'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?
[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...]
[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.]
[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.]
[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.]
[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 good news for him is that there’s any number of things that will dissuade her from her sink grill, or at the very least distract her thoroughly. Such as getting her backpack returned to her full of treasure. She’d picked up those stray books, sure, but really reading was something of a treat, when she was meant to be on alert at all times. He doesn’t have to dump the contents onto the floor, because Ryder immediately sits criss-cross-applesauce and sets the bag in her lap to sort through. Belatedly she registers what he’s said and looks up to give a grateful, if sheepish, smile.]
"The pen is mightier than the sword." Edward Bul...something. [She wants to say 'bulletin' but that's ridiculous. Not more ridiculous that Ryder of the apocalypse, of course.] Guess -- the same for paper and shields? Thank you.
[It really is...much too nice. Ryder manages to turn that overwhelmed feeling from the verge of tears to an awkward, throat-clearing laugh. In the end, Teo won't get too many more quotes unless he pesters her for them, because if left to her own devices, Ryder picks up a book and everything else fades away. She'll even fall asleep with the first book she's decided to read out in the main room instead of her bed like she keeps intending. It's a good day.
The next few days are good, too. While Teo is gone, she lets herself enjoy the finer points of having a place to call their own, figuring out how much hygiene she could get away with without wasting any water and making the most of safe, private time as much as her guilt allows. Ryder never really has to leave, though now and again she peruses what apartments she can get into, taking advantage of the empty building. Food supplies had been moved over already of course, but it's fun to pick through the little pieces of lives left behind. It should probably be sad. It's hard to be sad when Teo's around to provide for her for no real reason, or when they can simply share the same space, not saying a word because they each had a book to work through. He never really seemed to let himself get too comfortable, since he wouldn't eat around her or let her see his face at all, but it doesn't bother her as much as it probably should. If she could have pictured a perfect life for herself, this is what it would have been like. Probably not too many people thinking that when the world's gone to hell and all the passersby on the streets below are dead.
It's as she's contemplating this that she spots him coming back from what she'd jokingly started to refer to as "shopping" to really make their life sound all the more domestic and normal. The usual swell of relief is stopped -- he's not alone down there. But rather than sneak up on the zombie meandering about to put it out of its misery or quietly go around so as to not alert it, he... Ryder squints, like maybe she isn't seeing it right. It looks like he gently leads the dirty, scratched up woman away from the apartment building with more ease than she ever could with someone living.
...She decides to not question him on it, and hurries back to their own apartment so she can greet him like normal. After that, she frets less about his insistence on going out without her, and doesn't feel quite so guilty when he brings something only she can enjoy. Another day of thinking and Ryder has a request along with her crooked, shy smile for him when he wakes from one of the few rests he actually took.
Even now, all this time later, hospitals are dangerous places. She doesn't expect this city's to be any different, but it's pretty damn hard to not acknowledge that Teo could survive in ways no one else could. He'd be safe -- she's sure of it, especially since medicine was easier to transport a lot of than books, and he might even be able to take his preferred bow and arrow with him this time. He'd only need to find ones she could remember names of, anyway -- mostly things for pain or various antibiotics, but what different estrogen treatments she could remember from prescriptions and all that teenage research. Not strictly necessary, especially in her case, but something bones something density, which would be a stupid reason for apocalypse death, and he liked spoiling her! It's fine. Still, she waits by the window to keep watch, trying to stay awake with a book so she won't miss him when he returns.
It's not the door or his voice that wakes her -- shit, she fell asleep? How long has she been out? -- but an unfamiliar RATTA-TAT-TAT-TAT that has her stumbling onto her knees and peering through the blinds. People. Real, living people. That fact is enough to boggle her mind and leave her confused as to what it was happening down there. But then there are others, their usual shuffle and sway she had grown accustomed to faltering before their bodies dropped to the pavement. She doesn't realize she's been gripping the windowsill until she pushes herself up towards the door and her fingers seem much too cold.]
