[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.
[She repeats him and it makes him smile. Only briefly though. It's starting. She's struggling more and more. He keeps rubbing circles over the top of her hand.]
Easy... Take it slow...
[The way he can't do anything but take it slow these days.]
Wouldn't say no... to spaghetti... [Assuming that ghost-land won't keep him like this.] But I've dreamt... of soups... warm... spiced... full of vegetables... and meats...
[It hurts. It feels like something pushing around her bones like a stew, swirling them around to keep them from sticking to the bottom and burning -- but it was still hot. And...still comforting, even with the ache and the way it made her brain swimmy with gross imagery. Oh, soup. He's talking about soup. Was that before or after she was soup?
Ha. The zombie had thought she was soup. Maybe that's all it was. They all just wanted soup, spaghetti, steak, and salad. All the S's. Her eyelids flicker.]
Try t' r'member...
[Soup. Soup, soup, soup. Order afterlife soup for Teo. Chicken Soup for the Post-Apocalyptic Soul. It would hurt too much to laugh at her own joke, but it would hurt too much to cough, too. She settles for panting, which is more like a wheeze at times, and even that's painful.]
Don't wanna -- [Hurt. Forget. Be sick. Cry. Die. Leave. She doesn't want to.]
[His heart aches. Just like that, he's got the stupid urge to cry. But he can't, not now. His goggles will fill up with that black sludge and he'll have to take his goggles off and everything will be horrible and, quite frankly, this isn't the damn time. She's the one dying, the one in need of comfort.
But it hurts, watching this, knowing how it feels, the helplessness, and then to talk of remembering. His breath shudders but he doubts she'll notice.
He shuffles closer. He moves so he can draw her in, bring her to lean against him. Maybe the coolness of him will help her fever, but he doubts that. What he can do is shift his grip, swap hands out so he can bring the other up to stroke her hair and smooth it back.]
I know... I know...
[He knows so much more than he can tell her.]
But you're gonna... find your mom... you'll find her... hug her tight...
[She protests his hold weakly -- just a little, just enough that she can try to look around for her mother. It's been forever since she got to see her. If she tries too hard, she's going to writhe out of her skin. As much as Ryder wonders if that would help free her from this burning, it sounds even more painful than what she's already dealing with, so she slumps into his cradling arm like a tired child. She cant stop trembling... At least someone is there to take care of her. Maybe -- maybe she'd get better. Maybe she'd recover, and she wouldn't have to die. Maybe her mom's okay, too, and they could find each other in this life. There's a heat in her mouth she thinks is sauce for a moment, but when she realizes that she's curled forward and gagging on something that's not there anymore, what remains of her brain suggests that it was vomit. When did that happen? Ryder coughs and, weakly flailing her mangled hand at her mouth in an attempt to wipe it clean, seeks out that soothing blob from a minute ago. Was it a minute? Was it even a second? Has she been here a year? Will it ever end?]
Tehh... Hgkh -- [The strings of dribble on her lips are the only thing wetting them as she moves them, trying to make words. Several other parts of her are wet for various disgusting reasons, but they're far away now, veins stretched and sliced open so they were easier to set fire to. She feels it so much, but she's drifting anyway. It's like she's...above her eyeballs? That feels right, whatever that means.] He-help...
[Her stomach is empty, her lungs are getting there, and her self...? Her arms search blindly for that last one before remembering they're already touching something. Something important that she needs and she's grateful for, as she's burning in hell like too many stupid fucking people said she would. They didn't matter. Fight to cling to what did, and that's--]
[She squirms and he tries to compensate for the movement, not wanting to let her irritate things too much but not wanting to restrict. He croons to her.]
Not yet... not yet...
[She slumps and he's back to holding her, smoothing her hair. He realizes, in a twisted sense, that others would've wished to be in his shoes. Not for every part, but to hold those they cared about it, ease them through this, without worrying they'll be consumed in the aftermath. He bets Ryder's Mom would choose to be here, even for that, because that's what moms do, isn't it? Even for the awful, painful, disgusting parts. Ryder deserves to have her mom here, not some stranger.
He's impressed she can still speak. But at the same time, she's barely here.]
