[She doesn't know that she's mirroring anyone -- in truth, it's probably become a common story. Someone scared and bleeding, finding somewhere to hide away like their life depends on it. Like their life isn't already over, and it doesn't matter if you manage to catch your breath or not. She pushes something in front of the shed door -- some random boards, she thinks -- before stumbling backwards and sinking down.
Ryder's always found comfort in smaller spaces like this. There were years she would crawl into her closet when overwhelmed or even just to curl up with a book and a flashlight, enjoying the way it muffled the life around her and let her immerse herself in fantastical adventures or spooky mysteries. There's nothing about this junkheap that can help her now. Maybe if she couldn't hear the approaching, hungry growls or the thuds and scratches against the walls, she'd feel her heart slow and get her sobs under control. Instead, she has to know that all she's doing is drawing more of them to her and losing blood from where her last two fingers used to be.]
Fuck. Fucking shit. God, fucking shit.
[She's going to die. She's already dead. There was no coming back from this, even if she managed to amputate her hand and leg on her own or suck from the wounds like they were snake bites and she could get the venom out. That doesn't even work, does it? It doesn't matter. None of it matters -- everything she's learned, been through, dreamed about...]
Mom...!
[It isn't pathetic, she thinks, to cry for her mommy right now. She needs the one that's always made things better when they seemed so hopeless, and who supported her unflinchingly through good times and bad, even if it meant that things were going to be harder. Ryder has more faith she would show up than some divine being to soothe her in these final moments, even if she invokes the name of one like the heathen she is. God, how long would this take? Her hands won’t stop shaking. When…are they going to stop shaking?]
[If there's a cry of pain, it's already too late. Even now, it's something he tells himself. There's nothing to be done. There's nothing he can do. But it still pierces him through, and not for the first time, he turns around.
The dead turn with him, prompted by the sound, but it's easy to slow down the ones further away, the ones drawn only by sound. As he gets closer, that's when things get harder, the dead more frantic, their hunger roaring in their ears louder than they can howl and screech themselves.
He fends each one off, dragging them away, and he pretends he doesn't hear the cursing or the heartbreaking cry, until he can't pretend anymore. He stares down the shed, hearing his own cries from the distance past, his own sobs. His hands tremble.]
Not dead... coming in...
[It's his only warning before he starts to try and work his way in too.]
[It must have been longer than it felt like, because the sounds outside are fading. That does make it a little embarrassing that she's still bawling her eyes out and dripping snot all over the place. Then again, you only die once! It's her party, she can cry if she wants to! Especially since no one else was invited, so she's all the fuck alone in some --
Ryder's head shoots up, and a gasp makes her choke on the odd drooling happening from all the emotions and pain. It's a little hilarious that her body decides to struggle to clear her throat when she's not going to be breathing soon anyway. Whatever. As long as she can find a way to speak before this curious stranger gets in, it's fine.]
Go away! [Her voice is a thick croak that makes her want to abandon herself to sobs all over again.] It's -- I'm --
[Fuck. Talking on a normal day was hard enough. Forget about one during apocalypse times where you felt like you were drowning in your own mucus, exhausted beyond belief but unable to stop that buzz of adrenaline, and letting pain leech away at your sense. The loose lumber wasn't going to do any good in actually keeping someone that knew how to work a door out for long. Ryder tries to ball her hands into fists and just barely keeps from shrieking at the feeling of hot wires stabbing up through the one hand.]
L-late, don't -- not sssafe -- jus' leave!
[Don't do something stupid just for someone stupid like her. Even if she doesn't want to die alone. And don't -- She can't get her words or lungs to cooperate enough to say it.]
[It's a brave response. It's a kind response. He's not sure if he would've had the strength when he was in her shoes. The fact it was a when, not an if, threatens to pull him under into bad memories. All of this will, he already knows, and it's part of why he doesn't do this.
But maybe, just once, he can offer the kindness he would've liked to have.]
It's okay...
[The door is opened, wood planks pushed aside. He steps in, covered head to toe save for his fingers.]
You can't... hurt me...
[He shuts the door again, doing his best to re-barricade it. Then he turns to her to take in the sight of her. Probably not the best look for her, but given the situation, it's what he'd expect. She's young too, about to die too early.]
