[She goes beat red. He can see the flush, the blood that should make him want to snap his jaws and do unto her what was done unto him. Should. And yet, doesn't. He doesn't feel anything with her. But she's clearly here, clearly solid. She's speaking and she has a scent, just not one that makes his hunger gnaw.
He doesn't understand anything that's happening right now. Her stammered response doesn't help in the slightest.]
... yes...? Are you...?
[Well, that question isn't any less stupid coming from him, turns out. She apologizes and he doesn't really know why. With the dog gone away, he just stares at her, disbelieving. She's not even afraid of him. Or rather, not in the mortal danger sort of way.]
How are you... doing this...? Is it... a trick...?
[...Oh. Oh no. He saw her. He could have been following her for -- for however long, and she wouldn't have a clue because she never paid attention anymore, too tired and sure of herself. Ryder swallows hard, hands trembling with the desire for something to do. Why did she leave her gun behind? What was she supposed to do if this very fast, willing-to-fight-a-dog badass decided she needs to be experimented on, or something?]
Um.
[It didn't help that she doesn't have an answer for him. A trick? Maybe. But she's not in on it.]
I'm nnnot...doing anyth-thing.
[How is it that now her heart is hammering away? It brings a whole different kind of lightheadedness than her breathless staredown had given her. Weakly, Ryder raises her hands to show her palms, a half-assed surrender since she doesn't have any better defense. If she couldn't enlist the undead to help get rid of a dog for her, how was she supposed to let herself do it for a person?
(And how was she supposed to feel about the moment she'd weighed the possibility and felt more compassion for the animal that would have eaten her face?)]
You -- following me? You know I h-haven't done sh-shit. Jus' -- scan-scanveg -- fuck. Sca-ven-ging.
[She's faltering a lot more now than she was when she seemed to be talking to herself. Because he's an undead? Even that is too muted a reaction. None of this is making sense. Still, he's not ready to back down.
At least until she calls him out.
His shoulders hike. He shakes his head, meaning to protest that he's following for any nefarious reason, but realizing that's not exactly what will come through.]
I... was but... not for anything... like that...
[Does she... not know? He literally growled in front of her. Unless she thinks he faked it. Should he let her think he faked it? He shakes his head. He's getting sidetracked.]
You're doing... something to... deter the dead...!
[There's a pause while she looks the man over again, trying to pick out how he would most likely attack her, if it came to that. The bow was unrealistic -- even in a cinematic scenario where he came from behind and used the grip part of it to choke her out, or something. He was far more likely to pull out something like a switchblade or gun hidden somewhere in his raggedy ensemble, or even go straight for hand to hand combat, with his agility. Fuck, she's so fucking stupid. Her gaze flicks down to the floor as she steels herself for another astoundingly stupid idea, then back up at him. Her jaw is set and defiant despite the tremor obvious in her tightly balled up hands.]
They don't -- stay, you know? If you -- if you aren't torn t-to. Pieces.
[Yes, this would be one of the stupidest plays Ryder could make. That's why she's trying really, really hard to be someone else. This woman doesn't have an uneven, shaggy mess from an outgrown side shave and awkward hacks with scissors now and again when she caught sight of herself and couldn't stand looking at it anymore. She'd always had longer hair, usually pulled back in a ponytail, and the scowl on her face wasn't from being a generally unpleasant bitch, but because she used to wear glasses, and they broke, and now parts of the world were fuzzy blobs. She didn't have to see the faces of the dead so clearly...and she knows that soon she'll be just another one in the crowd. Jessica, she thinks. Jessie and James always were her favorite Pokémon characters on the show.
If only Jessica's knowledge wasn't coming from Ryder's dumbass brain. At least she stutters a little less.]
Something changes. You're no good -- anymore, once you're already bit. Just -- tag, you're it. One of them-m. S'you wanna be like m-me, or you wanna lea'me th'fuck -- alone?
[His breath draws sharp. It doesn't matter that she's looking at him with an expression of molton hate. She may as well have offered a rope out in the middle of a raging sea. It's too early to think it's salvation but it sure the hell looks like hope.
She was bit. She was bit, like he was bit.
He's not alone.]
Oh...
[It's such a faint noise, so at odds with the competing urges to laugh or cry.
He lifts his arm. He pushes up the sleeve of the hoodie, and with it the stripey mess that used to be a shirt. He bites back a hiss as it passes over the wound. Then, it's there, all revealed for her to see.
Out of his arm, an entire chunk is missing. It's a clotted mess, black spider veins shooting off from the crater that goes down to the bone. It's one of those things that wound up being too painful, too terrifying, to forget the way he did the rest of his life. But right now, his gaze, his mind, it's all fixed on her.]
[She's the one that feels like a strung out dog, now, tense and retrying as hard as possible to put out the vibe that she will rip this man limb from limb if he so much as steps towards her. He doesn't, but what he does do isn't making any of the internal screaming and cars crashing quiet down. Shit's on fire now. Absolute pandemonium. Can't fathom what the fuck is happening through the smoke, flames, and anguish. What is he doing? Why is this his response? Is his arm going to turn into a gun?
