Transgender
strider
No mourners, no funerals
|
Post by strider on Oct 3, 2019 15:02:57 GMT -5
(Back In Time)
Noah knew he had chosen the wrong word, but it still fit Ronan, in a way. Not in the same way it fit Gansey, but… it was just that anything that happened to Ronan that actually mattered, he just sat there and took it if taking it meant someone else would be okay. It was frustrating, but he couldn’t say anything about it to Ronan. Even if he did, the other boy wouldn’t listen. He met Ronan’s gaze at the feeling of the other boy’s fingers on his hair, for a moment, then turned his haunted gaze back towards where the fire used to be. His thoughts were full as he turned to lay down, his back towards Ronan so that he couldn’t tell that he was awake. Because it was harder to go to sleep than it was to stay awake. There were nightmares sometimes, but he always pushed those to the darkest recesses of his thoughts. He knew the disease was impacting him. Zombies needed sleep, of course, but they took it in short bursts, for the most part. At least from what Noah had observed. And they seemed to only do so when absolutely necessary. Which meant that the part of Noah that was beginning to be infected was always active. It meant that sleeping was harder than it should have been, that… well, that part of him was turning. Bit by bit he would continue to turn until it consumed him. “Sorry,” he whispered, so quietly that it could have been the wind rustling the leaves on the ground nearby. In truth he didn’t want Ronan to hear, but he knew he needed the thought to be out there. “I’m sorry.” Even quieter this time, a soft exhale that accompanied the fluttering shut of his eyes and the oncoming of sleep.
“Gone? That’s…” Crutchie wrinkled his nose as he thought about it. “That’s really cool, actually.” There were things he wished he could just delete like that, but he supposed Sherlock’s brain worked differently from his. “How’d you manage to delete it?” The question underneath was painfully obvious: could you teach me how to? He forced his way towards the stairs, knowing all too well that with the shape he was in, he wasn’t likely to be able to make it all the way up effectively or quickly. So he waited just at the bottom of the stairs, able to catch a glimpse of the crate and the thrashing noises from within. A shudder ran down his spine, a tiny voice whispering in his head that whoever it was was probably the last person Sherlock had experimented on. But he knew that wasn’t the truth. He knew what zombies sounded like, and as far as he knew, he wasn’t capable of becoming one. Though he supposed that was what Sherlock was here to test. His eyes caught on the water, and that was when he realized how thirsty he was. Not that he would admit that to Sherlock, because he didn’t want the man to think that he wasn’t capable of taking care of himself, but… well, he wasn’t going to say no if Sherlock was offering water.
Nico had to admit, he was the least scared of dying. Becoming a zombie would be preferable to being caught by his father, though. Not that he could tell Kelsier that. Perhaps… well, perhaps the two of them would actually make a good team. Just in that he knew things that Kelsier didn’t know, and Kelsier knew some things that he didn’t know. And his father was looking for a boy traveling alone, not one traveling with someone else. Again, a matter of convenience. The truth was, once upon a time he had believed in a cure. Now… well… he had given that up. Because the only person who could find one wasn’t even going to try. Because the person who had started this whole mess didn’t have any human decency, it seemed. He wasn’t going to try to fix it. The boy was practically trembling with anger at the thought, though he hoped Kelsier couldn’t see that he wasn’t as unflappable as he tried to let on. “Somewhere hidden, right now,” he muttered, glancing at his arm. “I need to sew this up.” He met Kelsier’s eyes with a glare, trying to seem as confident as possible. There was no way he was going to trust Kelsier yet. Maybe not ever… at least if he had his way. “After?” He hadn’t thought about that. His life was trying to avoid people, not trying to go anywhere in particular. “Are you going anywhere?” A lot of people had started off with a destination, but now it just seemed like people were wandering.
(Present Day)
Will let his eyes drift closed, letting the world that they were building drift over him, consuming him entirely. “One day there’ll be people sitting on a roof similar to this one, and they’ll be thinking about what it must have been like when the world was bad, and then they’ll go back in for dinner with their family and it’ll all be warmed up and not just found that day. And people will be willing to smile again. And nobody will remember this.” It was a comforting thought. Not that they wouldn’t be remembered - though after this he doubted that anyone would be remembered, even those who had been famous before the disaster had occurred - but that one day this would be a distant thought in the back of someone’s head when they read a history textbook. “Maybe all of modern language will die,” he mused, “And they’ll make up new languages and study us like they studied old ruins. I’d like to see what they would think about us,” he admitted, shaking his head softly. “But for now…” he sighed softly. “For now you’re right. It still gets cool in the morning and at night and we can run around then without the sun beating down on us, and we can talk and share… share things like this,” he shrugged, casting his eyes back up towards the sky. “I don’t know that I would trade moments like that,” he admitted. “Like if you told me I could go back to exactly how it was before but there would be no more flowers or sun or rainbows or people smiling… I dunno. It would be a hard choice to make.”