[Ryder flinches back and kicks at the floor of the shed to push herself further against the shelf, making it creak and rattle the random pieces of shit scattered across it -- some tools and nails, some net made of wire, something she thinks is a hummingbird feeder, and any number of other things abandoned to time. Her right hand, smeared with bright blood and grime, and continuing to bleed from two stumps, is hugged close like she would be on her way to hiding it somehow if it wasn't attached to her. Both legs are scratched where they're exposed past her athleisure capris, but her right one also bears gashes where teeth have dug in before being forced away. Definitely not her best look.]
Don't -- [She has to speak, even if it comes out more like a squeaky, distressed whisper. He wasn't listening, and he says she won't hurt him, which means -- ] Please d-don't kill -- me.
[A silly plea when was already going to die, but...she had time left. She still had time left, even though it was too late.]
[The rattling is so much noise. He doesn't think the movement itself will draw the other dead back but it takes one thing to smash or clatter loud enough and he'll be dealing with a crowd again. He raises his hands palm up, though of course he's not unarmed. He's got his bow and arrow clear behind his back. He doesn't reach for it.]
I'm not... gonna hurt you...
[It's not without effort. She's bleeding heavily. He is hungry. But there's something just off enough to the scent that he thinks he can manage. Other dead outside probably wouldn't pause for such a slight difference.
[It's a good thing he speaks slowly and in a way she has to try to listen to, because it ensures that she actually does listen. She still wants to shrink back, a whimper breaking through every couple exhales, but she manages to stop forcing the distance between them. His face is covered, not that she's ever been very good at reading expressions, so she has to rely on his actions. They're submissive. She knows this logically and instinctually, even if she can't figure out why this is happening. Numbly, she shakes her head. No. No, she doesn't want to die alone.
Her face is wet. Her hand is wet -- and sticky, gross. Embarrassingly, she's pretty sure her pants are wet...but then, is it really the time to worry about that? There was no salvaging this introduction, and if circumstances were different, would she even want to? She'd probably give him some sort of clipped thanks and go on her way, unwilling to stick around someone else for too long. What's a little scary now is imagining him leaving. Ryder bites hard into her lip to suppress another sob. Her eyes are burning. Wiping the back of her good hand across them, almost toddler-like, she tries to focus up again. God, it's so hard. But she needs something to make sense.]
[Yup. She's an awful sight. None of them were really lookers out here in the apocalypse, much as some of them can remember a time when bodies were beautiful. But he doesn't slow or hesitate because he's seen worse and felt at least as bad. He shuffles his way closer, bit by bit, hands still raised.
Only when she asks her question does he slow and stop. He considers his options, mentally wrestles with himself. He normally wouldn't even think of doing something like this, but for her, now, he reaches to his sleeve. He pushes it up, the stiff leather, the hoodie sleeve, and the stripey blood-crusted fabric beneath. He pushes up his forearm, until it shows the barest hint of teeth marks. He drops it back down before she can think too much of how dry the blood is, the dark spiderwebbed veins, or the fact that a whole chunk is missing out of him.]
Me too...
[Though, it wouldn't be long before she was losing it.]
[Thank fucking god. It isn’t real relief, obviously. It was fucking horrible. But at least the puzzle piece slides into place and she can stop thinking about it. The only thing she has to worry about is the fact that she won’t exist as a person soon, becoming a furious, hollow husk like she sort of imagined herself as in high school, but worse because it was real. None of this should be real.
His question jerks her out of the tearful daze she’d fallen into. People getting close was — strange. But there’s such a vicious ache in her chest that it threatened to overcome all the other hurts. Ryder struggles to tell him it’s okay and quickly gives up, going for a nod instead. He definitely wasn’t her mom, and she wasn’t going to be the one he wished most was there with him, but who else did they have? He must be scared, too, but he’s holding strong for her. Ugh, there she goes again, letting that wave of emotion take over. Ryder brings her sleeved forearms up to bury her face in even though it’s hot from tears, trying to muffle her crying before she made it worse again. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.]
[He feels a little bad for the lie, but he lied to start with by claiming he wasn't dead. Telling the truth now would just confuse and overwhelm her, whether with fear or false hope. She doesn't need that.
She nods, so he moves closer, shuffling over the floor so he can sit down at her side. He's just a stranger, but he would've given anything for this when it was him dying.]
It's okay... You don't have to... hide it...
[Pretty soon, there wouldn't be the chance. The fever took so much, so fast. She should mourn while she has the chance. And while he has the chance, he asks--]
[There's a fight inside her to move closer or away. She wants to bury herself in someone else, let her tears soak their clothes instead, be held, but...this is a stranger. There's only a little piece of her detached enough from the everything that's happening to wonder if he's feeling the same way. He wanted to be by her side, after all. He came into the shed. It would be so much nicer if she wasn't used to pulling away. Her compromise is to keep her face in her forearms, curling up even more to hide further, actually, as she relents and lets herself lean her shoulder against his. This sucks. This fucking sucks, even with someone else to commiserate over how much it sucks with.
