[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.]
[She races forward. He has only the time to yank down his gaiter and toss his bow to the side, before he, too, is rushing forward, dropping to his knees, scraping at the remains of rabbit that he can take from her. His thoughts of feeding her, of leaving this to her, of telling himself that he hunted recently, all of it is forgotten in the tidal rush of that hunger.
It's over too soon. There isn't anything recognizable left between the two of them. It's not enough. It's never enough and he moans, folding for a moment over his knees to quell the shivering.
Rationality takes its sweet time to work back to him. He's fed her. It might help. He can't expect it to miraculously cure her. It'll take work. He has to... he has to help her. Bit by bit, he has to help her rebuild himself like he rebuilt himself. He looks up to see her, to really look at her.]
... Wash... need to... be clean... Need to... disguise you... keep you safe...
[A hoodie. He'd find a river or something, rinse her off of the worst of it. He'd leave her her dignity, let her air dry, then put a hoodie over her like himself. He doesn't need to cover her face. He could get her a pair of goggles however, for the sun...]
[If she had just a little less focus, she'd snap at him like a dog protecting what she's decided is hers. She doesn't think to until there's nothing left to even fight with him over, and the growl dies in her throat. Even what's still on his face -- it's not the same. It won't be warm enough to fool that craving for living for even a moment. Something doesn't bother to go for it, or for chewing at her bloody lip with any more gusto than when someone else lived here. Something goes relatively docile again instead, allowing that moment for them to mourn, and then stares at him when it passes. He's talk to her again, isn't he? It worked out nicely for her before. She should keep doing that.
She goes back to trying to lick her hands clean as they walk, though the fresh blood has made it so that any time her tongue touches on her torn flesh, she garbles something unintelligible but clearly frustrated. Gross! Bad. She hates it. She needs more of that other stuff.
...Except eventually she's distracted again by something moving on the ground and reaches out to it. Something's hand breaks the surface of the river in trying to grab it. When it comes back empty, she tries again -- and twice more before deciding to keep her hand in the water and swish it around, searching for anything.]
Kkh...
[It's colder than her. Weird. She wanted this...recently, right? Something lets both arms hang down into the water and wonders what that shadowy shape staying on the surface is.]
[It's a bit of a trek, but she sticks with him, even as he shakes his head, laughs faintly, and tells her the dead taste wrong. Over crumbled pavement and new growth, into trees reaching higher and past old human wreckage they go. They reach a slow-going stream, one he's not all sure existed before but certainly does now. The water is far from pure but it's clean enough for them and it still glistens in the creeping dawn.
She winds up meandering past him, like a toddler, fascinated by a new and shiny thing. It's the first time he's ever thought of one of the other dead as endearing. She doesn't hesitate to wander right into the water. She plays, though he doubts it's fully her intention so much as sensation being new and unusual.
He takes the time to kick off his boots and roll up his pants. She won't care about being soaked, but he would prefer his own boots not to be soggy. He wanders in after her, feeling cold, feeling mud. He comes to her side to tilt his head and try and see what she's looking at. He works out well enough.]
It's you... That's you... [A pause.] But... a new you...
[She doesn't feel or understand enough to frown at her reflection when it's explained, even if dimly she wonders about it. They were words she knew but couldn't understand. Somewhere along the way, it all became nonsense, the same way this thing she's looking at has become nonsense, and buried underneath a heap of metaphorical dirt is the feeling that she should be frustrated by all this. The dirt is too cold and too damp to fight against much.
Something decides that she's better off letting all that stay buried for now and moves to crouch in the water instead of staying bent over it. Her gaze moves off the something that had looked back at her from the water, looking out to wait for something to catch her attention again. Food, preferably. It's a good spot, clearly, or Teo wouldn't have brought her here. She could leap out from here as soon as prey crossed her path.]
[He's glad she doesn't grasp this. The first time he'd comprehended his reflection he'd been a wreck. When she comes back, if she ever does, she'll have to come to terms with what she's become. He dreads that moment. He still hopes they reach it.
She settles into the water. He decides he'll just deal with wet jeans and he settles down too. The water is cold but otherwise gentle. He cups the water and lifts it to her head, dribbling it down her, then wiping at her face with his hands. He smiles faintly.]
I bet... with enough... time and care... you could look... still alive...
[He does strange things sometimes. Even with as little time as something has been with him, she thinks, it's clear he isn't like everything else. He's interesting. He manages it without being something to eat. There's a strange sensation on her head, then he reaches for her and she moves her blank gaze, pupils dilated wide after she came into being, onto him instead of the space around them. She lets him work, unable to think of a reason not to. He's making noises again... Something opens her mouth to groan out a rattled breath in return.
