wouldn't be the first time, but he'll treasure this time or miss it all the more acutely.

A story spills from here. The beginning of one, that is, starting fittingly at the end. Trying on the title of hero, he can imagine it as some dazzling thing that he throws over his shoulders only to find that he's torn the fabric.]

I don't think... I'm much of a hero... not really... But I'm glad... you didn't... chew your arm... not a pleasant experience...

[His hand moves to his own arm. It's not visible, but even through the layers of fabric, he can feel it. The lack.]

What's your plan...?

[He's looking real damn heroic from that peephole, Ryder decides to keep to herself. God, food and real water. That promised bed. Maybe he's not a hero, but he's her hero right now. She won't push it. She's already been embarrassed enough today. It's also why she's deciding to not pursue the arm thing, because that makes it sound like he ate his arm or got chomped by a zombie, and neither of those things could be true? Obviously.

Her plan? Heh. He thinks she has a plan...? If she tries to come up with one, she'd have to say...]

Try to do my best, I guess.

[She thinks nothing of his comment, and he's glad. He'd wanted it to read as a joke, but he couldn't joke about it. The ache is too present in his mind when so little else is.

Her answer in turn gets a breath of a laugh.]

That's probably... the best sort of plan...

[It was the one thing you could count on.]

Tell me if... you plan to stay... or travel soon...

[Her head turns to the side like she can actually look at him that way and she frowns.]

...Sure. But aren't you going to be hanging around?

[He'd followed her along this far, so she'd just assumed that he'd always be near, despite the evidence to the contrary just that day. Surely he'd see it if she decided to pack up. That's not even touching on the whole 'only willing to get close when there's a door in the way' thing.]

I figure I'll stay here a few days at least. Might not even go out at all tomorrow and just enjoy the bed instead.

... Yes... I think so...

[Unless something terrible happens. Or she finds other survivors to group up with and he winds up unneeded or in too much danger.

He laughs again, softly, at that suggestion.]

Sounds nice... maybe I'll... try that somewhere...

[It's been a while since he's slept.]

[Theres a pause, but it doesn't last long. Her voice is still soft and a little unsure when she breaks her silence. It doesn't matter that it had been on her mind all day and again when she woke up in the night.]

You -- could stay. You could have hurt me whenever you wanted, but you didn't. I'm not worried about it.

[She's a little worried, but that has nothing to do with him, really. It's just something that got drilled into her during that time growing up where her mom felt she had to play catch-up on certain lessons.]

And you said you aren't sick, so...

[She should be worried. She should be. He can happily say he's not the kind of monster that some people could be, but a monster he remains.

He didn't say he wasn't sick. He said he was okay, that he was getting by. That he would continue to get by.

How contagious is he? Is he willing to test the limits of that? Of his control?]

You don't want... privacy...?

[He knows that's rich coming from him, given that he's been following her around, but still.]

... I don't remember... being... this close...

[He could say "in a long time", but the trouble is that he doesn't remember at all.]

[Sorry Teo, but she has to scoff at the question for exactly that reason. Privacy, when he'd walked right up to her when she was asleep? Even if he said he didn't watch her then, she doesn't really know. The ease with which she talked to herself throughout their days didn't mean that she wasn't aware he could have been near enough to hear her, just unseen. He was better at all this than her, no matter how quiet and small she was used to making herself.

Maybe she should be more wary about it, especially with that achingly obvious loneliness. It mostly just hurt. Her hand rests on the metallic filigree of her book, drawn with painstaking care years ago, where she'd never put down any of the thoughts she had -- too many, sometimes -- but now she held two scraps of paper. He'd drawn animals for her.]

Who's fault has that been, huh?

[There's a shuffle and a crackle as Ryder gets up, then she grabs the knob and turns. It cracks open the littlest bit before she's stepping back to wait. Like coaxing a stray, taking it at his pace might be better for both of them in the end.]

[Whose fault indeed? Was it the one who bit him? Or the one who bit that person? Was it chance or error or divine intervention? Was it whatever or whoever had given him the strength to wake from the sludge in his mind and choose to keep any sort of distance at all?

The door cracks open. If his heart could beat, it would hammer. The closest he's been, up until now, was a bearded man, a half-insane survivalist that got the biggest bragging rights of all, and all he'd done was ask for directions and feel stupidly giddy for days that he'd managed to pass as human for the very first time.

He climbs to his feet, bringing with him the little paper bits left out, the marker. He holds them close, like a lifeline, then steps inside. She's close enough to read the band patches on his jeans. She can count the arrows in his quiver. She can see that his hair is long enough to slip out from the hood, that the black is discolored to grey, but not quite there.

Besides all his nerves, he also feels immensely awkward. What... does he do now...?]

So... which room... are you taking...?

[At least one of their hearts is hammering properly. What's the same, though, is how Ryder is also holding things close, her book probably crushing the graham crackers a bit between it and her chest, and the glass of mostly-drunk water held like she expects it to start flailing like a caught fish.

He's not what she expected, but at the same time she has no damn clue what she expected. Some things fit? And other things fit some other version of him half-imagined? But these two halves are put together to make a whole person and 2+2 is not adding up to 4 in her head. As preoccupied as she is, she looks almost surprised when he speaks again.]

Huh? Oh. [Right!] The...one with the bookcase.

[...]

Are you old?

[Ryder knows he can't remember his age exactly and all, but he should know that much, right? This is what her focus has decided to target, because it's not at all something that could add to how awkward this could possibly be.]

[The one with the bookcase. Okay. He nods and tells himself to move toward the other room. Only, he doesn't.

Come on, Teo, calm the hell down.

She comes to his rescue, zeroing in on his hair and making him laugh. Same choking sort of wheeze, still amusement. His head shakes.]