She makes a sound that might be a scoff of laughter, if it wasn't drowned in snot.]
Doesn' m-mmatter.
[They would both die before they knew it, and knowing each other's names now wouldn't suddenly make them not strangers. She really can't imagine there being any point to it, no matter how much joy her name, after all this time, brought her.
...Shit, she's being really ungrateful, isn't she? She attempts to dry her face again and swallows hard before looking over and up a bit to him. He might be nearer, but there aren't any more clues to be found because of it. With her good hand, still shaking and unsure, she moves to slip her arm around his to hug close. Ryder has to be there for him, too.]
'm -- s-sorry.
[She tries to swallow again before clearing her throat and blinking like that might get her eyes to stop leaking all over the place.]
[It matters to him. It would have mattered. He would've wanted someone to know who he was, that he'd been a person once. But then, he's already given her the impression that he's fading away with her so maybe by that view, it is pointless. He decides not to press, but he still carries on.]
I'm Teo...
[He shakes his head at her apologies. And again after that.]
It's fine... You're fine... Think you've... got a right... to be a little... upset...
[Given everything. He gestures around at the space and at both of them. He kind of wishes he hadn't because it draws his own attention of her and back to the shed around. It makes old memories pull at him and he wants to draw back away. Or maybe have some stupid convulsive kind of panic attack in so much as a dead person can.]
[Teo. His name is Teo. She wants to snap and insist even more that it didn't matter, but it...must matter to him. So he's Teo. Teo, who understands what she's going through even though he has his shit together way more than she does, and who just wants for the two of them to not go through this alone. In a whisper that just barely qualifies as a voice, she murmurs,]
Ryder. Ryder M-Morris.
[What a way to meet a guy, huh? She wonders for a moment if someone would find them in the future and think they were one of those romantic couples that spent their every last breath together, going out like Romeo and Juliet after something that was probably only slightly less stupid. Instead of a laugh, what comes out is a sigh, and she quakily brushes her bangs away from her face with her remaining fingers. There's no chance of a breeze in this shithole shed, but she's still begging for one, and her own hair isn't going to ruin any relief if by some miracle one did pass through. Ugh, this is part of why she hate crying. Always makes you so warm...but she can't pull away from Teo, now.]
S-so you'll...probably go first. Huh? [As she tries to suck some of that snot back in only to cough.] Ugh. I've nnn -- n-never -- seen it. Never even -- to a funeral. That's -- dumb.
[To bring up, or even just to think about. The adrenaline focusing her must be wearing off, now that she has something else to turn to.]
[He should be able to remember that, he thinks. Ryder Morris...
He stiffens a little at the sight of her missing fingers, at the scent of blood wafted his way, and hopes she doesn't notice.]
Maybe not... you're smaller... less time for... full infection... [He doesn't know if that's true, but he might as well run with the lie since he's not turning before she is either way. She's not going to see him die.]
I've seen it... people turning... It's a fever... [He almost says that it's going to suck which, for one, no shit, for two, he shouldn't be acting like he's been through it.] It's... not too long...
[Is that how that works? Fuck if she knows. She's not a scientist. The closest thing to this immune system shit she knows about herself is that apparently her bones are going to suck more than everyone else's as she gets older? That's stupid. Well, she doesn't have to worry about it now -- especially since Teo continues and she isn't sure anymore if that warmth is from crying.]
Oh... [Ryder blinks several times, both fighting back tears and wondering if she even has anything left in her.] Okay.
[Okay. So she's close. Well, she knew that already, so it shouldn't feel any more real now than it had ten seconds ago. She swallows again.]
[That was probably not the best thing to say. Sure, she's forwarned now, but it's not exactly making her feel better. Not that feeling better is much of an option.]
What I meant... to say... I've seen this... I know I'm... just a stranger... and... I can understand... not being... comfortable...
[He turns a hand over on his knee, palm up. Open. It's up to her, but for once, he doesn't have to be afraid he'll infect anyone.]
But... I promise... I can manage... and be with you... the whole way...
[Her inhale is so shaky that she chokes on it and coughs all her breath back out, making her instinctually turn her head away and cough into her elbow to spare him the germs. Good to know that her dumb ass has basic decency while she's fucking dying alongside someone else that was, too. How pointless...