Oh. Oh... It may as well have. It's even more deadly, actually -- total kill rate. Until now, she supposes grimly.
...She doesn't have anything like that to show off, though some sick part of her wishes that she did. At least she'd have an answer, then. Someone who understood her, too. Instead, she's standing here silently like an asshole that just got caught swapping out a bunch of paternity test results or something insane like that. He's the real deal... She doesn't have to get a closer look or touch the necrotic wound to be sure, regardless of yet another one of her fucked up desires. It looked horrific. Painful. Ryder's seen the consequences of it before, and she's sure plenty undead in the city have similar parts of themselves that have gone missing to become a story instead.]
You're...
[...better than a survivor? Right? But he still perceived her, which is almost excruciating. What's up with that? Shouldn't he ignore her like everyone else? Hey, why is his brain not a puddle of sludge that got melted from fever? Things that would be rude to ask, not that she's having an easy time getting control over her words right now anyway.]
...not -- going to kill me.
[She needed a fact to get her thoughts aligned again. It only helps so much -- not even getting into how it was more a hope than a fact. If he didn't want to kill her before, he might now. Pulling the next mumble out is like pulling teeth, it's roots stuck deep so if nothing else, you'd get regret out of the exchange.]
...Didn't s-say.
[She never really said that. He took his own meaning from her words... It just happened to be the same exact bait she'd hooked.]
[He starts to tug his sleeve back down. She's seen what she needs to and now it's time for him to hide again, only mostly a means to keep him safe, but still an impulse he latches on to from time to time.
She asks if he's going to kill her. He answers--]
No...
[--And he marvels at the fact that it's the truth. He doesn't even have to worry he'll slip up. He's not going to kill her.
His head tilts.]
Didn't say...? Oh... no... I can see it... you must be... immune...? Completely immune... not all the same... but still... still...
[Ryder need not fear for he's not all bright.]
Is it just... the dead not... noticing...? No other... changes...?
[Immune. She's thought it before but never thought it, like a real, serious thought to have. It was something for a grand story or an epic tragedy, and -- well, no. Ryder can't say she isn't living an epic tragedy. Everyone is living an epic tragedy. Especially this guy. Like, yeesh. Point is, though, that she doesn't know nearly enough about the way actual science or medicine works, so she can't say if it counts. Had it ever gotten into her system...?
Her lips sting to bring attention to the fact that she's chewing into them, not a care for how they were sure to split. It was an old habit that had only gotten worse as the apocalypse ate up the world, and now the stress of that is compounded by the old stress of not knowing how to talk to people. Ryder wrinkles her nose in lieu of kicking herself, as would be deserved. How...does she answer this man satisfactorily without saying a word? She tries, for a moment, to beam the information over to him, but her focus is all off. That's the only reason why it doesn't work, yeah.]
...Um.
[Her voice cracks a little, meek now that she's lost both her freedom and the illusion of character. Actually, why is she trying to come up with an answer? She should be screaming or something. Is she just tired? Or maybe she's literally gone crazy. It's possible, Ryder muses, that the dog killed her after all, and she skipped the part with all the pain -- the physical pain, at least -- and went straight to the bleeding out delirium.
Then she remembers that she already checked if this was real life by biting herself -- insensitive of her, in retrospect -- and what has all this thinking been for? Certainly not to explain a damn thing. Fuck, nothing makes any sense.]
Mm.
[It's a vague noise that could be interpreted in any number of ways, but it's all she's got for the moment she looks him over again to try and decide if this would be easier if she just pretended he was like the other zombies around. Could she find her voice again then? Asking permission to do that is probably also rude...]
[He flinches at the sight of blood on her lip. It's so small, so faint, if he were still alive he wouldn't even notice. But it's just... there. It's still just there. Nothing drawing him.
Fascinated as he is, eventually it's clear to him that he's not going to get an answer. He's only barely got sounds from her. His hands go up.]
Sorry... sorry... I guess it's... a lot for you too...
[He takes just a step back, giving her a little more space. His hands draw in and his fingers wind together, sheepish.]
You don't have to... answer all.... at once... I just got... excited I guess... Sorry...
[He talks like her -- like, slow and fucked up. Neither of them seem to be particularly eloquent, though Ryder guesses that their respective reasons for that are pretty different. Still, it's something she's grateful for, and that feeling fizzles a little hotter, brighter when he reigns himself in. She can't exactly blame him for it. Were she in his shoes -- and not freakishly antisocial, of course -- she doesn't think she could have the same restraint. All the oceans of words in her head would come out wheeze after wheeze until he was taken under by the waves. He wouldn't be able to fight it.
It's a good thing that...what? She still had too many words, and they were always crashing around in there. Why did it feel different? Because she'd stopped fighting it...? There hadn't been anyone or anything to fight for. Now there's some weirdo that not only notices her, but seems eager to interact. Weird. Ryder spends another few seconds staring at him and waiting for his words to process through the deep.]