[She feels like all she’s ever been is a girl full of words, and it isn’t as if she can write them down anymore. Even if she could see clearly or get her hands to stop shaking, would she be able to hold a pen, with her hand like this? She’d have to relearn how to write, and she doesn’t have the time for that...so the words that come out have fought hard for that right, and even then the struggle isn’t enough for everything. It’s the littlest bit that’s left, and of course it would be words. It can't last forever.
She slurs something else, a sss that turns into a shhh, and then a gurgled growl. She can't bring herself to move, but her body still moves for her at times, jerking her head to the shoulder that twitches up to meet it. She can't see him, with her eyes rolled back...but he's still here. And if she can tell he's still there, then she's still there, and he's telling her she's safe. Compared to everyone else, maybe she is... All the danger out there already got her. And he's... He's going to be going through this without her. He doesn't have a cool set of fingers to brush through his hair or a gentle voice to lure out the last bits of his humanity. She's sorry for that.]
Aouuh... Hhhrzh...
[Something. Get close to that. It moves, it makes sounds, it needs attention. Ryder buries herself, unintelligible gargling in her throat as another bout of bile rises, but can't make it out. She needs attention. She's fading. Someone, god, fucking anyone help... Here's someone. Here's...someone. She tries to hold that tight to herself, even if her body can't, to the end.]
[He can't understand her. It makes his breath catch. He remembers so clearly when he'd first tried relearning how to speak. He'd garbled everything. He'd want to shout in frustration only to be left wheezing. He'd want to cry.
Every effort to expell his pain or ease it only caused more, right down to his hunger. It'd been terrible, agonizing, and he'd questioned every day if it was really worth it, if he could really make any of this worth it. It would be for no one else's sake. No one wanted him, at least not as he is. If he was going to live, for a given definition, he had to want to. He had to find a reason to want to, even if, at first, the reason was just fearing that he'd suffered and died for nothing.]
It's almost done... You'll see her...
[He keeps holding her. He doesn't know what else to do.]
I'm sorry... I'm sorry it hurts... that I... can't save you... I don't know... how it works... I'm sorry... I hope... you can rest... I hope...
[It isn't long before Ryder leaves, and sooner or later, Teo has to leave, too, in his own way. When he does, something tries to follow him. A little undead duckling, or perhaps a goose.]
[Her pulse fades. In his arms, she dies. Ryder the writer who loved and missed her mom and spaghetti. It's hardly truly knowing her, but he holds on to the details all the same. Her blood had long gone from enticing to something rancid and now he feels no impulse to harm her at all. Dead, gone, turned.
There's a moment of stillness and in that moment he unravels from her. It feels wrong. It feels like abandoning. But this is the time to move. He needs to clean himself as best he can, both of her and the black ink that's welled in his eyes, now that he's not bothering to fight it back or hide it behind goggles. It's night and the living won't move in the dark, for the most part. They know his kind can find them that much easier.
He should still be thinking about whether she was with anyone else. Travelling alone didn't lend to survival for very long, no matter what some thought. He should be considering the risks of finding others, but he can't, he doesn't, his thoughts are on her, on himself, on all the dead around him who suffered alone. His head is heavy with it, thoughts crammed like cotton stuffing and in doing so subversing themselves by hardly letting him think clear at all.
He's stumbling along and he is being sloppy. He notices the scuffling footfalls far too late, specifically that the noise has followed him and not wandered away as other undead would. He turns and his first stupid thought is that this is hardly fair. He helps a girl pass and so she haunts him? His slightly less stupid realization is that she followed him.
His brow furrows. He stares at the shell of a girl.]
[Something is grateful for his lack of care. It isn't too hard to move around, body still pliant even though she's lost the warmth of both temperature and color -- later, it would be harder, then easier again -- but all the same, it makes it possible to follow him while someone's grabbed the remote and started to switch the settings all her senses had been on. Her blood is steadily settling lower, lower, lower, and her legs are a jerky shuffle like a possessed doll just doing its best. That is what sort of something this something in particular is, really.