“You can learn how to play anything you want if you put the effort into it,” Orpheus replied, his smile coming easily again. “Maybe you’ll end up composing your own work once you’ve figured all of the chords out. I uh… I’m working on a song. More of an epic really, but… it’s not finished yet. But when it is… I think it’ll give humanity some hope again. And at the very least it will stop the undead for a little bit. I wanted…” his brows creased and he shook his head. “If it works, and… and I don’t know if it’s going to, but if it does… it’ll remind them what it’s like to be human.” The look in his eyes was almost dreamlike, though he had more confidence in this than he had in anything else. That much was obvious. “It’ll hit the disease in them and force it to release the host. And I don’t know if that means the host will be okay again, or if they’ll be too far gone to do much, but… I’m working on a song to act as a cure.” Orpheus knew most people would have laughed, but L didn’t seem like most people. And maybe they were both crazy naive and idealistic. Or perhaps not… but if Orpheu was going to do anything with his life, if he was going to have any impact at all, it would be this, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to do his best to make it happen. “It’s an involuntary reaction,” he offered, referring to the shudder that the notes caused. “But you can desensitize yourself. I’ve done it, I think.” It was easier to brace for when you knew it was coming. He broke off, watching the way L was switching chords. “Good,” he murmured, pleased that L was learning quickly. He didn’t even have to reach over and help. “We could find you your own instrument, if you wanted. A lot of them have been looted for firewood, but some still exist. Wouldn’t be too difficult to adjust it to have those notes too…”
|
|
|
Post by ®Hawkpath® on Oct 8, 2019 7:48:00 GMT -5
(Back In Time)
Ronan didn’t hear the apology. He heard something like a sigh, and he thought at first that it sounded like relief, and then he thought it didn’t actually sound relieved at all. He couldn’t help glancing at Noah as the other boy settled in, taking in the familiar shape of him just to be sure he was okay. Then he turned, keeping watch over the night as he’d promised to do. (Should we do a time skip here do you think?)
“You think so?” The surprise was extremely obvious in the scientist’s tone as he poked his head out from behind the wall, giving Crutchie a quick appraisal. It was hard to believe someone found his abilities to be anything other than strictly irritating much less cool. Was the other survivor lying? He didn’t look like he was lying, but maybe he was just saying that to try and get on Sherlock’s good side. That was probably it. No one thought he was cool, because no one understood how his brain worked, a fact that hadn’t ceased to frustrate him even after the world had ended, it seemed. Still, he’d asked, hadn’t he? He didn’t even notice that Crutchie had seen the crated zombie. No matter how you looked at it, this was a chance to impress someone, and Sherlock had never yet managed to resist one of those. “I have a mind palace.” He began excitedly, trampling down the stairs very loudly like an over enthusiastic Labrador. “Everything I know is kept in there where I can reach it, and I only keep things I need in order to save space. Like how computers used to be, only they aren’t that way anymore because everything broke, but that’s not the point, the point is that if you can learn to control your mind and build a visual ‘place’, if you will, to keep your memories, then you can choose what to remember and what to forget. I can remember the entire periodic table but there are things some people say are quite important that I don’t know. I can’t tell you what they are, because I’ve forgotten them.” He grinned and held out the water. “Here. Drink. You’ll pass out shortly if you don’t.”
Kelsier nodded, agreeing with the boy. He met the glare with his hazel eyes, which were almost soft but not quite, them nodded again. He wasn’t really going anywhere. After Mare he hadn’t...he didn’t really know what he was doing. It was like his purpose had died with her, and as much as he hated to admit it to himself he was mostly just surviving now. He needed to change that somehow. Maybe it would start with Nico….maybe if he could help someone else, he wouldn’t be quite so alone anymore. He wasn’t going to say he believed Nico would ever trust him - maybe he would run away at the first opportunity - but maybe, just maybe, he needed Kelsier as much as Kelsier felt like he needed him. Maybe if he could help someone, he would feel like he had a purpose again. After all, he mused, wasn’t defending what he’d always done? “Hidden it is.” He said lightly, careful not to call attention to the fact that Nico had backed down from a fight. No need to rub it in his face. “Sadly, no, I haven’t had anywhere to go in a while now. I suppose I’ve just been wandering, as sad as that sounds.” He smiled, as though he hadn’t just admitted he was barely surviving. “What about you? Headed anywhere specific, or another wanderer like myself?”