Shit, shit --
[It was too dark to tell. She doesn't think he'd move with a horde like that, especially with other survivors around, but she doesn't know, and she'd sent him out there, and there were so many shots being fired because wasn't this gun illegal to own to try and stop the number of massacres? God, she doesn't fucking -- ]
Hey! Stop! [She's yelling before the door to the apartments is open, which would probably be wise, if she was putting any thought into it. Even if Teo wasn't here, they needed to stop, or they'd bring too many over and he wouldn't be able to fix it. They'd have to leave.] Stop! You can't do this!
[There's a couple of voices -- all bewildered by her sudden appearance and the fact that she was coming over to them not for help, but to try and push the gun's nose to the ground instead. One of them -- some woman, she thinks -- grabs her around the middle to pull her back and reason with her. She hears something along the lines of "Shh, sweetie, you're safe now! Calm down! You're safe, I've got you!" and rather than turn to explain, Ryder tries to fight the reassuring voice off with elbows and teeth. Someone calls her crazy, and there's a frantic debate about whether or not she's already been infected.]
Let me -- go! [Another girl's voice, this one sounding younger than her even, trembles while asking if they should shoot her, too. "She's still a person!" someone snaps back. Oh, nice that they've settled on that, she supposes. It doesn't stop one of them from trying to snap her out of it with a hard slap or her from getting yanked backwards by the arm.] Stop! Stop shooting, go away! I need to find him!
["Oh honey," is that first, gentle voice, only it's sadder now and more nasally thanks to the fact that Ryder had apparently got her good enough in the nose to make her bleed. A detached part of her says maybe she should be grateful that she's sympathetic instead of pissed, but the rest of her just wants all of them to shut up and get out of there. "None of them were alive. If your boyfriend or brother was -- "]
Just leave! [If he's there, would he be okay? Would she be okay, with her starting to taste blood from a cut on her lip? That's a problem for future Ryder to worry about. Another series of pops goes off to keep the interested undead at bay.] Teo? Teo!
["Can't you shut her up?"
"I can't get a proper hold on her!"
"Damn it, this was supposed to be easy..."
"Look at her, she has to have supplies, we could just --"
"You wanna fucking do it, Josh?"
"We leave her, she's dead anyway!"
"Jesus Christ, no! What the fuck are you thinking?"
It's a lot of noise to pay attention to, and rather than keep up with it, Ryder goes back to trying to wrench herself free. Poor woman trying to help yelps as Ryder bites her hand again. Some guy shoves her off and away, and her palms hit the pavement hard as she catches herself. There will probably be scrapes later.
"Shit, if we -- "
"We can't get anything with this bitch around! We're fucking wasting bullets!"
A shove of someone's boot pushes her down, presumably so the rest could get enough space between them and her that if she leapt at them again, either she wouldn't be able to catch them or they could get a good enough shot to stop her somehow. A few more bodies fall, groaning, but she can see their forms continuing to make their way towards her. Now that the others were getting out of there, Ryder was the only real way to try and sate their hunger.]
Go...away!
[She doesn't have to see much to know Teo isn't one of these at least, and she kicks at the closest one's face until it's stalled enough that she can scramble back onto her feet and lunge for the still-open door. With any luck, the survivors would dismiss her as zombie food and leave this part of the city alone for a while. With even more look, the things she manages to shove in front of the door to try and hold the horde beating to get in at bay would work and she would not actually become zombie food. Still, as she's blocking things off, she stupidly calls out.]
Teo?! Teo, if you're out there, answer me --
[Because otherwise she won't be able to help him get inside before she retreats back to their peaceful little apartment and curls up in front of the door, face buried in her knees. He'd be okay. He has to be. He has to be okay, or it's her fault. All her fault. No sleeping through the panic this time, because what if he really didn't come back?]
[It's some of the best days he's had so far. He doesn't actually mind she has no more quotes for him. She gives him company and she's happy to let him help and she doesn't ask a single question, not once, even when he's sure it should warrant it, like his long hunts or much he doesn't do that normal people would. Maybe he won't have to go anywhere after all. Maybe he can stay and things could be nice.
She gives him a task one day, one that surprises him but pleasantly so. It's nice to have something to do and even nicer to have her trust to do it. He looks over the list, nods, and heads for the hospital.