But his palm turns up and she's breathless for two reasons, then. Ryder twitches, hand jerking in the direction of his, but there's some rule in her head that says she has to get her breathing under control before she can indulge in that. It's the fakest shit ever, and a small part of her brain throws a tantrum about it that makes her dizzy, and it really is important for her to breathe in, breathe out, it's okay. She rests her hand on his and cautiously laces their fingers together. She holds it a little too tightly.]
Mm-mmhm.
[He was what she was going to get, and...she's grateful, really. As much as all this fucking sucks.]
...What did you w-want -- to be? [She scoffs a little and shakes her head at herself.] I guess y-you're -- n'adult. What did you do before -- all this?
[Even after the correction, it feels too silly to be asking right now. "Oh, Teo, right? What's your favorite color? You like dogs? If you could have dinner with anyone, living or dead, who would it be? Don't you just hate icebreaker games?" He thought their names were important, though, and maybe in those minutes where their brains were cooking too hot to function much longer, they'd get to think it worked -- that their dreams came true. Like a neat little bow of an epilogue.]
[He stiffens a little, wondering, Now? Is it now? But no. Not yet. He doesn't know whether to feel relieved when it's just a postponed inevitability, not a halting miracle.
She laces her fingers with his. He holds on tight right back, like he can hold her here. I'm sorry for what you're about to suffer. I'm sorry you'll be alone in the end.
He hums over her question and shakes his head.]
Amnesia... don't remember... This is... the only life... I know... [At least as far as details about himself goes.] But... I've thought about... kitchens... Big dinners... lots of people... friends... I'd like that...
[It'll never happen, but it would've been nice. He wonders if it ever did happen.]
[Ryder looks over at him, and it hits her that she...isn't the main character. Like, obviously. All her life purposely avoided being the main character, but in that jaded teen YA novel protagonist way where she was making her own story happen, not following what's written, and all that shit -- which was, in the end, just another way to be a main character -- but she figured that in her death, she was going to be center stage. Epilogue, like she said. Not a best-seller or anything, but something that was her. Now here she is, going to become the zombie formerly known as Ryder, and the guy that joined the party has amnesia? Talk about a protag flag! Maybe she shouldn't be surprised, since he's got that gentle kindness about him and a unique fashion sense that sort of stands out even these days. Part of her considers jealousy, but...]
...A writer...
[That's what she'd wanted ever since she was little. Driving the story in a completely different way. She pushes her free, chewed hand against her eyes and does some of that laugh-crying thing when it occurs to her that she would have loved something like this. A tender moment at an inappropriate time with unlikely subjects? Fuck yeah. Even now, she kind of wishes she had her book here to project the scene onto, or maybe even finally, finally commit words to the paper. Sheet after sheet of white finally getting some ink to prove she existed, along with the blood to explain that she didn't, anymore.
God. What a piece of shit.]
I would've th -- woulda thought your thing s-s-sounded like a nightmare. H-heh. The typical dreaded, uh, Thanks -- giving scene in shows n'stuff. [Ryder shudders, pushing her wet sleeve up through her hair to push her bangs back.] When it's like -- this. Like this, I can -- s-see how. I'd miss people, if I were you.
A writer... Ryder the writer... I would've liked... to read your stories...
[It wouldn't matter much to him what they were. Maybe she's more of a blog writer or a writer of non-fiction, he doesn't know. But still, it would be fun to delve into someone's world for a while. It would've been nice if that part of her could remain despite everything.
Her comment makes him laugh. It's a horrible sound, but hey, it sells the dying angle. Still, his words come out wistful and melancholy.]
I do miss people... I miss them a lot...
[He wishes so bad he could remember the specifics, but even the loss of the whole makes him ache.]
I think... thanksgivings... on shows and things...are meant to be... a little terrible... makes the story... interesting... or... caps it off... with something cheesy... But a real thing... mm, I guess it would... depend on the people...
[She might have blushed, but she thinks it would be pretty hard to tell, with her face already being puffy and red from crying, not to mention all the smears, and...is it warmer? She doesn't...think so, but she thinks she might be sweating. It was hard to tell, with everything. Maybe she should just focus on the painful but reassuring pressure on her hand. His hold is helping to keep it steady, but it's not enough to stop her completely.]
...Yeah. It was jus' -- me an' -- my mom. [Fuck, there she goes again, crying. This has to be shortening her time, if it's about fevers. Dehydration, and...stuff. Ugh.] We'd go out to -- a place we could eat noodles. A-any place w-with noodles. Always...