Last I checked... I was... pretty young... twenties feels right...

[He considers an excuse, but the best thing is honesty. Sort of.]

My hair went... sometime after... the outbreak... stress?

[The stress of dying.]

[Oh, alright. Around the same age as her after all... Ryder nods because that goes along with what she'd been thinking, but hm...]

You got old man voice.

[Oh. Did she say that out loud? Why is it that as soon as there's someone in front of her, she just says the dumbest shit? She can't even see his face, and it's happening.

...She manages to not mention his exceptionally shitty memory, though. Ryder's finally got one on the board.]

So -- I slept. A little. [Looking...past him... This spot just over his shoulder is a great focus point.] If you wanted to. Uh, I can watch. ...Not you.

[Well, that wins another laugh from him.]

Yeah... you're right... maybe I'm... secret seventy...

[He doesn't think so, but hey, who knows. Not him, that's for sure.

The offer is a little more nerve-wracking. His face is hidden, so she can't see how nervous all of that makes him. He has a feeling his hesitation shows anyway. He shakes his head.]

This floor... is safe... I made sure... And I always... sleep light... You can rest... There won't be... any problems... promise...

[Secret seventy. A real spooky godfather. He'd have good taste in music for a secret seventy, though -- not that she recognizes most of the bands. They logos make them look like they'd be good, and clearly that's the best indicator of quality.

Ryder hums low, frowning as she rests her chin on the top of her book. She's trusts his words, and wouldn't have expected otherwise, but it rubs her the wrong way. It takes a moment of chewing on her lip to articulate why.]

Okay, so what's the problem? You don't trust me to take care of myself, fine -- I suck. I can't -- miss danger when it isn't there, it's. Not...like I'm...gonna make you regret leaving it to -- me.

[He jolts and his shoulders hike. There is a wash of pain from her he didn't expect, like finding a leak where one doesn't expect and being blasted it by it. The best he can say for himself is that he doesn't sputter.

His hand lifts to reach out and draws back quick.]

I... [His head shakes.] I don't think that... I just... wanted to help... It's hard out there... Lot's... lot's don't make it... good, smart people... I can help... so I wanted to...

Nothing wrong... with you... not you... I'm sorry...

[She isn't offended at not being one of those "good, smart people" he talks about -- well, not that offended. Like she said, she hates using her brain, and she nearly got herself killed just earlier because she'd ignored something nice he'd done for her for very little reason. She's stubborn and stupid, not good and smart. The crackers crunching into even smaller pieces serves as a reminder that she's holding things too tightly, and she jolts a little before setting everything aside on the nearest surface. Aughhh, this really would have been easier if they'd just keep the door shut between them, huh?]

So -- you get some rest and let -- me. You've done enough! Just sleep, idiot.

[He raises a hand, wanting to point out the crunching crackers, but thinks better of it. He doesn't think of any further protest or excuse to offer either. He didn't want to take away her chance to sleep...

But--]

O-okay... Um... thanks...?

[He makes his retreat for the room, checking that it's not the one with the bookshelf before stepping inside. He then goes to shut the door, pauses a moment, and calls out.]

Good night...

[He won't undress. This is a world where one needs to be ready quickly, even if they aren't hiding secrets much worse. The boots stay on, the gaiter and goggles stay on. The quiver and bow, he decides, can come off. Those are settled at the bedside. He's a little sorry that he's going to make the bed filthy, but this is the apocalypse and that's how things go. He lays down on it, curling up on his side. He's surprised by the comfort. How long has it been since he slept in a bed? He doesn't have an answer for that.

He hopes she won't worry. He hopes she won't check on him. And more than that, he hopes she won't check his pulse. But, after a little while, he allows himself some rest. All in all, if nothing happens, it will only be a few short hours before he's up again.]

[Her initial response to his call sounds like an irritable grunt, but after a brief pause, she seems to regret that and adds a softer, embarrassed,] Night.

[She doesn't intrude on the room, taking her unnecessary duty of keeping watch very seriously. Ryder paces from the door to the window periodically, quiet on her feet, in order to check the two views available to her. Of course, even when she's determined to prove that she was doing a good job, she can help a little distraction now and again where she picks through old belongings as long as it doesn't make too much noise. Lots of little soaps and lotions, half-squished tubes of toothpaste... Damn. She could smell like goddamn heaven for an apocalypse girl. She could shave. Maybe during her stay, she'd let herself enjoy that...but not right now. She's working.

By the time Teo joins her in the main room again, Ryder's tucked herself by the windowsill, open but blank book in her lap while her gaze goes out between slats. She lifts her head from the wall and looks over with wide eyes, almost like she's already forgotten about him. Really she's just surprised that he's up and about again.]

You don't sleep much.

[It was something she'd realized already, since he had to be running around scouting and preparing things while also keeping tabs on her. She's just surprised that even now, he wouldn't choose to rest more. She wasn't going anywhere. Things were safe. The bed was comfy, right?

...Rather than ask this, she's squinting at him and trying to figure it out on her own.]

[She calls back, which is unexpected but feels like a sort of forgiveness for the mistakes he seems to make. He sleeps better for it.

Well, relatively, for him. It's still nothing like normal living sleep.]

Old habit...

[That's a lie. Based on old habit, he wouldn't bother sleeping at all. But his brain, or whatever it is, is working now which means it likewise benefits from rest, at least to divide up the passage of time more.]

But I needed that... so thank you...

[He settles down by a window too, close by, but not too close. He glances out the window to see what might be wandering. The dead never look up unless they hear or smell something close, but a sudden light might garner interest. He misses electricity too...]

You never... write in your book... how come?

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