(Present Day)
Rue’s eyes fluttered shut, a sure sign that she was trusting him with her life already. Was it strange that she was risking herself after just meeting him? After he’d pointed a gun at her barely an hour earlier? Maybe it was just a sign of how alone she felt, how much she missed her family and wanted, needed, to not be alone anymore. Will could have been an artist, she thought. The world he painted was vivid and colorful, and it drew her in like sugar cubes for a starved horse. She didn’t open her eyes as he went on, not until he moved on to the present. “Me too.” She whispered. “There are rainbows and foggy mornings and the moon is still full sometimes, and there are flowers and birds and trees that look like that can touch the sky. And sometimes it gets so hot you have to find somewhere to swim, and sometimes you feel like you have to sing with the birds, and sometimes I wish I could just grow wings and fly too.” She looked down, a tiny sigh moving her chest. “I don’t know what I would do. I think songs are the best things in the world. And they’re still here, right? So maybe everything isn’t really horrible.” What was she saying. Of course everything was horrible. People were dead, corpses were eating people. And she thought everything was okay because the birds still sang? “Nothing is that simple, I guess.” She said it so quietly even she didn’t know whether he would hear her. “Is everything worse now? There were some really bad people before, too, and disasters and sickness and all kinds of things. Now, there are less of those, because there’s less people and more zombies. Is that worse? Maybe it’s...maybe it’s just different.”
It was amazing what a smile could do. L watched Orpheus do it like a bird faced with something strange and potentially dangerous, but not altogether unpleasant. He smiled sometimes, it was true, but it had been a very long time since he’d seen someone else do it. He discovered, to his surprise, that he’d missed it. Deeply. “I will never be able to play as well as you,” He said it like a fact, with no hint of bitterness or jealousy. He was satisfied with just the concept of being able to play at all, mostly because he had assumed that he couldn’t and moved on when he’d thought of it before everything had gone bad. And now, here he was with an instrument in his hands, his fingers brushing the strings, and a man who offered to be his teacher telling him what to do. He almost thought he was dreaming. He believed he could find a cure. He had to believe that, because if he didn’t believe it he wouldn’t try nearly as hard to make it happen, and if he was going to do it he had to try his best. It was going to take nothing short of obsessed determination to uncover that secret, and so that is what he would give it. Everything he had. Did Orpheus believe there was a way forward? He seemed to, from the way he talked about his music, and the effect it had on the undead. L leaned forward slightly, his fingers pressing on the strings for a moment before he played the chord again. He wanted to tell his new companion all about his research, everything he had learned so far and everything he hoped to uncover, but… Not yet. He was getting ahead of himself. There was no way he could trust that to anyone, not even someone he believed was honest with every fiber of his soul. He had never felt so sure of anyone in his life, and he trusted his gut, but still. He needed time. He’d been wrong before. “I would like that.” He said, and handed the instrument back, ready to give his fingers a rest. “I would also like it if you would teach me to play half as well as you, Orpheus. I would be satisfied if I could play one song with no mistakes.” He tilted his head. “It it’s all right with you, I would like to study those notes more. Perhaps with one of the dead as a subject, so I can see the effects first hand. Assuming you don’t wish to leave…?”
|
|
Transgender
strider
No mourners, no funerals
|
Post by strider on Oct 12, 2019 5:54:06 GMT -5
(Back In Time)
Noah couldn’t sleep. He wanted to, he really did, but he was afraid. He didn’t know what happened to him at night, whether he could stay human the entire time or whether something else took over him. How could he possibly know? He had never had to worry about it when he was far away from people, but he was right next to Ronan now. There was nothing in between him and the other boy, and as exhausted as he was, he knew the disease was gaining on him. He knew it could take over his body at any time, even if his mind was screaming in protest. It was less of a possibility than an inevitability. At some point, though, he must have fallen asleep, because he opened his eyes to darkness that was just a touch lighter than it had been before. The moon had crawled its way up the sky, and Noah peered up at it, pushing himself to a seated position. He wasn’t going to say anything yet, wasn’t going to ruin the moment of seeing Ronan, his back to him, entirely bathed in moonlight. There was still tension in the other boy’s shoulders, but he seemed uncharacteristically peacefully. Noah didn’t want to ruin that.