There are other things that move and make noise, but not many, and not in the same way. It helps to clear the wandering smoke all those words became and the insistent clawing inside, but something's starting to doubt its path -- what path? Why? -- when his voice draws her to him again. It's a call out to her, even if it isn't someone calling her, and something diligently does her best to pitter-patter forth and close the distance. Her head and eyes are lolled, and her jaw hangs open, unnecessary until it came time to eat. When she's closer, she slows, one foot at an awkward, dragged angle, and blankly watches him a second before lifting her hand and sweeping her tongue along the long-dried, long-soured blood coloring the back as if she were a cat. Unsatisfied, something rasps out an attempted whine, vocal chords a dry, discordant violin.
He couldn't sate anything's hunger, let alone hers, but something feels it like a single drop of rain from the sky you'd question was there at all. He could help, and he could keep her safe. Which...somehow felt important? She's not sure why it would be, but it is. Pitter-patter. More rain that didn't happen.]
[She walks to him, stumbling, and it stirs an entirely human fear. Instincts carved in a matter of months, maybe a year or two, but still carved deep in demanding he run, hide, get away from the danger. But the danger's not real. Not anymore. Not for him.
She's moving to him at the sound of her name. At least it seems that way. He knows better than to hope, but he does it anyway. So, when she licks the blood of her own hand, he's got enough hope for it to die all over again, his expression twisting in misery. He looks away from her.]
It doesn't stop... I can't...
[But you could, says a voice. You could feed her.
His eyes flick back up, looking at the vacancy of her. It would be a waste. It would be all his efforts to stay sane thrown away for a creature that is never, ever waking up. But... he could try, couldn't he? Would it really hurt to try...?]
[There's no reason to blink, so maybe it's her body making the most of the time before rigor mortis takes hold of Ryder Morris for a while. ...Whoever that is. Regardless, something blinks slowly at Teo and gives another, softer croak. Her head lifts a little to something more normal, the reverse of a dog's iconic tilt. She probably doesn't understand the question.
Still, she watches him. She doesn't move off to another meandering path, or stumble forward into him without paying him any mind. He, too, is a something of some kind. Something is content in this gentle curiosity she's found.]
[She's listening. Maybe she doesn't understand him, but she's listening. He stares at her in awe. If his heart beat at all, it would race. It's more than he's ever gotten.
He didn't actually expect an answer so it doesn't matter so much that she offers none. This is more than enough.]
Come with me... we're going... to the edge of... the city...
[It's a long walk ahead. He listens close for her following shuffling steps.]
[He’s moving again, and though she has to take a second to wind herself back up, she starts to follow unsteadily. Come back here, something thinks with the mildest of irritation, but doesn’t even bother trying to rasp, and the next second the thought is going. Just more puttering behind, the goal of catching up to him flickering in and out of mind. Now and again, the fog in her head gets the better of her and she stops to look off, distracted by a flutter or creak. Something wonders about investigating, absently sucking on the stumps where fingers used to be, before dismissing it as nothing and searching about for something else to — oh. There he is again. Pitter-patter go her footfalls as she stumbles to catch up. It’s a hopeless task, with him in the lead and having a clear goal in mind, but she doesn’t feel the urgency of needing to. It’s not like he’s prey, just… Hm. She’s not sure. Maybe she can find out, if she keeps this up. It’s not as if something isn’t wealthy with time and energy.
The noises and smells, uninteresting as they are, change a little, and she tips her head up like that might help her understand what happened to the blocky smears that didn’t matter. It nearly makes her trip, but something catches herself and hurriedly stumbles to be near Teo again.]
[She still follows. She's still following! He sees her in his glances back, hears her steps. Even if at times she starts to drift, she's back to him in moments. He wants to laugh. He wants to shout to the sky. Someone else is awake! Or, if not waking, then not completely lost! He's not alone.
Was it because of him? Was it because they were close, touching even? Or was it completely chance? He doesn't know. He can think about it later. For now, he's coming up on some overgrowth, what, at one point, would've been trimmed back or even fully pavement, now being reclaimed by nature's more persistent parts. A little deeper and he begins to detect the other sorts of like that have made it home.]
I'm going... to hunt for us... It's small... won't fix... the hunger... but it helps... it helps...
