storywalks | she's a work in progress

[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.]

Uh, Teo? You still there, or...?

[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 would've... opened the door... or been startled... put on guard...

[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...

[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?

[Perfect. He's happy to hear that. But then comes the concern and that's not quite so welcome.]

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...

[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...

... I like hearing... you speak though...

[Well, now she just wants to crawl away and die.]

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.

[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...

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