Crutchie listened, more fascinated than he really should have been by Sherlock’s explanation. It sounded less like something anyone could do, and more like something that only worked for brains that worked like Sherlock’s. That was to say, not Crutchie’s. If Sherlock’s was a steel trap of information, it made sense that he could let some of it go to make room for what he really wanted kept in the trap. Crutchie’s was like a net. It took in things that were large enough to seem important, and there was really no mechanism to let them all out. The little things - the ones that were less important - drifted right through, never to be seen again. It wasn’t his choice what was let go any more than it was his choice what was kept. “Sounds awfully organized,” he murmured, shaking his head. He doubted he could do the same thing. “Impressive still, but…” he frowned, not sure how to say it properly. “Sounds like it takes a lot of effort and mental control, too.” Maybe if he’d had time before the apocalypse had come. Maybe if he had been given the chance to restructure his mind before most of it was concentrated on not dying and not seeming too weak. Although that was the lot he had been dealt in his normal life too. The only difference here was that the enemy was zombies more often than it was other humans who had gotten more lucky than him. Now he was the lucky one. “Maybe one day when you’ve figured this all out and there’s nothing more we have to do you could teach me to make my own… mind palace,” he murmured, trying not to seem too eager in his reach for the water. “I’d like that,” he added. It took all of Crutchie’s self control to not down he entire bottle of water, but somehow he managed to only drink a bit. Just enough to make him realize how thirsty he really was.
Nico hated that it felt like Kelsie knew he was walking on glass. Tiptoeing around anything that could upset him. There was such a degree of care and almost kindness there that Nico wanted to scream. Kelsier had no idea who he was. He had no idea what sort of monster he was helping, and it was almost funny. But Nico hadn’t laughed in years and he wasn’t about to start now. Part of him wanted the other shoe to fall. He wanted Kelsier to go for his throat, or say something that pushed at his buttons, or… or anything. Anything other than this smiling act of not doing anything that could possibly upset Nico… in a way, it made him more convinced that Kelsier had some sort of ulterior motive. “There’s nowhere safe to stay anymore. Wandering is just a fact of life.” His arms were crossed, partially to put pressure on the wound that he hadn’t had a chance to fix up yet. “I know where not to go, and that’s about it. Anywhere else is fair game.” That wasn’t quite true, but it might as well have been. He was running from somewhere, not going to somewhere. It just meant that he had to avoid the places he was most likely to be found in, and avoid the places his father was most likely to frequent. He wanted Hades to give up, at some point. He wanted Hades to decide his son had died in the horrible mess of his own creation, and he knew Hades would laugh at his son’s failure to atone for this mess, and then move on. There would be no grieving like there had been for Bianca. Or for their mother. “You say wandering like you don’t have a purpose,” Nico added quietly, evidently a bit sharper than he let on. It was almost an accusation. “Best you figure out why you’re moving around rather than staying stationary.”
(Present Day)
Rue had a point, but Will didn’t know if he agreed. Before… well, before there had been some really awful people, sure, but they hadn’t touched so many people’s lives. They did their bad things behind closed doors a lot of the time, and it took a while for people to be affected. And there was always a group of people that weren’t impacted at all, and maybe didn’t even know about the bad things that were happening. “Are a bunch of bad people doing bad things secretly really worse than an epidemic that’s killed so much of the population? Everyone’s impacted… at least before there was the idea that if you worked hard enough you could be safe from the bad people. Now… now we’re all in danger all the time. I…” he frowned, thinking of his mother and Jonathan, and how many jobs the two of them worked to try and makes sure he had a good childhood and could live a normal life like any of his friends who happened to be better off. There was no achieving the American Dream for them, whatever that meant. “I guess you’re right,” he murmured, shaking his head. “I guess it’s just different. But… I think I’d rather it be before, still,” he admitted. “At least then I’d know for sure where my family was, and we could sleep in a bed and not worry about the undead finding us here. But… if it makes any difference, I know I haven’t known you for that long, but… I’m glad we met.” He didn’t know why he trusted Rue so much, but he knew he did. He knew he would do almost anything to stay with her, because she was nice, and they could make it together. They could watch each other’s backs. They were both scared, and lonely, but far more capable than either really let on. “Maybe we should make a list,” he murmured, as quiet as the wind sighing. “Every time we see something that makes us glad we’re still alive. We should write it down.”