[When he hunted, when the blood spilled, for a few seconds he'd lose himself. His only existence would be the food, trying to devour it, waking to ruins and a hunger unsated, the pain and sorrow and frustration that could bring... but ultimately, it did help. His mind felt clearer. Maybe hers would too. Hopefully, he could control himself enough to let he eat first, if not alone.
He hears a noise and goes still. He holds a hand out behind him, hoping she'll stop too. Then he pulls out his bow and sets an arrow into it. He draws the string tight.
A breath passes. Several. Then again, the rustling. Out hops a rabbit, nearly invisible amongst the brush. He looses his arrow.]
[She bumps against something she isn't expecting, and though she doesn't have the capacity to fully comprehend just what's blocking her way, something looks down to see. It follows back to the one she'd been following, and he's moving it again. When she reaches for it, there's the very dim realization that it was his arm. Why had he done that? Being stumped by all this is what keeps her from going forward, not any actual compliance, and slowly she's moving to grab at him in some sort of petty, bumbling payback when there's a very fast thing going by and making her whip her head forward again.
There's a smell, now. It's not right, it's not what she needs, but it's far better than what she has. Something rushes inside herself, pushing some other, meeker something down in the process. All she feels is that fierce, fierce hunger. Following her nose, it isn't hard to find the rabbit that she wouldn't have paid much attention to otherwise, it's impact too small and soft to pique her interest. Now that it isn't moving, she sees it so clearly. She feels it, and she feels a snarl rip up through her sore throat as she launches herself at it so she can feel the soothing warmth it was trying to waste on the ground.
It's strange. There's something... She thinks this isn't the first time she's held a rabbit so closely, maybe. Familiar, but twisted and too far away to make out, especially in this haze demanding she d̷͏̷̳̹̼̻͎̞̹̬̺̪̼e̷̡̧͓̞͓̦̱̳̻̥͎͇̭̩͇̕v͏҉̻̦̠̟͜͝o̶̷̧̺̪̙͎͙͔̕u̵̵̧̝̝͍̭̼̞̟̭̲̘̯͎̩̣͝r̨̢̧̛̦͓̻̬͙̭̖̮̘̩̗̹͍͇̖̭̦̺̯͞.]
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storywalks) wrote2022-02-14 11:30 am
no subject
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.]
no subject
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...?
no subject
...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.
no subject
[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...
no subject
...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.
no subject
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...
no subject
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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
Easy... Take it slow...
[The way he can't do anything but take it slow these days.]
Wouldn't say no... to spaghetti... [Assuming that ghost-land won't keep him like this.] But I've dreamt... of soups... warm... spiced... full of vegetables... and meats...
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Ha. The zombie had thought she was soup. Maybe that's all it was. They all just wanted soup, spaghetti, steak, and salad. All the S's. Her eyelids flicker.]
Try t' r'member...
[Soup. Soup, soup, soup. Order afterlife soup for Teo. Chicken Soup for the Post-Apocalyptic Soul. It would hurt too much to laugh at her own joke, but it would hurt too much to cough, too. She settles for panting, which is more like a wheeze at times, and even that's painful.]
Don't wanna -- [Hurt. Forget. Be sick. Cry. Die. Leave. She doesn't want to.]
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But it hurts, watching this, knowing how it feels, the helplessness, and then to talk of remembering. His breath shudders but he doubts she'll notice.
He shuffles closer. He moves so he can draw her in, bring her to lean against him. Maybe the coolness of him will help her fever, but he doubts that. What he can do is shift his grip, swap hands out so he can bring the other up to stroke her hair and smooth it back.]
I know... I know...
[He knows so much more than he can tell her.]
But you're gonna... find your mom... you'll find her... hug her tight...
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[She protests his hold weakly -- just a little, just enough that she can try to look around for her mother. It's been forever since she got to see her. If she tries too hard, she's going to writhe out of her skin. As much as Ryder wonders if that would help free her from this burning, it sounds even more painful than what she's already dealing with, so she slumps into his cradling arm like a tired child. She cant stop trembling... At least someone is there to take care of her. Maybe -- maybe she'd get better. Maybe she'd recover, and she wouldn't have to die. Maybe her mom's okay, too, and they could find each other in this life. There's a heat in her mouth she thinks is sauce for a moment, but when she realizes that she's curled forward and gagging on something that's not there anymore, what remains of her brain suggests that it was vomit. When did that happen? Ryder coughs and, weakly flailing her mangled hand at her mouth in an attempt to wipe it clean, seeks out that soothing blob from a minute ago. Was it a minute? Was it even a second? Has she been here a year? Will it ever end?]