Huh? [She heard right, right?] You think...? [It doesn't take long for her to nod and mumble to herself,] That makes sense. Burned away.
[Of course they'd lose themselves, even in the best case scenario. It's a miracle this dude functions at all. She glances at his hands, and almost as if compelled by his efforts to hold himself back even in such a minor way, Ryder does the opposite. She reaches up to fidget with her bangs and shift her weight onto one foot, scratching the back of her leg with the other.]
Mm. ...R-Ryder. S'kay.
[As...okay as anything about this can be, anyway? Ummm.]
Looking -- um. Books. Lighters...
[A shiver goes down her spine at having said those words so close together. Unthinkable. Moving on with a tiny shake of her head at herself, she gestures with her unoccupied hand vaguely at the air.]
Um. ...Clothes.
[Weather! Seasons!]
I-I don't... I talk -- better when, um. ...That's a lie. I'm -- I'll try, though.
[Burned away, she says. It makes him feel a little ill, the potential permanence of it a heavy weight. But, he's not about to argue. Like it or not, it's the truth. He confirms it with a solemn nod.]
Ryder... cool.
[Cool name for a cool girl.
He nods over the list. It's pretty short, but not a completely unusual list. The one that sticks out is the wish for books. He wonders if that's more or less popular these days.]
S'okay... talking is... hard...
[She's spared a warped looking smile thanks to the gaiter.]
Saw a few... shops... a street over... Might not... be raided... Come with...?
[The flicker in her heart puffs its gently lit chest out, burning stronger like the compliment has fed its flame. Hell yeah. It is a cool name, even if she hasn't thought about that for a long time, now. The last time anyone cared, it was an offhand comment from a classmate about never having heard it before. She's dead now. Well... So's this guy. That's...not okay, but it is what it is.
And he understands her, too. Or...is joking. That's less of a good feeling, but not enough so that she wants to completely retreat within herself. Instead, she twists some hair around her index and gives a tiny nod. Ryder glances about the area, scuffs something aside with her foot to make sure there isn't anything vital behind it, then makes her way over to the blocked off door. She usually clears the path like this -- it let others sprint through freely and hinted to other survivors that it's already been picked over. Nothing worth hiding away with, here. Maybe it would let a couple zombies wonder in, too, but the odds... She thinks it puts them more in the favor of the living. It isn't like the undead would flinch at scraping themselves up by way of window, after all. They'd get in anyway, if they wanted.
The door creaks unhappily as she leans with it to find something small and easily maneuvered to prop it open.]
Um... Space. Few feet? [Would that be enough to make her feel secure enough around him? ...Not really. But asking for more than that was probably asking for trouble, one way or another. Ask for something else...] Did -- did y-you live -- [Oh. Wait. Ryder frowns at herself for her stupidity, mumbling a soft,] Sorry.
[If he knew he lived here, he'd probably be more sure about his name. She searches the sky for advice, finds herself abandoned by god yet again, and sighs her bangs away from her face. Alright. Pointing weakly in the opposite direction, Ryder looks over to Teo for confirmation. This way? Oh, she should also probably ask...]
[He watches as she clears the way in this small way. He's done it before, but only as an immediate action, helping out a survivor that was racing through. He never thought to just make a habit of it. He should have.
He nods his head, solemn. A few feet is more than fair. The fact she's letting him near at all is a gift.
His nodding stops as she cuts off her question. Did he live here? An ironic question. Or maybe a sad one. She apologizes, but he shakes his head.]
[Same as her, then. She moves her head to nod, but the motion is so small that she can't even tell if she really did it or if it was just an idea she had.]
Yeah.
[Clothes weren't something she really anticipated having trouble finding, so even if it was on her list, she doesn't seem to be overly thrilled. As she steps outside, the mix of emotions fall away and leave her face blank. Eyes dull. Here they are again. Same old hell, just...with company, this time. Extremely weird company.
Still... Some small part of her wonders if she should try a little harder with the clothes she found this time. Apparently there's someone that notices her in the world now, and while she'd like to reject the idea of dressing to impress on the grounds that it's fucking insane and stupid even when not in the apocalypse, Ryder can't help but to glance over at the man's ensemble. He...looked cool. Mostly a disguise, probably, since it kept the obviously busted parts of him out of sight, but still cool. Is it...okay? For her to find something she really likes? Is it okay to like things?
...Think about that later.]
Looking for what?
[It wasn't like he knew enough about himself to know what to look for... Maybe just people like him? Then it's his lucky day. Yippee.]
[The lighters are going to be harder to find. The working ones particularly. But it's his foolish mistake in assuming clothes would be a higher priority for her than books. Maybe he'll get it in time.
He notices the way she seems to lose her color, not paling per se, but almost fading in the light. He gives a glance around at the world and he supposes he can't blame her.
The question feels a little delayed. He takes his own time before answering.]
... Place I'm... meant to be... Have a letter... Making my way... bit by bit... But sometimes just... stopping places... that seem nice... or... where people... need help...
