storywalks | she's a work in progress

[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?

[He thanks her even though he'd fought her on it, and it makes her lips twitch as she suppresses the smile she wants to give on reflex. To more effectively put a stop to that, she bites her lip again and looks to the window again. His question prompts her to move her gaze down.

...Most of the time questions like that made her defensive on reflex, her hostility being a good wall between her feelings and the judgment of others. Teo might...still think it's stupid, but she thinks she can trust it's asked out of genuine curiosity more than anything. Now that she wants to give someone an answer, what was she supposed to say?]

"Every moment has infinite potential. Every new moment contains for you possibilities that you can't possibly imagine. Every day is a blank page that you could fill with the most beautiful drawings." John C. Parkin.

"White. A blank page or canvas. So many possibilities." Stephen Sondheim.

"The blank page gives us the right to dream." Gaston Bachelard.

[Ryder exhales, resting her hand on the page with the reverence of it being something displaying all these thoughts for her, rather than showing nothing at all. Her cheeks haven't gotten the memo. They're going pink.]

"The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible." Vladimir Nabokov.

[She has a habit of surprising him. He didn't think he was someone with set specific views of the world or people-- observances and wishes but nothing set in stone-- and so he didn't consider himself as someone who would be so readily surprised. Shows what he knows.

She speaks in that tone again, a narrator to an unseen story. And isn't that apt? She wants her book to hold potential. She wants her book to be everything. He looks from the window, at her, words steady even as she blushes.]

...That's beautiful...

[He wants to look at that book. He won't take it from her, but all the same he ponders flipping the pages, trying to pry stories from it. The way he would from books with missing pages.]

And you... remember all that... just like that...

[Here he is guessing his own age and she's dropping quotes.]

Edited 2021-11-22 01:47 (UTC)

[Help. She's being perceived. Face only burning more, Ryder brings her legs to her chest and her book along with them, trying to use it as a shield she can hide behind. There's a grimace on her face, and the look in her eyes if it can be read through her determination of looking anywhere else says that there are perhaps some unkind thoughts making circles in her head, but eventually she manages to shrug and clear her throat. It doesn't bring her voice up to more than a mumble.]

Just -- a few. Just for that. [The opportunities and failings of blank pages.] ...n' some Shel Silverstein.

[She looks unhappy. Like before, he doesn't know what it is he said. She tries to brush past it and so he's left to wonder what it all was.]

Feel like I... heard that name...

[But he doesn't remember it either.]

... Would you like... more books...? I bet I could find... a library... it's a city after all... should be lots... bookstores... Could bring it back... for you...

[ -- and just like that, her desperate need to put eighteen doors with eighteen locks each between Teo and herself vanishes. Ryder blinks over at him, face blank from the shock of it...then her eyes light up and she tentatively smiles. She couldn't find a way to say yes, please! any harder than that if she tried.]

...If -- is that...okay?

[There it is. The little bit of life and joy that had delighted him before. If she could see through the gaiter, she'd find her was smiling, but it's still better that she can't.]

Of course... it's no problem... I can look... while you rest... and if you... give me a list... I can look for favorites...

[She's disgustingly giddy at the prospect. So giddy that it's hard to say whether or not the state of the world exists to her in that moment, or if everything is suddenly perfect everywhere because she's been offered books by the most mysterious of individuals. He really might be a fey being of some kind, here to dazzle and charm her into trading away her soul or name or anything else. He might be successful, at this rate.]

Anything. 'The Neverending Story'? Books by C.S. Lewis. Fantasy, mostly -- um, not romance. Unless it's Jane Austen.

[WHERE'S THAT LONG DIRTY RECEIPT SHE PICKED UP, okay great, time to start writing it down for him so that it isn't lost in her excitement.]

[A changeling perhaps. A creature left behind in place of a human, only he's too confused and lost to really make it amongst humanity. Except in times like now. Her mood is infectious.]

More romance... for me...

[Though Jane Austen might be something fun to try. He wonders if he's read any before.]

I'll find... whatever I can... I'll bring back... a good haul... maybe find... a bag... or borrow a pillowcase... from here... Halloween... for readers...

[She could kiss this man, twenties or secret seventies -- though perhaps it's best she keeps that to herself, she muses after his apparent interest in romance novels is known. Still, Ryder sets her book aside so she can push herself up and find her backpack, unceremoniously dump out all the shit she's been accumulating, and offer it out. Not as fun as a pillowcase, maybe, but easier to carry around. Also -- she retrieves something from her pile of crap to offer out.]

I think -- the room was probably a teenager's. Maybe not even. Here. And there's another, in the car. I can look through the books here and put some in your room.

[Not the room he'd used, or was staying in, but his.]

...Oh. Can you carry your arrows and a backpack at the same time...?

[Because he'll need those if he has to deal with any zombies, obviously.]

[He makes a faint noise as she dumps out her backpack but it's the only protest he's got. Well. Okay. Backpack time. He takes that, and whatever else it is that she offers with a curious tilt of his head.

Books. She's offering romance books. He lets out a soft laugh.]

Thanks...

[She catches up with the flaw in the plan after he does but he still hesitates. He doesn't want to leave his bow and arrows behind. The thought makes him nervous. But she's trusting him, with her backpack, with this task. He only waffles a moment more.]