“There’s no such thing as ‘as well as’ anyone else,” Orpheus replied, and though it was cheesy it sounded genuine coming from him. “Maybe I don’t know as much about science as you, but if I worked hard enough at it and studied with you, I bet that I could get to the same level you are. Just as you could get to my level with the guitar if you devoted enough time to it. But really, it’s not about that. Music…” he smiled again, eyes drifting shut as though he were just a conduit for words that were already written. “It’s not like that. Your music is different from my music, just as what I would do with science would be different from what you would do, even if your technique is technically better.” He opened his eyes again, wiping off his somewhat sweaty hands on his pants. “I know you weren’t complaining about that, or being self deprecating, but… it’s true. What you make will resonate with people in a way that what I make won’t ever, just as there are things in my music that resonate with people that your music will never touch on simply because the two types have different origins. I’m sure it’s the same for any discipline.” If his guitar was the way to find some sort of breakthrough about zombies… well, it would mean he was one step closer to finding Eurydice, right? One step closer to having her back safely in his arms instead of somewhere else, possibly trapped in her own head while her body killed instinctively. The thought sent a shudder down Orpheus’ spine. He had to believe that Eurydice was right where he had left her. He had to believe that he could get her back, and everything would be okay. Everything was going to be fine, because that was what he had the power to do. That was what music was about, right? Making things okay? There was no guarantee that L was even working on a cure, but Orpheus could think of no other reason why the man would be so interested in the science behind the zombie repellant notes. He wasn’t going to mention it outright, but it was there, lurking in the corner of his thoughts. He would have stuck around even without that, but it made it impossible to leave. “I can teach you that,” he promised, dark eyes glinting. “I can teach you to play as many songs as you would like. Feel free to practice the notes on my guitar. Just… please don’t break it,” he added, a touch of desperation seeping into his voice. It was, quite literally, all he had. His only tie to before, and his only hope for an after. Not that he would tell L that right away, not in the least because L likely wasn’t interested in his personal story. “As long as I can have it a bit in the evenings, you can use it to look into those notes as much as you want. And… and I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.”
|
|
|
Post by ®Hawkpath® on Oct 12, 2019 15:07:44 GMT -5
(Back In Time)
Ronan was sitting very still in the moonlight, his shaved head tinted silver. He hadn’t noticed yet that Noah was awake, and every few seconds his gaze flicked down and around him, scanning for signs of movement. He was taking his job very seriously, it seemed. He was thinking. Mostly he was thinking about the people he’s left behind him, the ones he didn’t let himself hope were alive. The ones he longed to see again, deep down. But he was also thinking about Noah, and the gentle way the other boy seemed to still have, in spite of everything. Ronan felt that he’d lost something since everything had happened, but he’d never been quite able to articulate what it was, even to himself. But whatever it was called, it seemed like Noah still had it, and that both frustrated and comforted Ronan. It was also going to get Noah killed in this version of the world. He knew that, and he suspected Noah knew it, too. That was why he would protect the last friend he had, with whatever it took and more. He turned to scan around again and caught sight of Noah watching him. He blinked, but he wasn’t really surprised to see that the other boy had had trouble sleeping. Who didn’t? He didn’t say anything, just turned silently back to the night.
Organized was putting it mildly. Sherlock chuckled, but it was less condescending now and more just pleased at the compliment. “It is impressive.” He agreed. “But I didn’t expect you to see it that way. People never do. Did. Used to. Anyway.” He coughed lightly, watching as Crutchie sipped the water. He was obviously extremely thirsty and trying not to drink it all at once for some reason, but he needn’t have bothered. Sherlock wasn’t thirsty. He was thrilled that Crutchie seemed to be taking him seriously, though. “Perhaps.” He agreed. “Although you might not be able to do it, you know. I suppose you could try, but don’t be too terribly disappointed if it doesn’t work, there’s only a few people who can do it.” He tilted his head. “Please do try to finish the bottle. My tests will be more accurate if you’re not dehydrated.”
Kelsier was trying not to upset Nico, it was true. He felt like the boy had been through more than enough for a lifetime, far more than any child should have to deal with, and to make it worse was unthinkable. He wanted to reach some level of trust, of course, but he would settle for simply not being a threat, if he wasn’t a threat, he would count that as an indisputable win. For now though, he clearly was, and Nico clearly needed to get that wound taken care of, fast. He didn’t have time for anything that wouldn’t move them towards that goal. So he didn’t push it when Nico explained, vaguely, where he was going. Anywhere that was away, apparently. Henwas running from something after all, or maybe someone, and when you were running you were always looking over your shoulder at the places you couldn’t go. Not that he was one to talk. Wasn’t he running, too? He hated thinking of it like that, but Mare’s ghost still seemed to haunt him if ever he tried to settle, so he didn’t. He kept moving, further and further from the place where he’d lost his heart. At Nico’s last statement, he almost laughed, but he didn’t l he just smiled, and it was a real smile, though perhaps a sad one. “I should, shouldn’t I?” He mused wryly. “But there’s not a lot of places left to go, I’m afraid. It’s not important. Let’s take care of your wound first and figure the rest out afterwards.”