[Some sarcastic little worm of a thought says that they're all looking for the place they're meant to be, he isn't special. He's just a dumbass adult. Then he reminds her yet again that he's a much better person than she is because he actually stops to help people, instead of doing it her way where she sometimes did things for the vague concept of a person, shrugged, and hoped for the best without actually giving too much hope at all. He probably wasn't silently snarking away at someone he just met, either. Another point on the board for Mr. Teo Nolastname. Ryder tries to summon interest enough to ask for the letter -- Wow! Something to read! You fucking love that shit! -- before giving up on that. It would just be meant as a distraction away from his question, anyway.]
South. Um, going.
[She frowns, her eyebrows following suit, while she debates leaking more of her thoughts through. It's...hard to not want to talk, even if talking to a person is as unimaginable as it had been in life. Or -- whatever it was. She's still alive. Supposedly. The point is that almost everyone else is not (or at least it feels that way), and speaking had become a hell of a lot easier because of it. Ryder was too used to talking to herself, these days... She tries to erase his presence from her mind, which is extra difficult with her trying to give a better answer to the question he had asked.]
Mm... Mom. Might -- I-I dunno.
[Maybe it's genetic. Maybe she would still be alive, too. Maybe...she could even smile, still? Ryder's eyes sting.]
[He nods his head, a little slower then at her answer. It's a sad tale that's been told time and time again in the apocalypse. He can finish her sentence with ease.]
Might be okay... like you...
[Perhaps it could be a matter of genetics. Perhaps it could be a matter of phenomenal luck. He doesn't question it.]
Would you... mind company...? For some... of the way...?
[Even that feels like a lot to ask. He doesn't want to push it. But, he also doesn't want tears to fall from those watery eyes.]
[He finishes out her thought, and just like that, it's even harder to keep it together. Even when she was blathering on like an idiot to herself, she never dared to say that thought aloud, and this was fucking why. Son of a bitch.
Then he speaks again, and she realizes that despite the fact that he'd saved her life from Cujo, it wasn't until this rescue that she's actually felt grateful for him. He's made her much too stunned to cry, now.]
Huh?
[Normally, this would be where it all clicked and she barreled on with the answer she'd been prompted for, but maybe she really misheard it this time, or didn't process it correctly in the end? No, it was much too quiet around them to have that sort of thing happen, even if his voice was a rasp out of a nightmare. Whether he repeats himself or not, she isn't sure, too absorbed in actually thinking about the question, now. Why the heck would he want that?
Ah, right, humans were social creatures. Even dead ones were normal enough to be like that, apparently. Fucked up.]
...Nnnot...good company. Um...
[The thought is terrifying. She knows it shouldn't be. She knows that the biggest reason she's terrified definitely shouldn't be the idea that now there's someone to prove that she's real.]
I... O-okay.
[It wasn't going to be permanent. She didn't have to exist forever -- but she could remember, maybe, what it was like. Maybe she'd need it. Maybe that wish, of her mom holding her tight, can be real, too.
Ryder curls her arms around herself and quickly looks away, stumbling a little as she tries to pick up the pace like it will propel her out of her awkwardness.]
I h-hhhave s-some -- stuff. Already. Food, some m-medicine... Dunno what y-you nnneed, though.
[She hesitates. He can't blame her. Who would want to be followed around by one of those things? He thinks at first that she's offering a kind rejection, but then she says okay.]
Really...?
[It's impossible to not sound excited, even with his raspy voice. She's walking away pretty fast so he tries to pick up the pace too. He gives a shake of his head.]
I don't need... anything else... I'm still, um... pretty dead...
I hunt... [A longer pause.] Animals... not people...
[Her skin crawls a little at his words, but as fucked up as it is, she knows it's more to do with hearing someone make conversation than what it is he's saying. Plus he's looking forward to sticking with her? Again, fucked up, she says! Guys are supposed to ignore her, girls are supposed to laugh at her... They were all supposed to die. Guess if she's an anomaly, there's other kinds of anomalies in the world.
She slows again so she can once more look at him properly, obviously more than a little perplexed. Ryder wonders if there will ever be a time where he says something and it doesn't make her feel like she's come across a fallen tree in the road she has to figure out her way around.]
[Save her? Ryder frowns, instinct telling her that it was a ridiculous thing to focus on. The big danger in the world these days was little more than set dressing for her, so how couldn't she be the safest one already? How could she ever need saving? But he had, in fact, saved her -- from something that had once been so, so normal. She's internalizing her mortality at the same time she's considering his view that...is probably normal, too. Would she have felt this more strongly if she were having this conversation two years ago? Two and a half? Wait. Uhhh.
...Right, eating dogs. That's where they're at. It is sad. She wishes it would be sadder.]
Hnn.
[Still, the facts are stacked together in her mind like a clumsily picked at, long-lived jenga tower. It makes her feel too wobbly to think about for long.]
...Would y-yyyou? Um, like. Um. [How does she actually put these thoughts into words... This is why she doesn't talk to people. It's too much of a hassle to lay a track down for someone to follow where her brain was going, particularly since the destination wasn't exactly a great one to pass through.