It's a grim sight, maybe more so than the rest of the world. This was where a lot of outbreaks would begin and end and many more lives with it. The hospitals are still full and crowded, the dead meandering and ready to pounce on anyone desperate enough to go looting here. He can spot the failures among the patients and nurses, their clothing more like his, weapons still strapped to them that did nothing to help. He tries not to think about it. He can't feel sorry for everyone.
The searching still takes some time. Even with the clear list, it's hard to know where the medicines are stashed. He gets as much as he can and hopes that it's enough. Then comes the usual journey back and he's already feeling a lift in his heart, imagining her reactions.
Then he hears the gunfire. It's distant at first, but grows louder the closer he gets, taking the place of a racing heart. RATTA-TAT-TAT-TAT. Other survivors are here.
The city, which had been quiet outside of soft moaning and groaning, has become a riot. The dead lurch together, scrambling desperately for either food or their doom. He hates to move with the hoard, flickers of memories he doesn't want trying to claw to the surface, but it's clear they've all got the same destination in mind.
Is Ryder safe? Is she with them? Did she stay in hiding? Will she be able to make it there? Something. He has to do something. Gunshots sound again. He looks for an alley and starts to dart down it when he hears voices. Is that...? Is Ryder...? He looks down the alley, his passage to safety, then back to where the voices sound, somehow audible above the flood of snarls and firing shots. ]
Ry--
[It's just one shot. He's not even sure it was aimed for him, simply fired into the crowd of dead, maybe even a ricochet. But it catches his side and drops him. Out of learned instinct, he tucks himself to the alley wall to avoid being trampled, but it's the most he can do for the moment. The flare of pain winds him. He knows, on some level, it doesn't hurt nearly as bad as it would if he were alive-- and of course, then it would kill him-- but that doesn't stop it from feeling like Hell, his brain or the disease or whatever it was not yet prepared to help him ignore it the way he could all his other old wounds. When he said he wanted to live, this wasn't what he meant.
The gunshots fade. Ryder's still out there. He forces himself up, slow at first, then picking up speed again. He finds the apartment covered in scrambling bodies. He doesn't have time to turn them all away. He doesn't have time to spare them. He looks and there's one with a machete still at his belt. Gritting his teeth, snarling too, he gets to grim and bloody work.
He doesn't know how long it takes. He only knows that the sky has changed and so time must have passed. He pushes aside bodies just enough that he can step through to the doors. He's not tired in the conventional sense, but he's exhausted all the same.
He walks to the apartment. He's afraid of what he might find, or not find at all.]
[As much as she wants to open the door as soon as she hears sounds in the hall, Ryder makes herself be quiet, both hands coming to hold her nose and mouth closed. If it wasn't him, then she couldn't be here. Undead or survivor changed why it would be such a disastrous idea, but either would be more trouble than she could take right now. So she listens, lungs aching from being forced to hold breathe when they just wanted to sob or vomit until she could stop feeling like this, until the rasp makes words and she doesn't feel like an idiot for thinking it sounded familiar.
Her haste to get the door open causes her make more noise than usual, even when compared to her most eager welcome. He's there, and that meant it was safe. That meant he was safe. She knows this better than she knows her own face, if not the stark white pages she pushed imagination on instead of ink, and yet she feels the overwhelming need to see him to be sure. That's her emotional support spooky godfather.]
Teo --
[It's all she can do to keep herself from launching at him. In the end, the bit of distance they had maintained for their mutual comfort stops her better than any burning in her face or dislike of people could, though it could just as easily be seen as the gore he's splattered with putting a stop to her. To her own surprise, she notices it. Maybe it's because she's trying to see if any of it is his.]
You're -- [A shudders, gasped inhale interrupts her. That slim bit of composure she'd been holding onto has decided to take its leave now, and she can feel gross, hot tears on her face. Her eyes had probably already looked glassy, red, and swollen. Oh well. Round two.