(Present Day)
Rue listened. And she found that she didn’t actually know the answer. Was it worse? If more people were dying, then it was, right? She wanted to believe that it was just different, but maybe that was just a dream of a twelve year old girl who didn’t want the world to be cruel. She didn’t know. She just...didn’t know. “You might be right.” She sighed. “I wish we could go back. I wish I didn’t wish that, but I do. I miss my home and my family and eating dinner every day, and I miss when I used to just..play without looking over my shoulder all the time. I hate this. I really hate it.” It felt better to say it. She fell silent for moment after that, listening to Will’s soft voice. Then she closed her eyes. When she opened them, she was smiling. Barely, but it was there. She trusted him, and she knew she would sleep better tonight than she had in a very long time, somehow. It was too soon to trust him like this, but she was starved for more than food and he was exactly what she needed. “I....think that’s a really good idea.” She said quietly. “We can look at the list whenever we feel bad and remember that there are still beautiful things. Even when we can’t remember what they are.”
L listened, caught up in Orpheus’ gentle tone. Even when he was just speaking it sounded musical. L wasn’t that way at all, but in someone else the effect was that L found himself more relaxed than he had been in a while. He might have underestimated how useful music was. And other people. Or maybe it was just a coincidence. In any case, Orpheus didn’t immediately want to leave, and L was willing to take what he could get. “I think you’re right, yes.’ He agreed. “Human’s can’t be tested against only one medium, they’re too different. If you want, I can include you in my search for a cure. Another perspective could be very useful, I think, when trying to find something that works. You’ve already found something I never would have. Maybe together our search will succeed.” It didn’t really occur to him to hide what he was doing. It just hadn’t come up yet. He wasn’t sure what Orpheus would think of his goal, or whether he even believed finding s cure was possible, but if there was a chance working together could find them a cure...that wasn’t something L could pass up.
|
|
Transgender
strider
No mourners, no funerals
|
Post by strider on Oct 14, 2019 15:31:35 GMT -5
(Back In Time)
Noah hung back for a few moments. He didn’t want to intrude on Ronan’s private time - he knew it was hard to get a peaceful moment in the world now - but he also didn’t think he could get back to sleep. It was probably almost time for him to take over watch anyway. He didn’t think he wanted to talk, either. There was a lot that hadn’t been said, but also a lot more that had been said that Noah didn’t really want to think about anymore. Besides, more talking would eventually mean more questions and more explanations and he was fresh out of those. Silently - and it was easier to be silent now than it ever had been before - he stood up and made his way towards Ronan. He sat down a few feet away, off to the side. Ronan could still probably see him in his periphery, but he wasn’t blocking anything. He wasn’t hiding either. How long had he been in hiding? How long had his heart raced at the sound of other people and the fear that maybe it was Whelk, maybe he had come to finish him off, but no, that would be too premeditated… and how many times had his fear spiked at the realization that it could be so much worse if it wasn’t Whelk? If Noah were to turn, right then. If Noah were to hurt someone when he’d fought so hard against the thing that was slowly devouring his will. He rubbed at his cheek, wishing, almost, that it would hurt the way it used to. Because if he were turning numb… that could only be a bad thing. It was odd, he realized. Fear pressed down on him at every hour of every day, crushing him beneath it, but… when Ronan was here, the fear was like a boulder on his back rather than the Earth itself. It gave him a few moments of peace.
“How do people usually see it?” It was an insensitive question, but in Crutchie’s defense he really didn’t mean for it to come across that way. If people didn’t think Sherlock’s brain trick was cool… well, he didn’t know what to think of that. He turned his attention back to the water, blushing once he heard Sherlock cough. He held the water out to him, wondering if the man needed some water to help the cough or if he had just coughed to prove a point. The whole time he was acutely aware that the water was not his resource. He had no right to it, but Sherlock was giving it to him anyway. In the name of science, perhaps, but this seemed like more than that. “I’d be fine if it didn’t work,” he replied, not quite meeting Sherlock’s gaze. “I think I’d just like to try.” Was it stupid of him to want that? To voice it out loud?
He took a few more sips of the water as he waited for an answer, trying to squash down any feelings of guilt he had about finishing the bottle. Clean water was hard to come by nowadays… he had heard people whisper about people that had been infected by water that hadn’t been decontaminated enough… the disease could spread like that. It was an awful thought. “Thank you,” he murmured once the bottle was empty.
Not a lot of places left to go. Kelsier was right, on that account. Nico didn’t know if he could go back to any of the places he’d been previously, but he did know that he didn’t think he wanted to. There was too much memory, everywhere. He just wanted to get away from it all. He wanted to leave his old life behind and move on to something… well, something better. Something where there wasn’t a target on his back and where he could actually trust people because they knew who he was and didn’t view him as the monster he was. But that would just be a lie, wouldn’t it? “Let’s stay here a moment,” he decided. They could still hear the zombies nearby, but they all seemed to be clustered near a building somewhat in the distance. They hadn’t been noticed yet, and they had the wall behind them to make sure they weren’t taken by surprise by foes coming from the other direction. He eyed Kelsier warily as he kneeled down and set to work. He felt like he was looking everywhere at once, trying to make sure that Kelsier wasn’t going to take advantage of him, and that the zombies were still right where they had been before. He swore under his breath as he struggled to flick open the lighter and sterilize the needle he was holding in his trembling hands. Stupid. This was easy. He swore again as the needle fell from his fingers onto the ground - it probably wasn’t a good idea to use it after that, but he picked it up again anyway and let the flame from the lighter flicker over it. It would have to be good enough.