As a shortcut to where she's trying to get him, Ryder raises her arm to display the dirty cuts that had stopped bleeding, pointing at them with her other hand.] ...People? N-not -- wanting. Obv-obviously.
[She moves past the dog thing with remarkable ease. She barely even makes a comment. But, most people are hardened by the world they're in so it's not that surprising.
His head tilts as she begins her question. It stays tilted. Is she asking if he likes people, wants company, or likes people...?]
Um...
[She points to her hand.]
Oh.
[He shifts the quiver a little on his shoulder, uncomfortable. His head ducks.]
... I try... very hard... to be safe... I hunt to... settle my head... [Since the hunger was never going away.] But... not you... [He lifts his head up and it's tilting slightly again, this time with wonder.] It's like... you're turned... but not... Here but...
[Her hand lowers again and she returns to holding herself, eyes sliding away. Is she supposed to be disgusted? Relieved? What would the hero feel, in this situation? Ryder dismisses that thought before she's even finished it. Even with unlikely and unwilling heroes, she didn't fit the bill. But then, does it matter what she feels? It more or less just feels like confirmation.
Here but...]
Yeah. I dunno.
[She tried not to think about it too much. When she did, she risked remembering the fear in others' eyes as they were torn into mere feet from her even though she'd been the one to fall, leaving Ryder frozen in place until the undead had either had its fill or the bitten and abandoned classmate was through with their crying and seizures and rose up before her. They'd pass by just like in the halls. Any number of nightmares weren't going to illuminate the why of it for her.]
[Sorry? What's she sorry for? He shakes his head.]
No... It's important... You want to know... if it's safe... that's fair...
[He doesn't hold it against her. He wouldn't hold it against anyone if they even bothered to ask and didn't just get straight to shooting. It's really amazing that she's not going straight to shooting, immune or not.]
But it's... kind of a relief... I don't know if... you know... how hard it is... just to get near... living people...
[To be fair, her gun is not currently on her person. Who can speculate about the alternative?
She thinks they might be having two different conversations, though going over it again as best she can in her head, she can't tell where it would have recently split. It's their perspective, then... She was used to that.
His venturing gets her to perk up just a little, her voice moving to an almost conversational pace instead of dragging and clipping.]
Survivors are -- hard mode. [Probably not for the same reasons he's thinking of, but still.] I thought I was going to die when -- you spoke to me. Thought you were one of them.
[Have survivors ever been accused as being "one of them" like that in the apocalypse before?]
[One of them. He's never heard of it like that before. It gets his brow to rise. He's been one of them from the other side for a long time now after all.]
Hard mode...
[He supposes he can understand that. Survivors were bitter and jaded and paranoid. With good reason.]
Who's... easy mode...?
[The dead? Maybe. But they could be difficult an entirely different way.]
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storywalks) wrote2022-07-06 12:41 pm
no subject
He doesn't understand anything that's happening right now. Her stammered response doesn't help in the slightest.]
... yes...? Are you...?
[Well, that question isn't any less stupid coming from him, turns out. She apologizes and he doesn't really know why. With the dog gone away, he just stares at her, disbelieving. She's not even afraid of him. Or rather, not in the mortal danger sort of way.]
How are you... doing this...? Is it... a trick...?
no subject
Um.
[It didn't help that she doesn't have an answer for him. A trick? Maybe. But she's not in on it.]
I'm nnnot...doing anyth-thing.
[How is it that now her heart is hammering away? It brings a whole different kind of lightheadedness than her breathless staredown had given her. Weakly, Ryder raises her hands to show her palms, a half-assed surrender since she doesn't have any better defense. If she couldn't enlist the undead to help get rid of a dog for her, how was she supposed to let herself do it for a person?
(And how was she supposed to feel about the moment she'd weighed the possibility and felt more compassion for the animal that would have eaten her face?)]
You -- following me? You know I h-haven't done sh-shit. Jus' -- scan-scanveg -- fuck. Sca-ven-ging.
no subject
At least until she calls him out.
His shoulders hike. He shakes his head, meaning to protest that he's following for any nefarious reason, but realizing that's not exactly what will come through.]
I... was but... not for anything... like that...
[Does she... not know? He literally growled in front of her. Unless she thinks he faked it. Should he let her think he faked it? He shakes his head. He's getting sidetracked.]
You're doing... something to... deter the dead...!
no subject
They don't -- stay, you know? If you -- if you aren't torn t-to. Pieces.
[Yes, this would be one of the stupidest plays Ryder could make. That's why she's trying really, really hard to be someone else. This woman doesn't have an uneven, shaggy mess from an outgrown side shave and awkward hacks with scissors now and again when she caught sight of herself and couldn't stand looking at it anymore. She'd always had longer hair, usually pulled back in a ponytail, and the scowl on her face wasn't from being a generally unpleasant bitch, but because she used to wear glasses, and they broke, and now parts of the world were fuzzy blobs. She didn't have to see the faces of the dead so clearly...and she knows that soon she'll be just another one in the crowd. Jessica, she thinks. Jessie and James always were her favorite Pokémon characters on the show.