...I'll be okay... Watch over... my arrows...? I'd hate to... lose those...

[It's fine! She's already decided she's staying here for a few days, so it's a good time to take inventory and make sure she's not holding onto anything unnecessary, anyway. What isn't fine is the pause before he speaks -- er, what she assumes is a pause pause and not a 'speaking is hard' pause -- and his conclusion.]

I... I can, but... I should just come with you. I don't want you to get hurt doing something stupid for me because you didn't have a way to defend yourself. Sorry -- I wasn't thinking.

[He shakes his head. He puts his hand down on the ground, a gentle touch like one might put a hand on a shoulder.]

Stay... I'm very good... at not being noticed... but I can't... protect anyone... the same way... If you stay... you're safe... but if you come... only maybe... I promise... I'll be safe too... Want to live... wouldn't waste it...

[He draws out a rope from the front pocket of his sweater, placing it down.]

Look after this too... for traps... I'll take... a knife instead...

[Her lip is really taking a beating today, uncertainty after uncertainty making her bite down on it. It doesn't help that it takes so long for him to wheeze out his assurance.]

I... [She could believe that, right? He wouldn't just say it to her unless he knew he could do it. It would be completely idiotic for anyone to do -- any of the things he was doing. So it would be okay. He'd come back as fine as he'd leave, only a few books as difference.] Okay. Yeah. Okay.

[She doesn't think she's ever worried this much for another person. It's making her feel weird. Kind of nauseated.]

[He bobs his head, then gets to his feet, swinging the backpack onto his shoulder.]

It'll be okay...

[He goes to the kitchen, pausing a moment there with a feeling of... something. Longing? Wistfulness? He's not sure. He grabs a knife and slips it into his front pocket. He won't need it.]

Try and sleep... barricade the door... if you need to... When I come back... I'd love to hear... more quotes...

[He heads for the door, and unless she's got something more to add, he'll slip out of it. When he steps into the street, the dead don't even look at him.

The search takes a bit of time. He should've looked for a map himself, but he kind of doubts they'd clearly mark the libraries and bookstores. He looks for the malls, the shopping strips, the older buildings that might host libraries. Her list is in hand the moment he finds a place, and then he's stalking down the aisles, stepping over the dead of both kinds.

Fantasy. That's what he needs. New worlds for Ryder. He can't find the never-ending story, but he can find C.S. Lewis and books on a display claiming if he likes that, he might also like these other ones. It gets shoved into the backpack. He grabs some Austen, for both of them, then dozens of pens to write with, and an extra notebook for good measure. The backpack is stunningly heavy.

He stops by one convenience store to fill the rest of the bag with snacks, but after that, he fears either tearing the bag or himself. He races back to the apartment and that, at least, is much faster. The dead still don't look.

Back through the doors, back up the stairs. He doesn't want to startle her, but it's hard to think of a way not to. He croaks.]

Hello...? It's Teo...

[She doesn't have a goodbye for him as he goes through the door, just a sort of strangled noise of acknowledgement. Once he's a few steps down the hall, though, she pokes her head out and stage whispers, "Terry Pratchett!" after him. He might catch her lifting two fingers to her neck, if he turns to see her duck back inside. Checking for a pulse. The door closes behind her and it's like someone's hit a button.]

Can't believe I haven't died and gone to heaven, I'm just there. Or this is a really amazing dream. It's too much. They say the perfect guy doesn't exist -- guess we just needed an apocalypse to get rid of most of them so we could find the real gems.

[She continues talking to herself throughout the time he's gone, though her commentary shifts from that stunned positivity more than a few times. She does more snooping. After a good while, she remembers to take some of the books over to his room, leaving them at the foot of the bed and feeling like it isn't enough. It wasn't fair at all that she couldn't offer more than words to him, even if it was words that seemed to make him happiest. Stupid her was better at words when there was no one in front of her...but she doesn't necessarily want that either, as easy as it would be in comparison. It was nice to have him around.

That's why when she hears the rasp and creak of his voice, Ryder only flinches a little before trotting over to the door like an eager dog delighted by its owner's return. She'd definitely be wagging her tail if she had one.]

Hey. [She's whispering to match him again on reflex. She leans against the open door once the way inside is clear for him.] I made a grill. I don't know if it works.

[But Ryder will point over to the sink with an oven rack laid across it all the same, and the little pack of matches she'd decided not to play around with to test what could barely be called an improvisation. Definitely not an innovation.]

Um.

[...It's very obviously a struggle for her not to ask about the books immediately.]

[The little call is just another of the things to make him smile. That press at her neck is another to unsettle him. It's nothing. It's probably nothing.

He can hear her footsteps when he returns, and the moving of things. Safe and sound in there. He's glad for that. If he were a dog he would also be pleased by the greeting but if he were a dog he wouldn't have gone out at all.

He tilts his head and casts a look in the direction of the sink.]

Cool...

[He hopes that's safe. He hopes she won't expect him to use it. The realization that he might need to abandon all this looms closer the more he's expected to be human. He ignores it. He'd rather focus on books.

While it's tempting to dump the bag out at her feet like apocalypse Santa, he doesn't want to damage the books. He peels the backpack off his shoulders and offers it out instead.]

Forgot how heavy... books could be... For you... Ryder of the apocalypse.

[The beaming smile is in his voice.]

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