[His thumb runs circles over the top of her hand which he hopes is reassuring, not creepy. These are the last human tears she'll ever cry. If she cries again, she won't understand, won't even really feel it there, streaming black because an overflow that can't be explained as anything but hunger and pain without consciousness, an awful parody of human grief.]
Spaghetti... would be really nice...
[It might sound silly, but it's a simple thing and simple things are so, so very rare now. Same with families left unbroken.]
And... a mom hug...
[He doesn't remember his mother. He must have had one though. There's a definitive pain there that tells him he must have had something. If nothing else, surely everyone wants to be enveloped in that particular way, where they can be safe and protected no matter how small or helpless they feel.]
[He doesn't tell her she's stupid for letting herself say something like that out loud, which is almost more comforting than the hand in hers. Even that...has found a way to be unpleasant, making her more aware of the changes in his pulse. It was weird. It makes her want to squirm away. It makes her feel sick.
Focus. Ignore the uncomfortable, hot writhing in her stomach.]
Yeah.
[She swallows and sniffles, staring across to the shoddily-blocked door with dulling eyes.]
Sh-she was all I had. I wonder if -- I'll... If I'll see her. Dunno what happened. Dunno if -- believe that stuff.
[He watches the way her eyes change. It's hard to tell if it's her last bit of will withering or if she's just tired from the bloodless. The latter would be a mercy. If she could be unconscious for the worst of the fever her last moments might actually be peaceful.]
I don't know either...
[He's thought about it a lot more than is healthy. Did he have a soul? Did any of them? And if they did, what does say of the undead? Are they trapped or free...?]
But... I don't think... it would hurt... to hope right now... See her... get a hug... ghost spaghetti...
[Okay the last thing is silly but he still wants it to be a thing.]
Ghost spaghetti, [she parrots in a mumble, disbelieving but but still...longing. Is she going to get to eat spaghetti as a ghost? Ghosts can make whatever food they want, right? As long as it's made with love, because ghosts are all about...strong feelings, or...something. She wants to dwell on it some more, but everything hurts so much. It's too hard.
She starts trying to curl in on herself, but winces, a gasp catching in her throat and making her cough again. When her breath settles again, Ryder tips her head to watch him instead. Man. Just looking at him all covered up like that makes her feel even warmer.]
What... [He didn't remember things. He only dreamed of people, the way she dreamed of dragons, vampires, and a billionaire paying off student loans at random, catching her in their net of generosity. Nice dreams.] Are you a spagh -- [Hard to tell what kind of noise that was just then. Some kind of cough-choke-gurgle? Something. Is this where she's really starting to short-circuit?] Ss... Spaghetti person? Could ssave -- plate.
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storywalks) wrote2022-02-14 11:30 am
no subject
Ryder's always found comfort in smaller spaces like this. There were years she would crawl into her closet when overwhelmed or even just to curl up with a book and a flashlight, enjoying the way it muffled the life around her and let her immerse herself in fantastical adventures or spooky mysteries. There's nothing about this junkheap that can help her now. Maybe if she couldn't hear the approaching, hungry growls or the thuds and scratches against the walls, she'd feel her heart slow and get her sobs under control. Instead, she has to know that all she's doing is drawing more of them to her and losing blood from where her last two fingers used to be.]
Fuck. Fucking shit. God, fucking shit.
[She's going to die. She's already dead. There was no coming back from this, even if she managed to amputate her hand and leg on her own or suck from the wounds like they were snake bites and she could get the venom out. That doesn't even work, does it? It doesn't matter. None of it matters -- everything she's learned, been through, dreamed about...]
Mom...!
[It isn't pathetic, she thinks, to cry for her mommy right now. She needs the one that's always made things better when they seemed so hopeless, and who supported her unflinchingly through good times and bad, even if it meant that things were going to be harder. Ryder has more faith she would show up than some divine being to soothe her in these final moments, even if she invokes the name of one like the heathen she is. God, how long would this take? Her hands won’t stop shaking. When…are they going to stop shaking?]
no subject
The dead turn with him, prompted by the sound, but it's easy to slow down the ones further away, the ones drawn only by sound. As he gets closer, that's when things get harder, the dead more frantic, their hunger roaring in their ears louder than they can howl and screech themselves.