The salt of her tears sting her palms as she tries to wipe them away enough that, somehow, speaking got easier. It doesn't work like that, but the effort she makes is still enough that she can croak out, choppily as it may be,] I th-thought maybe -- I couldn't -- We -- We have to leave. I'm -- sorry. They'll come back. Everything you did for m-me -- But we c-can't --
[She opens the door and he flinches back. He wanted to ask if she was hurt first. He wanted to be sure she was safe. He doesn't want her to also be covered in zombie blood.
But she doesn't launch at him and he's grateful for that. She's safe. She's here, she's alive, she's safe.
She's crying. He wishes he could do anything about it.]
Sshh... it's okay...
[It's not, but it just seems like the right thing to say.]
They'll come back... but so can we... leave the books... bring the necessities... we'll come back... when it's safe again... I can find you... a new place... or... that old car... leave the city... your choice... we'll come back... Nothing wasted... Um...
[He reaches into his jacket tugging a paper bag from an inner pocket. The movement jostles the gunshot wound that's gone through his hoodie, but he only hisses. He holds the paper bag out gingerly, not wanting to coat it in the gore of his hands.]
I got your things... I'm sorry... I was away long...
[They could come back. Once everyone else was gone, they could come back here and be happy again -- or they could go somewhere else and do it all over again. Whatever she wanted. Always whatever she wanted. That's why he'd been away for so long when all of this happened.
His priorities make her want to laugh. Maybe another time she would have, but even through her distress and the distracting hope he'd provided, she can tell that something's off. Maybe instead of laughing, she should hit him.]
Stupid. Stupid -- stupid. [Frankly it's offensive that he's still alive. Or...? No. It still isn't the time to worry about that -- just him. Ryder doesn't realize she's accepted the bag by reflex until she goes to reach for his side and jostles the crinkling paper. Would she need any of it for him now? It's almost like a more fucked up 'The Gift of the Magi'.] You're hurt. Let -- m-me see.
[Well, that wasn't the reaction he was hoping for. His shoulders slump a little, whether she's referring to him (most likely), herself, or the situation, none of it's good.
Still, her reaching out is worse.]
No...!
[He jerks back. The force of his protest makes him cough, which makes the damn thing hurt, and makes him cough more. An animal growl rolls from his throat, clearer than his own voice, before he can cut himself off.
He steps back again and tries to draw back words.]
[She flinches at the growl, but her jaw sets when he finally gets words out. Telling Ryder she can't do something always makes the feeling of 'FUCKING WATCH ME!' kick in, unfortunately. Sometimes she's able to talk herself out of it, and most of the time she doesn't actually care to begin with, but in this case it's definitely a mistake. Tears and snot can't stop her, and fear doesn't exist when her stubborn streak kicks in. Ryder takes a step forward to counter his step back.
It's her words, really, that don't quite fit.]
You won't hurt me. [She knows this. Why hasn't he figured it out yet?] S-stay -- still.
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storywalks) wrote2021-11-17 08:42 pm
no subject
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?
no subject
...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.
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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.]
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Just -- a few. Just for that. [The opportunities and failings of blank pages.] ...n' some Shel Silverstein.
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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...
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...If -- is that...okay?
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Of course... it's no problem... I can look... while you rest... and if you... give me a list... I can look for favorites...
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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.]
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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...
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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.]
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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...
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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.
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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...
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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.]
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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...
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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.]
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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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"The pen is mightier than the sword." Edward Bul...something. [She wants to say 'bulletin' but that's ridiculous. Not more ridiculous that Ryder of the apocalypse, of course.] Guess -- the same for paper and shields? Thank you.
[It really is...much too nice. Ryder manages to turn that overwhelmed feeling from the verge of tears to an awkward, throat-clearing laugh. In the end, Teo won't get too many more quotes unless he pesters her for them, because if left to her own devices, Ryder picks up a book and everything else fades away. She'll even fall asleep with the first book she's decided to read out in the main room instead of her bed like she keeps intending. It's a good day.