She looked alive, and was more alive than most of her kind, maybe, but it really isn't fair that he didn't have the same luxury he hopes for her. Still, it wouldn't be long before she lost the rest of her color, had her veins spiderweb darkly under her skin, and had her eyes cloud over. Her missing fingers would always be blackened, ragged stumps. Even if they make her pass more easily than he can, they'll never be the same as the people they once were.
Something brings her hands up, dripping orange from blood passively rinsed off in the water, and tries to mimic the way he reached above her. They don't hold any water or the intent to clean. When she lowers them, it's to messily try and touch his covered face. She's doing it.]
[He's never seen another undead with a gaze so direct. Not outside of nightmarish flickers of being hunted himself. He nearly shivers, but out of some stupid sense of not wanting to upset her, he manages to suppress it.
The groan he doesn't mind. It almost seems like a response and, like that, it makes him smile.]
That's right...
[He watches her as she moves, stilling himself so as not to interfere. He notes her dripping hand and thinks he should probably try and clean that as best he can too. And then she's touching him. Another shiver tries to work through him and this time he can't stop it. Some distant human part of him, lost in the past still, begs, please no. But he's not that person and she's not going to hurt him. At least, not with intention. More importantly, she's doing something that other undead don't do. She's trying to mirror him.
He grips his gaiter and draws it down so she can explore. The googles, too, go up. He knows she's not actually thinking of cleanliness in all this or succeeding for that matter, but it seems like the thing to do, to let her make these little attempts, the way children once played at future lives. In much the same way, he reaches out and pats her head for the effort.]
[She doesn't know what she's doing, and yet she's still encouraged by seeing more of him. It's not a reward for doing a good job, or anything -- he's not food -- but there's more face to touch, now. She is, in fact, doing whatever "it" is correctly. Her little pats are gentle, but limp and cold. When his lips move -- something she hadn't seen before, for some...reason that something can't pinpoint right now -- her eyes and fingers drift down to rest on them. It makes her realize that her own mouth hangs loosely. Something closes it, rumbles a growl, and then struggles to replicate the different shapes. It feels impossible. Some are a little like chewing, and that's great! She knows how to do that. Other ones...
Something narrows her eyes in concentration that she doesn't understand the significance of. There's a hunger in her, comparatively quiet, for something Teo did a second ago. Something doesn't remember being soothed by gentle strokes of his hand -- that wasn't her, so there's nothing to remember -- but she finds it comforting all the same. She wants more of it. If she can do this right, she might get more.]
Hhhh... [Come on. Do it.] Huhh. Puh.
[That was a tough one. Even if exhaustion has no meaning, something feels taxed by the attempt enough that she lets her efforts focus only on that, which makes her hands drop and splash messily in the water. What possible reason did anything, let alone something, have to make that sound? There must be one. What the fuck could it be?]
[It's not yet been a full-blown hope within him. He's glad for that for even these little tugs feel overwhelmingly huge. She's mirroring him again, but this time, trying to speak. He watches with baited breath, not truly knowing what he'll do if she manages. What will mean for him and her and all of them if she pulls it off...?
The splash rouses him and he laughs sheepishly at himself. Focus on the now, Teo.]
Good job... Talking is...really hard... It took me... ages to... pull it off... even after... I was waking up...
[Of course, she doesn't have a whole in her face or tears at her throat, not to mention only turned recently. She may still got that muscle memory in there, somewhere. Nevertheless, it'll help to let her hear words more often, so she can make sense of them, the way he listened in on survivors.]
[Woof, that's a lot, and he hasn't made it worth it, this time. It doesn't feel right to call it a snarl when her face is largely blank, but the sound she makes is definitely something unpleasant and animal. Something crawls a step in his direction and bows her head. The missing woman looks more like a machine giving one last burst of energy before wheezing to a halt and shutting down.
She wants. She's hungry. Without prey to catch in sight or knowing how to fill that other void inside, there's no reason to do much more than chew on her hand again, hoping something changes to satisfy these feelings. The way she keeps going back to it despite the way it obviously tastes terrible, it might be another echo of the person she was before. With her uninjured hand, she claws and clasps at the mud in the water, loosening little pebbles just to ignore them.]
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storywalks) wrote2022-02-14 11:30 am
no subject
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.]
no subject
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...
no subject
[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?
no subject
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...
no subject
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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It's over too soon. There isn't anything recognizable left between the two of them. It's not enough. It's never enough and he moans, folding for a moment over his knees to quell the shivering.
Rationality takes its sweet time to work back to him. He's fed her. It might help. He can't expect it to miraculously cure her. It'll take work. He has to... he has to help her. Bit by bit, he has to help her rebuild himself like he rebuilt himself. He looks up to see her, to really look at her.]
... Wash... need to... be clean... Need to... disguise you... keep you safe...