If only Jessica's knowledge wasn't coming from Ryder's dumbass brain. At least she stutters a little less.]
Something changes. You're no good -- anymore, once you're already bit. Just -- tag, you're it. One of them-m. S'you wanna be like m-me, or you wanna lea'me th'fuck -- alone?
no subject
She was bit. She was bit, like he was bit.
He's not alone.]
Oh...
[It's such a faint noise, so at odds with the competing urges to laugh or cry.
He lifts his arm. He pushes up the sleeve of the hoodie, and with it the stripey mess that used to be a shirt. He bites back a hiss as it passes over the wound. Then, it's there, all revealed for her to see.
Out of his arm, an entire chunk is missing. It's a clotted mess, black spider veins shooting off from the crater that goes down to the bone. It's one of those things that wound up being too painful, too terrifying, to forget the way he did the rest of his life. But right now, his gaze, his mind, it's all fixed on her.]
I didn't think... there was... anyone else...
no subject
Oh. Oh... It may as well have. It's even more deadly, actually -- total kill rate. Until now, she supposes grimly.
...She doesn't have anything like that to show off, though some sick part of her wishes that she did. At least she'd have an answer, then. Someone who understood her, too. Instead, she's standing here silently like an asshole that just got caught swapping out a bunch of paternity test results or something insane like that. He's the real deal... She doesn't have to get a closer look or touch the necrotic wound to be sure, regardless of yet another one of her fucked up desires. It looked horrific. Painful. Ryder's seen the consequences of it before, and she's sure plenty undead in the city have similar parts of themselves that have gone missing to become a story instead.]
You're...
[...better than a survivor? Right? But he still perceived her, which is almost excruciating. What's up with that? Shouldn't he ignore her like everyone else? Hey, why is his brain not a puddle of sludge that got melted from fever? Things that would be rude to ask, not that she's having an easy time getting control over her words right now anyway.]
...not -- going to kill me.
[She needed a fact to get her thoughts aligned again. It only helps so much -- not even getting into how it was more a hope than a fact. If he didn't want to kill her before, he might now. Pulling the next mumble out is like pulling teeth, it's roots stuck deep so if nothing else, you'd get regret out of the exchange.]
...Didn't s-say.
[She never really said that. He took his own meaning from her words... It just happened to be the same exact bait she'd hooked.]
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She asks if he's going to kill her. He answers--]
No...
[--And he marvels at the fact that it's the truth. He doesn't even have to worry he'll slip up. He's not going to kill her.
His head tilts.]
Didn't say...? Oh... no... I can see it... you must be... immune...? Completely immune... not all the same... but still... still...
[Ryder need not fear for he's not all bright.]
Is it just... the dead not... noticing...? No other... changes...?
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Her lips sting to bring attention to the fact that she's chewing into them, not a care for how they were sure to split. It was an old habit that had only gotten worse as the apocalypse ate up the world, and now the stress of that is compounded by the old stress of not knowing how to talk to people. Ryder wrinkles her nose in lieu of kicking herself, as would be deserved. How...does she answer this man satisfactorily without saying a word? She tries, for a moment, to beam the information over to him, but her focus is all off. That's the only reason why it doesn't work, yeah.]
...Um.
[Her voice cracks a little, meek now that she's lost both her freedom and the illusion of character. Actually, why is she trying to come up with an answer? She should be screaming or something. Is she just tired? Or maybe she's literally gone crazy. It's possible, Ryder muses, that the dog killed her after all, and she skipped the part with all the pain -- the physical pain, at least -- and went straight to the bleeding out delirium.
Then she remembers that she already checked if this was real life by biting herself -- insensitive of her, in retrospect -- and what has all this thinking been for? Certainly not to explain a damn thing. Fuck, nothing makes any sense.]
Mm.
[It's a vague noise that could be interpreted in any number of ways, but it's all she's got for the moment she looks him over again to try and decide if this would be easier if she just pretended he was like the other zombies around. Could she find her voice again then? Asking permission to do that is probably also rude...]
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Fascinated as he is, eventually it's clear to him that he's not going to get an answer. He's only barely got sounds from her. His hands go up.]
Sorry... sorry... I guess it's... a lot for you too...
[He takes just a step back, giving her a little more space. His hands draw in and his fingers wind together, sheepish.]
You don't have to... answer all.... at once... I just got... excited I guess... Sorry...
Um... I'm... I'm Teo... I think...
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It's a good thing that...what? She still had too many words, and they were always crashing around in there. Why did it feel different? Because she'd stopped fighting it...? There hadn't been anyone or anything to fight for. Now there's some weirdo that not only notices her, but seems eager to interact. Weird. Ryder spends another few seconds staring at him and waiting for his words to process through the deep.]
Huh? [She heard right, right?] You think...? [It doesn't take long for her to nod and mumble to herself,] That makes sense. Burned away.