He fends each one off, dragging them away, and he pretends he doesn't hear the cursing or the heartbreaking cry, until he can't pretend anymore. He stares down the shed, hearing his own cries from the distance past, his own sobs. His hands tremble.]
Not dead... coming in...
[It's his only warning before he starts to try and work his way in too.]
no subject
Ryder's head shoots up, and a gasp makes her choke on the odd drooling happening from all the emotions and pain. It's a little hilarious that her body decides to struggle to clear her throat when she's not going to be breathing soon anyway. Whatever. As long as she can find a way to speak before this curious stranger gets in, it's fine.]
Go away! [Her voice is a thick croak that makes her want to abandon herself to sobs all over again.] It's -- I'm --
[Fuck. Talking on a normal day was hard enough. Forget about one during apocalypse times where you felt like you were drowning in your own mucus, exhausted beyond belief but unable to stop that buzz of adrenaline, and letting pain leech away at your sense. The loose lumber wasn't going to do any good in actually keeping someone that knew how to work a door out for long. Ryder tries to ball her hands into fists and just barely keeps from shrieking at the feeling of hot wires stabbing up through the one hand.]
L-late, don't -- not sssafe -- jus' leave!
[Don't do something stupid just for someone stupid like her. Even if she doesn't want to die alone. And don't -- She can't get her words or lungs to cooperate enough to say it.]
D--hhngh! Duh...!
no subject
But maybe, just once, he can offer the kindness he would've liked to have.]
It's okay...
[The door is opened, wood planks pushed aside. He steps in, covered head to toe save for his fingers.]
You can't... hurt me...
[He shuts the door again, doing his best to re-barricade it. Then he turns to her to take in the sight of her. Probably not the best look for her, but given the situation, it's what he'd expect. She's young too, about to die too early.]
no subject
Don't -- [She has to speak, even if it comes out more like a squeaky, distressed whisper. He wasn't listening, and he says she won't hurt him, which means -- ] Please d-don't kill -- me.
[A silly plea when was already going to die, but...she had time left. She still had time left, even though it was too late.]
no subject
[The rattling is so much noise. He doesn't think the movement itself will draw the other dead back but it takes one thing to smash or clatter loud enough and he'll be dealing with a crowd again. He raises his hands palm up, though of course he's not unarmed. He's got his bow and arrow clear behind his back. He doesn't reach for it.]
I'm not... gonna hurt you...
[It's not without effort. She's bleeding heavily. He is hungry. But there's something just off enough to the scent that he thinks he can manage. Other dead outside probably wouldn't pause for such a slight difference.
He starts to kneel to the floor.]
You don't... want to die... alone, right...?
no subject
Her face is wet. Her hand is wet -- and sticky, gross. Embarrassingly, she's pretty sure her pants are wet...but then, is it really the time to worry about that? There was no salvaging this introduction, and if circumstances were different, would she even want to? She'd probably give him some sort of clipped thanks and go on her way, unwilling to stick around someone else for too long. What's a little scary now is imagining him leaving. Ryder bites hard into her lip to suppress another sob. Her eyes are burning. Wiping the back of her good hand across them, almost toddler-like, she tries to focus up again. God, it's so hard. But she needs something to make sense.]
Wh -- y'n... [Those aren't words. Try again, Ry.] W-were yyyou...too? Or -- m'I losing it...?
no subject
Only when she asks her question does he slow and stop. He considers his options, mentally wrestles with himself. He normally wouldn't even think of doing something like this, but for her, now, he reaches to his sleeve. He pushes it up, the stiff leather, the hoodie sleeve, and the stripey blood-crusted fabric beneath. He pushes up his forearm, until it shows the barest hint of teeth marks. He drops it back down before she can think too much of how dry the blood is, the dark spiderwebbed veins, or the fact that a whole chunk is missing out of him.]
Me too...
[Though, it wouldn't be long before she was losing it.]
Can I... come closer...?
no subject
His question jerks her out of the tearful daze she’d fallen into. People getting close was — strange. But there’s such a vicious ache in her chest that it threatened to overcome all the other hurts. Ryder struggles to tell him it’s okay and quickly gives up, going for a nod instead. He definitely wasn’t her mom, and she wasn’t going to be the one he wished most was there with him, but who else did they have? He must be scared, too, but he’s holding strong for her. Ugh, there she goes again, letting that wave of emotion take over. Ryder brings her sleeved forearms up to bury her face in even though it’s hot from tears, trying to muffle her crying before she made it worse again. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.]
no subject
She nods, so he moves closer, shuffling over the floor so he can sit down at her side. He's just a stranger, but he would've given anything for this when it was him dying.]