Tehh... Hgkh -- [The strings of dribble on her lips are the only thing wetting them as she moves them, trying to make words. Several other parts of her are wet for various disgusting reasons, but they're far away now, veins stretched and sliced open so they were easier to set fire to. She feels it so much, but she's drifting anyway. It's like she's...above her eyeballs? That feels right, whatever that means.] He-help...
[Her stomach is empty, her lungs are getting there, and her self...? Her arms search blindly for that last one before remembering they're already touching something. Something important that she needs and she's grateful for, as she's burning in hell like too many stupid fucking people said she would. They didn't matter. Fight to cling to what did, and that's--]
Hhh... Teo? Stuh...here?
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Not yet... not yet...
[She slumps and he's back to holding her, smoothing her hair. He realizes, in a twisted sense, that others would've wished to be in his shoes. Not for every part, but to hold those they cared about it, ease them through this, without worrying they'll be consumed in the aftermath. He bets Ryder's Mom would choose to be here, even for that, because that's what moms do, isn't it? Even for the awful, painful, disgusting parts. Ryder deserves to have her mom here, not some stranger.
He's impressed she can still speak. But at the same time, she's barely here.]
Still here... You're safe...
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She slurs something else, a sss that turns into a shhh, and then a gurgled growl. She can't bring herself to move, but her body still moves for her at times, jerking her head to the shoulder that twitches up to meet it. She can't see him, with her eyes rolled back...but he's still here. And if she can tell he's still there, then she's still there, and he's telling her she's safe. Compared to everyone else, maybe she is... All the danger out there already got her. And he's... He's going to be going through this without her. He doesn't have a cool set of fingers to brush through his hair or a gentle voice to lure out the last bits of his humanity. She's sorry for that.]
Aouuh... Hhhrzh...
[Something. Get close to that. It moves, it makes sounds, it needs attention. Ryder buries herself, unintelligible gargling in her throat as another bout of bile rises, but can't make it out. She needs attention. She's fading. Someone, god, fucking anyone help... Here's someone. Here's...someone. She tries to hold that tight to herself, even if her body can't, to the end.]
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Every effort to expell his pain or ease it only caused more, right down to his hunger. It'd been terrible, agonizing, and he'd questioned every day if it was really worth it, if he could really make any of this worth it. It would be for no one else's sake. No one wanted him, at least not as he is. If he was going to live, for a given definition, he had to want to. He had to find a reason to want to, even if, at first, the reason was just fearing that he'd suffered and died for nothing.]
It's almost done... You'll see her...
[He keeps holding her. He doesn't know what else to do.]
I'm sorry... I'm sorry it hurts... that I... can't save you... I don't know... how it works... I'm sorry... I hope... you can rest... I hope...
because why not, that's why
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There's a moment of stillness and in that moment he unravels from her. It feels wrong. It feels like abandoning. But this is the time to move. He needs to clean himself as best he can, both of her and the black ink that's welled in his eyes, now that he's not bothering to fight it back or hide it behind goggles. It's night and the living won't move in the dark, for the most part. They know his kind can find them that much easier.
He should still be thinking about whether she was with anyone else. Travelling alone didn't lend to survival for very long, no matter what some thought. He should be considering the risks of finding others, but he can't, he doesn't, his thoughts are on her, on himself, on all the dead around him who suffered alone. His head is heavy with it, thoughts crammed like cotton stuffing and in doing so subversing themselves by hardly letting him think clear at all.
He's stumbling along and he is being sloppy. He notices the scuffling footfalls far too late, specifically that the noise has followed him and not wandered away as other undead would. He turns and his first stupid thought is that this is hardly fair. He helps a girl pass and so she haunts him? His slightly less stupid realization is that she followed him.
His brow furrows. He stares at the shell of a girl.]
... Ryder...?