(Present Day)
Will had to agree with Rue. He had learned early on that reminiscing about the past, that wanting it with everything in his soul, did nothing but make living in the present that much more difficult. Nonetheless, it felt good to acknowledge that life wasn’t ideal. That they could appreciate the little things as much as they wanted, but the big picture was still miserable compared to the one they had been born into. The one they hadn’t gotten a lot of time to appreciate before it had been stolen from them. “Maybe it’ll remind us about the things that we have now that we didn’t have before, or maybe it’ll just remind us about the things that we used to have, but it’ll be in a good way, y’know?” He missed the radio. He missed hearing his brother play music as loud as possible on Saturday mornings and the smell of Jonathan’s pancakes as he and his mom danced in the middle of the living room, completely unashamed of the horrible dance moves they were doing. It was hard to remember that without feeling the pang of heartache and loss that seemed to follow him everywhere, but… it was still a good memory and it was still a good thing and that was really all they could ask for, wasn’t it? “Maybe one day you’ll find your family again and you’ll be able to make a new home. And maybe when I’m back with my mom and brother we can all live near each other and protect each other and…” he trailed off. It was a stupid wish, it really was. He wasn’t being realistic. It was a nice fantasy, though. “Until then, it’s just gonna be you and me and all of the good things we can remember… we can’t let each other forget those.”
Orpheus couldn’t contain his grin. He liked to be useful. Well, normally he liked to be doing what would be best for his song and his music, and Eurydice, but he was good at making himself useful, and he couldn’t think of a better cause than this. It wasn’t that he wanted to save the world. That was a lofty aspiration, but he did want to fix it. Fixing was a much more reasonable goal than saving, because saving implied that you could get it to be exactly how it was before or better. Fixing just implied that there might still be a crack, but at least it was whole again. “Together,” he repeated, as though that made all the difference. Because it did. Orpheus wouldn’t have been there at that moment if he had managed to do things together. If he had realized that Eurydice was out there, alone, looking for things that didn’t exist, as though… as though if he had stayed with her he could have saved her before anything went terribly wrong. If they had just stayed together… but here was another together that had opened itself to him and he was ready to welcome it with open arms. His expression had faltered, just a little bit, but there was still that naive optimism glinting in the corner of his eye. “I think it will,” he murmured, voice almost breaking. “I think it will succeed.” As though, just by believing in it with every bit of himself, he could make a cure appear.
|
|
|
Post by ®Hawkpath® on Oct 19, 2019 11:35:32 GMT -5
(Back In Time)
Ronan glanced sharply to the side as something moved, but it was only Noah, awake and maybe probably trying not to disturb him. He looked away, eyeing his surroundings before looking up at the moon. It was full tonight, a bright white circle hanging in the sky. He wondered what Noah thought about the stars that shone so much brighter now, and he guessed it was something a whole lot sappier than what he thought; which was that it was lucky that they could see better, now that it was more important that they try. Even he couldn’t ignore how lonely the pale moon looked up there, though, and it wasn’t for lack of trying. It made him feel lonely, too. “Get your ass over here already.” He muttered finally, giving in to the overwhelming urge to not be alone anymore. He almost wished something would attack them already, because right now everything was so quiet and peaceful and he didn’t trust it for one second. He wanted to fight something, because then at least he would know what he was dealing with, and now he had something worth protecting. The tables had turned; the undead were now his prey, and they ought to start looking over their shoulders.
If Sherlock thought the question rude, it didn’t show. If anything he seemed pleased by the bluntness. “They usually tell me to shut up and stop trying to be smart.” He explained in a flat tone that was hard to read. The words hurt, but how was he supposed to communication that? It wasn’t like he could just magically gain the ability to tell stories with a slight change of tone, like everyone else seemed to do. He said the truth, the facts, and what he felt about them wasn’t part of it. “Most people find me annoying, I think. Probably it’s because I tell them things they don’t want to hear, when most people hop around the facts like a lot of nervous bunnies around a sleeping bear.” He smirked and took the empty bottle back. “There. Better? Dehydration messes you up faster than almost anything, except oxygen deprivation, of course. I should be able to take some more blood in a minute, once-“ He cut himself off and whipped around, taking a smoking vial of....something.,,,off a makeshift burner, cursing loudly as he burned his fingers. “Almost forgot! My poison is almost done. I want to test it on something, of course...any ideas?”