The next few days are good, too. While Teo is gone, she lets herself enjoy the finer points of having a place to call their own, figuring out how much hygiene she could get away with without wasting any water and making the most of safe, private time as much as her guilt allows. Ryder never really has to leave, though now and again she peruses what apartments she can get into, taking advantage of the empty building. Food supplies had been moved over already of course, but it's fun to pick through the little pieces of lives left behind. It should probably be sad. It's hard to be sad when Teo's around to provide for her for no real reason, or when they can simply share the same space, not saying a word because they each had a book to work through. He never really seemed to let himself get too comfortable, since he wouldn't eat around her or let her see his face at all, but it doesn't bother her as much as it probably should. If she could have pictured a perfect life for herself, this is what it would have been like. Probably not too many people thinking that when the world's gone to hell and all the passersby on the streets below are dead.
It's as she's contemplating this that she spots him coming back from what she'd jokingly started to refer to as "shopping" to really make their life sound all the more domestic and normal. The usual swell of relief is stopped -- he's not alone down there. But rather than sneak up on the zombie meandering about to put it out of its misery or quietly go around so as to not alert it, he... Ryder squints, like maybe she isn't seeing it right. It looks like he gently leads the dirty, scratched up woman away from the apartment building with more ease than she ever could with someone living.
...She decides to not question him on it, and hurries back to their own apartment so she can greet him like normal. After that, she frets less about his insistence on going out without her, and doesn't feel quite so guilty when he brings something only she can enjoy. Another day of thinking and Ryder has a request along with her crooked, shy smile for him when he wakes from one of the few rests he actually took.
Even now, all this time later, hospitals are dangerous places. She doesn't expect this city's to be any different, but it's pretty damn hard to not acknowledge that Teo could survive in ways no one else could. He'd be safe -- she's sure of it, especially since medicine was easier to transport a lot of than books, and he might even be able to take his preferred bow and arrow with him this time. He'd only need to find ones she could remember names of, anyway -- mostly things for pain or various antibiotics, but what different estrogen treatments she could remember from prescriptions and all that teenage research. Not strictly necessary, especially in her case, but something bones something density, which would be a stupid reason for apocalypse death, and he liked spoiling her! It's fine. Still, she waits by the window to keep watch, trying to stay awake with a book so she won't miss him when he returns.
It's not the door or his voice that wakes her -- shit, she fell asleep? How long has she been out? -- but an unfamiliar RATTA-TAT-TAT-TAT that has her stumbling onto her knees and peering through the blinds. People. Real, living people. That fact is enough to boggle her mind and leave her confused as to what it was happening down there. But then there are others, their usual shuffle and sway she had grown accustomed to faltering before their bodies dropped to the pavement. She doesn't realize she's been gripping the windowsill until she pushes herself up towards the door and her fingers seem much too cold.]
Shit, shit --
[It was too dark to tell. She doesn't think he'd move with a horde like that, especially with other survivors around, but she doesn't know, and she'd sent him out there, and there were so many shots being fired because wasn't this gun illegal to own to try and stop the number of massacres? God, she doesn't fucking -- ]
Hey! Stop! [She's yelling before the door to the apartments is open, which would probably be wise, if she was putting any thought into it. Even if Teo wasn't here, they needed to stop, or they'd bring too many over and he wouldn't be able to fix it. They'd have to leave.] Stop! You can't do this!
[There's a couple of voices -- all bewildered by her sudden appearance and the fact that she was coming over to them not for help, but to try and push the gun's nose to the ground instead. One of them -- some woman, she thinks -- grabs her around the middle to pull her back and reason with her. She hears something along the lines of "Shh, sweetie, you're safe now! Calm down! You're safe, I've got you!" and rather than turn to explain, Ryder tries to fight the reassuring voice off with elbows and teeth. Someone calls her crazy, and there's a frantic debate about whether or not she's already been infected.]
Let me -- go! [Another girl's voice, this one sounding younger than her even, trembles while asking if they should shoot her, too. "She's still a person!" someone snaps back. Oh, nice that they've settled on that, she supposes. It doesn't stop one of them from trying to snap her out of it with a hard slap or her from getting yanked backwards by the arm.] Stop! Stop shooting, go away! I need to find him!