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There are other things that move and make noise, but not many, and not in the same way. It helps to clear the wandering smoke all those words became and the insistent clawing inside, but something's starting to doubt its path -- what path? Why? -- when his voice draws her to him again. It's a call out to her, even if it isn't someone calling her, and something diligently does her best to pitter-patter forth and close the distance. Her head and eyes are lolled, and her jaw hangs open, unnecessary until it came time to eat. When she's closer, she slows, one foot at an awkward, dragged angle, and blankly watches him a second before lifting her hand and sweeping her tongue along the long-dried, long-soured blood coloring the back as if she were a cat. Unsatisfied, something rasps out an attempted whine, vocal chords a dry, discordant violin.
He couldn't sate anything's hunger, let alone hers, but something feels it like a single drop of rain from the sky you'd question was there at all. He could help, and he could keep her safe. Which...somehow felt important? She's not sure why it would be, but it is. Pitter-patter. More rain that didn't happen.]
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She's moving to him at the sound of her name. At least it seems that way. He knows better than to hope, but he does it anyway. So, when she licks the blood of her own hand, he's got enough hope for it to die all over again, his expression twisting in misery. He looks away from her.]
It doesn't stop... I can't...
[But you could, says a voice. You could feed her.
His eyes flick back up, looking at the vacancy of her. It would be a waste. It would be all his efforts to stay sane thrown away for a creature that is never, ever waking up. But... he could try, couldn't he? Would it really hurt to try...?]
Have you... ever hunted...?
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Still, she watches him. She doesn't move off to another meandering path, or stumble forward into him without paying him any mind. He, too, is a something of some kind. Something is content in this gentle curiosity she's found.]
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He didn't actually expect an answer so it doesn't matter so much that she offers none. This is more than enough.]
Come with me... we're going... to the edge of... the city...
[It's a long walk ahead. He listens close for her following shuffling steps.]
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The noises and smells, uninteresting as they are, change a little, and she tips her head up like that might help her understand what happened to the blocky smears that didn’t matter. It nearly makes her trip, but something catches herself and hurriedly stumbles to be near Teo again.]
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Was it because of him? Was it because they were close, touching even? Or was it completely chance? He doesn't know. He can think about it later. For now, he's coming up on some overgrowth, what, at one point, would've been trimmed back or even fully pavement, now being reclaimed by nature's more persistent parts. A little deeper and he begins to detect the other sorts of like that have made it home.]
I'm going... to hunt for us... It's small... won't fix... the hunger... but it helps... it helps...
[When he hunted, when the blood spilled, for a few seconds he'd lose himself. His only existence would be the food, trying to devour it, waking to ruins and a hunger unsated, the pain and sorrow and frustration that could bring... but ultimately, it did help. His mind felt clearer. Maybe hers would too. Hopefully, he could control himself enough to let he eat first, if not alone.
He hears a noise and goes still. He holds a hand out behind him, hoping she'll stop too. Then he pulls out his bow and sets an arrow into it. He draws the string tight.
A breath passes. Several. Then again, the rustling. Out hops a rabbit, nearly invisible amongst the brush. He looses his arrow.]
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There's a smell, now. It's not right, it's not what she needs, but it's far better than what she has. Something rushes inside herself, pushing some other, meeker something down in the process. All she feels is that fierce, fierce hunger. Following her nose, it isn't hard to find the rabbit that she wouldn't have paid much attention to otherwise, it's impact too small and soft to pique her interest. Now that it isn't moving, she sees it so clearly. She feels it, and she feels a snarl rip up through her sore throat as she launches herself at it so she can feel the soothing warmth it was trying to waste on the ground.
It's strange. There's something... She thinks this isn't the first time she's held a rabbit so closely, maybe. Familiar, but twisted and too far away to make out, especially in this haze demanding she d̷͏̷̳̹̼̻͎̞̹̬̺̪̼e̷̡̧͓̞͓̦̱̳̻̥͎͇̭̩͇̕v͏҉̻̦̠̟͜͝o̶̷̧̺̪̙͎͙͔̕u̵̵̧̝̝͍̭̼̞̟̭̲̘̯͎̩̣͝r̨̢̧̛̦͓̻̬͙̭̖̮̘̩̗̹͍͇̖̭̦̺̯͞.]
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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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