It's okay... You don't have to... hide it...
[Pretty soon, there wouldn't be the chance. The fever took so much, so fast. She should mourn while she has the chance. And while he has the chance, he asks--]
What's... your name...?
no subject
She makes a sound that might be a scoff of laughter, if it wasn't drowned in snot.]
Doesn' m-mmatter.
[They would both die before they knew it, and knowing each other's names now wouldn't suddenly make them not strangers. She really can't imagine there being any point to it, no matter how much joy her name, after all this time, brought her.
...Shit, she's being really ungrateful, isn't she? She attempts to dry her face again and swallows hard before looking over and up a bit to him. He might be nearer, but there aren't any more clues to be found because of it. With her good hand, still shaking and unsure, she moves to slip her arm around his to hug close. Ryder has to be there for him, too.]
'm -- s-sorry.
[She tries to swallow again before clearing her throat and blinking like that might get her eyes to stop leaking all over the place.]
Kind of -- ssstuck. W-with a -- bitch.
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I'm Teo...
[He shakes his head at her apologies. And again after that.]
It's fine... You're fine... Think you've... got a right... to be a little... upset...
[Given everything. He gestures around at the space and at both of them. He kind of wishes he hadn't because it draws his own attention of her and back to the shed around. It makes old memories pull at him and he wants to draw back away. Or maybe have some stupid convulsive kind of panic attack in so much as a dead person can.]
Got my crying out... beforehand...
[Way beforehand.]
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Ryder. Ryder M-Morris.
[What a way to meet a guy, huh? She wonders for a moment if someone would find them in the future and think they were one of those romantic couples that spent their every last breath together, going out like Romeo and Juliet after something that was probably only slightly less stupid. Instead of a laugh, what comes out is a sigh, and she quakily brushes her bangs away from her face with her remaining fingers. There's no chance of a breeze in this shithole shed, but she's still begging for one, and her own hair isn't going to ruin any relief if by some miracle one did pass through. Ugh, this is part of why she hate crying. Always makes you so warm...but she can't pull away from Teo, now.]
S-so you'll...probably go first. Huh? [As she tries to suck some of that snot back in only to cough.] Ugh. I've nnn -- n-never -- seen it. Never even -- to a funeral. That's -- dumb.
[To bring up, or even just to think about. The adrenaline focusing her must be wearing off, now that she has something else to turn to.]
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Ryder Morris... That's a cool one...
[He should be able to remember that, he thinks. Ryder Morris...
He stiffens a little at the sight of her missing fingers, at the scent of blood wafted his way, and hopes she doesn't notice.]
Maybe not... you're smaller... less time for... full infection... [He doesn't know if that's true, but he might as well run with the lie since he's not turning before she is either way. She's not going to see him die.]
I've seen it... people turning... It's a fever... [He almost says that it's going to suck which, for one, no shit, for two, he shouldn't be acting like he's been through it.] It's... not too long...
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[Is that how that works? Fuck if she knows. She's not a scientist. The closest thing to this immune system shit she knows about herself is that apparently her bones are going to suck more than everyone else's as she gets older? That's stupid. Well, she doesn't have to worry about it now -- especially since Teo continues and she isn't sure anymore if that warmth is from crying.]
Oh... [Ryder blinks several times, both fighting back tears and wondering if she even has anything left in her.] Okay.
[Okay. So she's close. Well, she knew that already, so it shouldn't feel any more real now than it had ten seconds ago. She swallows again.]
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What I meant... to say... I've seen this... I know I'm... just a stranger... and... I can understand... not being... comfortable...
[He turns a hand over on his knee, palm up. Open. It's up to her, but for once, he doesn't have to be afraid he'll infect anyone.]
But... I promise... I can manage... and be with you... the whole way...
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But his palm turns up and she's breathless for two reasons, then. Ryder twitches, hand jerking in the direction of his, but there's some rule in her head that says she has to get her breathing under control before she can indulge in that. It's the fakest shit ever, and a small part of her brain throws a tantrum about it that makes her dizzy, and it really is important for her to breathe in, breathe out, it's okay. She rests her hand on his and cautiously laces their fingers together. She holds it a little too tightly.]
Mm-mmhm.
[He was what she was going to get, and...she's grateful, really. As much as all this fucking sucks.]
...What did you w-want -- to be? [She scoffs a little and shakes her head at herself.] I guess y-you're -- n'adult. What did you do before -- all this?