[Of course they'd lose themselves, even in the best case scenario. It's a miracle this dude functions at all. She glances at his hands, and almost as if compelled by his efforts to hold himself back even in such a minor way, Ryder does the opposite. She reaches up to fidget with her bangs and shift her weight onto one foot, scratching the back of her leg with the other.]
Mm. ...R-Ryder. S'kay.
[As...okay as anything about this can be, anyway? Ummm.]
Looking -- um. Books. Lighters...
[A shiver goes down her spine at having said those words so close together. Unthinkable. Moving on with a tiny shake of her head at herself, she gestures with her unoccupied hand vaguely at the air.]
Um. ...Clothes.
[Weather! Seasons!]
I-I don't... I talk -- better when, um. ...That's a lie. I'm -- I'll try, though.
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Ryder... cool.
[Cool name for a cool girl.
He nods over the list. It's pretty short, but not a completely unusual list. The one that sticks out is the wish for books. He wonders if that's more or less popular these days.]
S'okay... talking is... hard...
[She's spared a warped looking smile thanks to the gaiter.]
Saw a few... shops... a street over... Might not... be raided... Come with...?
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And he understands her, too. Or...is joking. That's less of a good feeling, but not enough so that she wants to completely retreat within herself. Instead, she twists some hair around her index and gives a tiny nod. Ryder glances about the area, scuffs something aside with her foot to make sure there isn't anything vital behind it, then makes her way over to the blocked off door. She usually clears the path like this -- it let others sprint through freely and hinted to other survivors that it's already been picked over. Nothing worth hiding away with, here. Maybe it would let a couple zombies wonder in, too, but the odds... She thinks it puts them more in the favor of the living. It isn't like the undead would flinch at scraping themselves up by way of window, after all. They'd get in anyway, if they wanted.
The door creaks unhappily as she leans with it to find something small and easily maneuvered to prop it open.]
Um... Space. Few feet? [Would that be enough to make her feel secure enough around him? ...Not really. But asking for more than that was probably asking for trouble, one way or another. Ask for something else...] Did -- did y-you live -- [Oh. Wait. Ryder frowns at herself for her stupidity, mumbling a soft,] Sorry.
[If he knew he lived here, he'd probably be more sure about his name. She searches the sky for advice, finds herself abandoned by god yet again, and sighs her bangs away from her face. Alright. Pointing weakly in the opposite direction, Ryder looks over to Teo for confirmation. This way? Oh, she should also probably ask...]
Wh -- what k-kin -- kind, d'you know? Store.
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He nods his head, solemn. A few feet is more than fair. The fact she's letting him near at all is a gift.
His nodding stops as she cuts off her question. Did he live here? An ironic question. Or maybe a sad one. She apologizes, but he shakes his head.]
No... Traveller... Travelling... Looking... Wandered here...
[Tentatively, he starts forward, just get them going.]
Been here... few days... saw some clothes...
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Yeah.
[Clothes weren't something she really anticipated having trouble finding, so even if it was on her list, she doesn't seem to be overly thrilled. As she steps outside, the mix of emotions fall away and leave her face blank. Eyes dull. Here they are again. Same old hell, just...with company, this time. Extremely weird company.
Still... Some small part of her wonders if she should try a little harder with the clothes she found this time. Apparently there's someone that notices her in the world now, and while she'd like to reject the idea of dressing to impress on the grounds that it's fucking insane and stupid even when not in the apocalypse, Ryder can't help but to glance over at the man's ensemble. He...looked cool. Mostly a disguise, probably, since it kept the obviously busted parts of him out of sight, but still cool. Is it...okay? For her to find something she really likes? Is it okay to like things?
...Think about that later.]
Looking for what?
[It wasn't like he knew enough about himself to know what to look for... Maybe just people like him? Then it's his lucky day. Yippee.]
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He notices the way she seems to lose her color, not paling per se, but almost fading in the light. He gives a glance around at the world and he supposes he can't blame her.
The question feels a little delayed. He takes his own time before answering.]
... Place I'm... meant to be... Have a letter... Making my way... bit by bit... But sometimes just... stopping places... that seem nice... or... where people... need help...
[He shrugs his shoulders.]
What about... you...?
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South. Um, going.
[She frowns, her eyebrows following suit, while she debates leaking more of her thoughts through. It's...hard to not want to talk, even if talking to a person is as unimaginable as it had been in life. Or -- whatever it was. She's still alive. Supposedly. The point is that almost everyone else is not (or at least it feels that way), and speaking had become a hell of a lot easier because of it. Ryder was too used to talking to herself, these days... She tries to erase his presence from her mind, which is extra difficult with her trying to give a better answer to the question he had asked.]
Mm... Mom. Might -- I-I dunno.
[Maybe it's genetic. Maybe she would still be alive, too. Maybe...she could even smile, still? Ryder's eyes sting.]
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Might be okay... like you...
[Perhaps it could be a matter of genetics. Perhaps it could be a matter of phenomenal luck. He doesn't question it.]
Would you... mind company...? For some... of the way...?
[Even that feels like a lot to ask. He doesn't want to push it. But, he also doesn't want tears to fall from those watery eyes.]