["Oh honey," is that first, gentle voice, only it's sadder now and more nasally thanks to the fact that Ryder had apparently got her good enough in the nose to make her bleed. A detached part of her says maybe she should be grateful that she's sympathetic instead of pissed, but the rest of her just wants all of them to shut up and get out of there. "None of them were alive. If your boyfriend or brother was -- "]
Just leave! [If he's there, would he be okay? Would she be okay, with her starting to taste blood from a cut on her lip? That's a problem for future Ryder to worry about. Another series of pops goes off to keep the interested undead at bay.] Teo? Teo!
["Can't you shut her up?"
"I can't get a proper hold on her!"
"Damn it, this was supposed to be easy..."
"Look at her, she has to have supplies, we could just --"
"You wanna fucking do it, Josh?"
"We leave her, she's dead anyway!"
"Jesus Christ, no! What the fuck are you thinking?"
It's a lot of noise to pay attention to, and rather than keep up with it, Ryder goes back to trying to wrench herself free. Poor woman trying to help yelps as Ryder bites her hand again. Some guy shoves her off and away, and her palms hit the pavement hard as she catches herself. There will probably be scrapes later.
"Shit, if we -- "
"We can't get anything with this bitch around! We're fucking wasting bullets!"
A shove of someone's boot pushes her down, presumably so the rest could get enough space between them and her that if she leapt at them again, either she wouldn't be able to catch them or they could get a good enough shot to stop her somehow. A few more bodies fall, groaning, but she can see their forms continuing to make their way towards her. Now that the others were getting out of there, Ryder was the only real way to try and sate their hunger.]
Go...away!
[She doesn't have to see much to know Teo isn't one of these at least, and she kicks at the closest one's face until it's stalled enough that she can scramble back onto her feet and lunge for the still-open door. With any luck, the survivors would dismiss her as zombie food and leave this part of the city alone for a while. With even more look, the things she manages to shove in front of the door to try and hold the horde beating to get in at bay would work and she would not actually become zombie food. Still, as she's blocking things off, she stupidly calls out.]
Teo?! Teo, if you're out there, answer me --
[Because otherwise she won't be able to help him get inside before she retreats back to their peaceful little apartment and curls up in front of the door, face buried in her knees. He'd be okay. He has to be. He has to be okay, or it's her fault. All her fault. No sleeping through the panic this time, because what if he really didn't come back?]
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She gives him a task one day, one that surprises him but pleasantly so. It's nice to have something to do and even nicer to have her trust to do it. He looks over the list, nods, and heads for the hospital.
It's a grim sight, maybe more so than the rest of the world. This was where a lot of outbreaks would begin and end and many more lives with it. The hospitals are still full and crowded, the dead meandering and ready to pounce on anyone desperate enough to go looting here. He can spot the failures among the patients and nurses, their clothing more like his, weapons still strapped to them that did nothing to help. He tries not to think about it. He can't feel sorry for everyone.
The searching still takes some time. Even with the clear list, it's hard to know where the medicines are stashed. He gets as much as he can and hopes that it's enough. Then comes the usual journey back and he's already feeling a lift in his heart, imagining her reactions.
Then he hears the gunfire. It's distant at first, but grows louder the closer he gets, taking the place of a racing heart. RATTA-TAT-TAT-TAT. Other survivors are here.
The city, which had been quiet outside of soft moaning and groaning, has become a riot. The dead lurch together, scrambling desperately for either food or their doom. He hates to move with the hoard, flickers of memories he doesn't want trying to claw to the surface, but it's clear they've all got the same destination in mind.
Is Ryder safe? Is she with them? Did she stay in hiding? Will she be able to make it there? Something. He has to do something. Gunshots sound again. He looks for an alley and starts to dart down it when he hears voices. Is that...? Is Ryder...? He looks down the alley, his passage to safety, then back to where the voices sound, somehow audible above the flood of snarls and firing shots. ]
Ry--
[It's just one shot. He's not even sure it was aimed for him, simply fired into the crowd of dead, maybe even a ricochet. But it catches his side and drops him. Out of learned instinct, he tucks himself to the alley wall to avoid being trampled, but it's the most he can do for the moment. The flare of pain winds him. He knows, on some level, it doesn't hurt nearly as bad as it would if he were alive-- and of course, then it would kill him-- but that doesn't stop it from feeling like Hell, his brain or the disease or whatever it was not yet prepared to help him ignore it the way he could all his other old wounds. When he said he wanted to live, this wasn't what he meant.