[A hoodie. He'd find a river or something, rinse her off of the worst of it. He'd leave her her dignity, let her air dry, then put a hoodie over her like himself. He doesn't need to cover her face. He could get her a pair of goggles however, for the sun...]
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She goes back to trying to lick her hands clean as they walk, though the fresh blood has made it so that any time her tongue touches on her torn flesh, she garbles something unintelligible but clearly frustrated. Gross! Bad. She hates it. She needs more of that other stuff.
...Except eventually she's distracted again by something moving on the ground and reaches out to it. Something's hand breaks the surface of the river in trying to grab it. When it comes back empty, she tries again -- and twice more before deciding to keep her hand in the water and swish it around, searching for anything.]
Kkh...
[It's colder than her. Weird. She wanted this...recently, right? Something lets both arms hang down into the water and wonders what that shadowy shape staying on the surface is.]
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She winds up meandering past him, like a toddler, fascinated by a new and shiny thing. It's the first time he's ever thought of one of the other dead as endearing. She doesn't hesitate to wander right into the water. She plays, though he doubts it's fully her intention so much as sensation being new and unusual.
He takes the time to kick off his boots and roll up his pants. She won't care about being soaked, but he would prefer his own boots not to be soggy. He wanders in after her, feeling cold, feeling mud. He comes to her side to tilt his head and try and see what she's looking at. He works out well enough.]
It's you... That's you... [A pause.] But... a new you...
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Something decides that she's better off letting all that stay buried for now and moves to crouch in the water instead of staying bent over it. Her gaze moves off the something that had looked back at her from the water, looking out to wait for something to catch her attention again. Food, preferably. It's a good spot, clearly, or Teo wouldn't have brought her here. She could leap out from here as soon as prey crossed her path.]
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She settles into the water. He decides he'll just deal with wet jeans and he settles down too. The water is cold but otherwise gentle. He cups the water and lifts it to her head, dribbling it down her, then wiping at her face with his hands. He smiles faintly.]
I bet... with enough... time and care... you could look... still alive...
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She looked alive, and was more alive than most of her kind, maybe, but it really isn't fair that he didn't have the same luxury he hopes for her. Still, it wouldn't be long before she lost the rest of her color, had her veins spiderweb darkly under her skin, and had her eyes cloud over. Her missing fingers would always be blackened, ragged stumps. Even if they make her pass more easily than he can, they'll never be the same as the people they once were.
Something brings her hands up, dripping orange from blood passively rinsed off in the water, and tries to mimic the way he reached above her. They don't hold any water or the intent to clean. When she lowers them, it's to messily try and touch his covered face. She's doing it.]
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The groan he doesn't mind. It almost seems like a response and, like that, it makes him smile.]
That's right...
[He watches her as she moves, stilling himself so as not to interfere. He notes her dripping hand and thinks he should probably try and clean that as best he can too. And then she's touching him. Another shiver tries to work through him and this time he can't stop it. Some distant human part of him, lost in the past still, begs, please no. But he's not that person and she's not going to hurt him. At least, not with intention. More importantly, she's doing something that other undead don't do. She's trying to mirror him.
He grips his gaiter and draws it down so she can explore. The googles, too, go up. He knows she's not actually thinking of cleanliness in all this or succeeding for that matter, but it seems like the thing to do, to let her make these little attempts, the way children once played at future lives. In much the same way, he reaches out and pats her head for the effort.]
I hope... you're in there...
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Something narrows her eyes in concentration that she doesn't understand the significance of. There's a hunger in her, comparatively quiet, for something Teo did a second ago. Something doesn't remember being soothed by gentle strokes of his hand -- that wasn't her, so there's nothing to remember -- but she finds it comforting all the same. She wants more of it. If she can do this right, she might get more.]
Hhhh... [Come on. Do it.] Huhh. Puh.
[That was a tough one. Even if exhaustion has no meaning, something feels taxed by the attempt enough that she lets her efforts focus only on that, which makes her hands drop and splash messily in the water. What possible reason did anything, let alone something, have to make that sound? There must be one. What the fuck could it be?]
Uhhhp.
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The splash rouses him and he laughs sheepishly at himself. Focus on the now, Teo.]
Good job... Talking is...really hard... It took me... ages to... pull it off... even after... I was waking up...
[Of course, she doesn't have a whole in her face or tears at her throat, not to mention only turned recently. She may still got that muscle memory in there, somewhere. Nevertheless, it'll help to let her hear words more often, so she can make sense of them, the way he listened in on survivors.]
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She wants. She's hungry. Without prey to catch in sight or knowing how to fill that other void inside, there's no reason to do much more than chew on her hand again, hoping something changes to satisfy these feelings. The way she keeps going back to it despite the way it obviously tastes terrible, it might be another echo of the person she was before. With her uninjured hand, she claws and clasps at the mud in the water, loosening little pebbles just to ignore them.]
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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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