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Then he speaks again, and she realizes that despite the fact that he'd saved her life from Cujo, it wasn't until this rescue that she's actually felt grateful for him. He's made her much too stunned to cry, now.]
Huh?
[Normally, this would be where it all clicked and she barreled on with the answer she'd been prompted for, but maybe she really misheard it this time, or didn't process it correctly in the end? No, it was much too quiet around them to have that sort of thing happen, even if his voice was a rasp out of a nightmare. Whether he repeats himself or not, she isn't sure, too absorbed in actually thinking about the question, now. Why the heck would he want that?
Ah, right, humans were social creatures. Even dead ones were normal enough to be like that, apparently. Fucked up.]
...Nnnot...good company. Um...
[The thought is terrifying. She knows it shouldn't be. She knows that the biggest reason she's terrified definitely shouldn't be the idea that now there's someone to prove that she's real.]
I... O-okay.
[It wasn't going to be permanent. She didn't have to exist forever -- but she could remember, maybe, what it was like. Maybe she'd need it. Maybe that wish, of her mom holding her tight, can be real, too.
Ryder curls her arms around herself and quickly looks away, stumbling a little as she tries to pick up the pace like it will propel her out of her awkwardness.]
I h-hhhave s-some -- stuff. Already. Food, some m-medicine... Dunno what y-you nnneed, though.
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Really...?
[It's impossible to not sound excited, even with his raspy voice. She's walking away pretty fast so he tries to pick up the pace too. He gives a shake of his head.]
I don't need... anything else... I'm still, um... pretty dead...
I hunt... [A longer pause.] Animals... not people...
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She slows again so she can once more look at him properly, obviously more than a little perplexed. Ryder wonders if there will ever be a time where he says something and it doesn't make her feel like she's come across a fallen tree in the road she has to figure out her way around.]
...You -- didn't. Dog. Why?
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Was more important... to save you...
[He shrugs a little.]
Hunting a dog is... hard... sharper teeth... very fast... and it... makes me sad...
[The majority of these dogs were dearly loved, once. It wasn't fair.]
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...Right, eating dogs. That's where they're at. It is sad. She wishes it would be sadder.]
Hnn.
[Still, the facts are stacked together in her mind like a clumsily picked at, long-lived jenga tower. It makes her feel too wobbly to think about for long.]
...Would y-yyyou? Um, like. Um. [How does she actually put these thoughts into words... This is why she doesn't talk to people. It's too much of a hassle to lay a track down for someone to follow where her brain was going, particularly since the destination wasn't exactly a great one to pass through.
As a shortcut to where she's trying to get him, Ryder raises her arm to display the dirty cuts that had stopped bleeding, pointing at them with her other hand.] ...People? N-not -- wanting. Obv-obviously.
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His head tilts as she begins her question. It stays tilted. Is she asking if he likes people, wants company, or likes people...?]
Um...
[She points to her hand.]
Oh.
[He shifts the quiver a little on his shoulder, uncomfortable. His head ducks.]
... I try... very hard... to be safe... I hunt to... settle my head... [Since the hunger was never going away.] But... not you... [He lifts his head up and it's tilting slightly again, this time with wonder.] It's like... you're turned... but not... Here but...
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[Her hand lowers again and she returns to holding herself, eyes sliding away. Is she supposed to be disgusted? Relieved? What would the hero feel, in this situation? Ryder dismisses that thought before she's even finished it. Even with unlikely and unwilling heroes, she didn't fit the bill. But then, does it matter what she feels? It more or less just feels like confirmation.
Here but...]
Yeah. I dunno.
[She tried not to think about it too much. When she did, she risked remembering the fear in others' eyes as they were torn into mere feet from her even though she'd been the one to fall, leaving Ryder frozen in place until the undead had either had its fill or the bitten and abandoned classmate was through with their crying and seizures and rose up before her. They'd pass by just like in the halls. Any number of nightmares weren't going to illuminate the why of it for her.]
Um... Sorry.
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[Sorry? What's she sorry for? He shakes his head.]
No... It's important... You want to know... if it's safe... that's fair...
[He doesn't hold it against her. He wouldn't hold it against anyone if they even bothered to ask and didn't just get straight to shooting. It's really amazing that she's not going straight to shooting, immune or not.]
But it's... kind of a relief... I don't know if... you know... how hard it is... just to get near... living people...
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She thinks they might be having two different conversations, though going over it again as best she can in her head, she can't tell where it would have recently split. It's their perspective, then... She was used to that.
His venturing gets her to perk up just a little, her voice moving to an almost conversational pace instead of dragging and clipping.]
Survivors are -- hard mode. [Probably not for the same reasons he's thinking of, but still.] I thought I was going to die when -- you spoke to me. Thought you were one of them.
[Have survivors ever been accused as being "one of them" like that in the apocalypse before?]
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Hard mode...
[He supposes he can understand that. Survivors were bitter and jaded and paranoid. With good reason.]
Who's... easy mode...?
[The dead? Maybe. But they could be difficult an entirely different way.]