The gunshots fade. Ryder's still out there. He forces himself up, slow at first, then picking up speed again. He finds the apartment covered in scrambling bodies. He doesn't have time to turn them all away. He doesn't have time to spare them. He looks and there's one with a machete still at his belt. Gritting his teeth, snarling too, he gets to grim and bloody work.
He doesn't know how long it takes. He only knows that the sky has changed and so time must have passed. He pushes aside bodies just enough that he can step through to the doors. He's not tired in the conventional sense, but he's exhausted all the same.
He walks to the apartment. He's afraid of what he might find, or not find at all.]
Ryder... are you here...? are you...?
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Her haste to get the door open causes her make more noise than usual, even when compared to her most eager welcome. He's there, and that meant it was safe. That meant he was safe. She knows this better than she knows her own face, if not the stark white pages she pushed imagination on instead of ink, and yet she feels the overwhelming need to see him to be sure. That's her emotional support spooky godfather.]
Teo --
[It's all she can do to keep herself from launching at him. In the end, the bit of distance they had maintained for their mutual comfort stops her better than any burning in her face or dislike of people could, though it could just as easily be seen as the gore he's splattered with putting a stop to her. To her own surprise, she notices it. Maybe it's because she's trying to see if any of it is his.]
You're -- [A shudders, gasped inhale interrupts her. That slim bit of composure she'd been holding onto has decided to take its leave now, and she can feel gross, hot tears on her face. Her eyes had probably already looked glassy, red, and swollen. Oh well. Round two.
The salt of her tears sting her palms as she tries to wipe them away enough that, somehow, speaking got easier. It doesn't work like that, but the effort she makes is still enough that she can croak out, choppily as it may be,] I th-thought maybe -- I couldn't -- We -- We have to leave. I'm -- sorry. They'll come back. Everything you did for m-me -- But we c-can't --
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But she doesn't launch at him and he's grateful for that. She's safe. She's here, she's alive, she's safe.
She's crying. He wishes he could do anything about it.]
Sshh... it's okay...
[It's not, but it just seems like the right thing to say.]
They'll come back... but so can we... leave the books... bring the necessities... we'll come back... when it's safe again... I can find you... a new place... or... that old car... leave the city... your choice... we'll come back... Nothing wasted... Um...
[He reaches into his jacket tugging a paper bag from an inner pocket. The movement jostles the gunshot wound that's gone through his hoodie, but he only hisses. He holds the paper bag out gingerly, not wanting to coat it in the gore of his hands.]
I got your things... I'm sorry... I was away long...
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His priorities make her want to laugh. Maybe another time she would have, but even through her distress and the distracting hope he'd provided, she can tell that something's off. Maybe instead of laughing, she should hit him.]
Stupid. Stupid -- stupid. [Frankly it's offensive that he's still alive. Or...? No. It still isn't the time to worry about that -- just him. Ryder doesn't realize she's accepted the bag by reflex until she goes to reach for his side and jostles the crinkling paper. Would she need any of it for him now? It's almost like a more fucked up 'The Gift of the Magi'.] You're hurt. Let -- m-me see.
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Still, her reaching out is worse.]
No...!
[He jerks back. The force of his protest makes him cough, which makes the damn thing hurt, and makes him cough more. An animal growl rolls from his throat, clearer than his own voice, before he can cut himself off.
He steps back again and tries to draw back words.]
You can't... touch me... You can't...
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It's her words, really, that don't quite fit.]
You won't hurt me. [She knows this. Why hasn't he figured it out yet?] S-stay -- still.
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[Again, he speaks too loud, the words strangling him. He steps back again.]
Please... Ryder... You can't... I can't...
[She'll get infected. She'll turn. She'll die and he'll lose her, he'll lose this. He will hurt her. But it doesn't have to be like this.]
...I'm dead! ...I'm already... dead...
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