[Even after the correction, it feels too silly to be asking right now. "Oh, Teo, right? What's your favorite color? You like dogs? If you could have dinner with anyone, living or dead, who would it be? Don't you just hate icebreaker games?" He thought their names were important, though, and maybe in those minutes where their brains were cooking too hot to function much longer, they'd get to think it worked -- that their dreams came true. Like a neat little bow of an epilogue.]
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She laces her fingers with his. He holds on tight right back, like he can hold her here. I'm sorry for what you're about to suffer. I'm sorry you'll be alone in the end.
He hums over her question and shakes his head.]
Amnesia... don't remember... This is... the only life... I know... [At least as far as details about himself goes.] But... I've thought about... kitchens... Big dinners... lots of people... friends... I'd like that...
[It'll never happen, but it would've been nice. He wonders if it ever did happen.]
And you...?
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...A writer...
[That's what she'd wanted ever since she was little. Driving the story in a completely different way. She pushes her free, chewed hand against her eyes and does some of that laugh-crying thing when it occurs to her that she would have loved something like this. A tender moment at an inappropriate time with unlikely subjects? Fuck yeah. Even now, she kind of wishes she had her book here to project the scene onto, or maybe even finally, finally commit words to the paper. Sheet after sheet of white finally getting some ink to prove she existed, along with the blood to explain that she didn't, anymore.
God. What a piece of shit.]
I would've th -- woulda thought your thing s-s-sounded like a nightmare. H-heh. The typical dreaded, uh, Thanks -- giving scene in shows n'stuff. [Ryder shudders, pushing her wet sleeve up through her hair to push her bangs back.] When it's like -- this. Like this, I can -- s-see how. I'd miss people, if I were you.
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[It wouldn't matter much to him what they were. Maybe she's more of a blog writer or a writer of non-fiction, he doesn't know. But still, it would be fun to delve into someone's world for a while. It would've been nice if that part of her could remain despite everything.
Her comment makes him laugh. It's a horrible sound, but hey, it sells the dying angle. Still, his words come out wistful and melancholy.]
I do miss people... I miss them a lot...
[He wishes so bad he could remember the specifics, but even the loss of the whole makes him ache.]
I think... thanksgivings... on shows and things...are meant to be... a little terrible... makes the story... interesting... or... caps it off... with something cheesy... But a real thing... mm, I guess it would... depend on the people...
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...Yeah. It was jus' -- me an' -- my mom. [Fuck, there she goes again, crying. This has to be shortening her time, if it's about fevers. Dehydration, and...stuff. Ugh.] We'd go out to -- a place we could eat noodles. A-any place w-with noodles. Always...
[Until all this.]
I miss mmmy mom. I miss -- spaghetti.
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Spaghetti... would be really nice...
[It might sound silly, but it's a simple thing and simple things are so, so very rare now. Same with families left unbroken.]
And... a mom hug...
[He doesn't remember his mother. He must have had one though. There's a definitive pain there that tells him he must have had something. If nothing else, surely everyone wants to be enveloped in that particular way, where they can be safe and protected no matter how small or helpless they feel.]
Sounds like... you were close...
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Focus. Ignore the uncomfortable, hot writhing in her stomach.]
Yeah.
[She swallows and sniffles, staring across to the shoddily-blocked door with dulling eyes.]
Sh-she was all I had. I wonder if -- I'll... If I'll see her. Dunno what happened. Dunno if -- believe that stuff.
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I don't know either...
[He's thought about it a lot more than is healthy. Did he have a soul? Did any of them? And if they did, what does say of the undead? Are they trapped or free...?]
But... I don't think... it would hurt... to hope right now... See her... get a hug... ghost spaghetti...
[Okay the last thing is silly but he still wants it to be a thing.]
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She starts trying to curl in on herself, but winces, a gasp catching in her throat and making her cough again. When her breath settles again, Ryder tips her head to watch him instead. Man. Just looking at him all covered up like that makes her feel even warmer.]
What... [He didn't remember things. He only dreamed of people, the way she dreamed of dragons, vampires, and a billionaire paying off student loans at random, catching her in their net of generosity. Nice dreams.] Are you a spagh -- [Hard to tell what kind of noise that was just then. Some kind of cough-choke-gurgle? Something. Is this where she's really starting to short-circuit?] Ss... Spaghetti person? Could ssave -- plate.
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because why not, that's why
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I went and fixed the comment above and then forgot to hit send on the edit...
oh........
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Just a lil timeskippy if that's OK
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