Kelsier nodded. Staying put was probably their best bet at the moment, with Nico injured and the dead who knew where. Not here, at the moment, anyway, which made this a good place to be. He watched, concern clear on his hawklike features as Nico tried to disinfect the needle. He couldn’t help being impressed at the same time, because how many kids Nico’s age knew how to stitch themselves up? But still. He wished the young survivor would trust him enough to let him do it instead, because watching was definitely going to be a lot harder. He winced as the needle fell, his hand jerking reflexively to pick it up, but he restrained himself. Nico wouldn’t appreciate the sentiment. He wouldn’t even know what the sentiment was, more likely, and Kelsier knew he was going to have to take things slow if he ever wanted to make it to “trusted”. “I’ll keep watch.” He said instead, moving to a spot not far away where he could see all the way around them. “Wouldn’t want anything sneaking up on us. Let me know if you need help with anything, alright?”
(Present Day)
Rue nodded, going quiet. It was true that thinking about the things they’d lost hurt, but she still never wanted to forget what it felt like to lie in a bed, or go camping, or play board games until three in the morning. Those things seemed special and important, and she thought they were a part of who she was. Was that wrong? Maybe she should just accept how things were now. It would make things easier, in a way, to live a life devoid of hope with better, because hope...hope hurt. Hope meant you knew that things weren’t as they were supposed to be, and it was like a hot rock; the longer you held on to it, the more it hurt. It did keep you from freezing to death, though. “Yeah.” She sighed, looking over at her friend. She thought she probably wouldn’t have made it much longer if he hadn’t shown up, because no matter how hard they tried...humans just weren’t supposed to be all alone. She knew she wasn’t. How long had it been since she’d seen a friendly face. “I want to believe that so badly.” She whispered, and for the first time her voice trembled with a pain she hadn’t let herself show. “But you’re right. We have to be enough for each other, until we find our families. I have to believe they’re okay somewhere. I have to keep hoping, but...it hurts.”
The grin was everything L had needed. It contained every ounce of joy the man could express, like a child does and adults do only rarely. L had never pretended to be an adult. He smiled back, looking every bit as happy as Orpheus was to have a friend at last. Even before, he really hadn’t. It seemed odd that he would find a place in this new world, that he would find someone he wasn’t uncomfortable around when there were so few people left. But that’s how it was, and he wasn’t complaining, even if it did mean his peaches were gone. Oh yeah. He was probably going to have to break the news that they were fresh out of sustenance. Ah well, he could do that later, for now he was too distracted by the thrill of finding someone else who wanted to find a cure. “I agree.” He said softly, and he did. They had to succeed. “Together, then. I’ll need to see exactly how the notes effect the undead, and I’ll need your help with that, I expect. It won’t be much fun, but then, not much is, is it?” His smile deepened. “You’re a very interesting person, Orpheus. I look forward to working together.”
|
|
Transgender
strider
No mourners, no funerals
|
Post by strider on Oct 23, 2019 20:32:07 GMT -5
(Back In Time)
Noah grinned. It shocked him, almost, that the expression came so easily after so long, but there it was and he wasn’t going to fight it. It was Ronan’s odd way of showing affection that got to him. Whelk had used similar language, but there was none of the underlying care that Ronan’s voice was laden with. Or perhaps he was just fooling himself now. Perhaps Ronan had been like Whelk all along, he was just better at acting, but… Noah didn’t want to believe that. He was willing to delude himself for just a bit longer if it meant he could feel safe and warm and have his best friend back. And if one day Ronan betrayed him? If he turned around and pushed Noah to the side and became everything that Noah had tried to rinse from his memories of Whelk? Well, in that case, it would be that much easier to just leave and die alone, like he had been planning to do before he had found Ronan again. With soft fingers, he reached out and lightly touched the sharp corner of Ronan’s tattoo, as tentatively as though it were an actual knife that could pierce his cold skin. He would pull away if Ronan shifted, but he had always done that - the soft physical affection followed immediately by as much space as needed if his touch was unwanted. Perhaps he should have learned to withdraw more quickly, he mused. If he had, would he still be dying? He could have run faster than any of them, but he hadn’t wanted to leave Whelk behind. Was that just an extension of this? He froze, his fingers withdrawing with a panic that was as un-Noah-like as the initial reach out had been characteristic of him.
“Trying to be smart?” Crutchie repeated, confused. He may not have liked Sherlock right off the bat - in fact he wasn’t sure he liked him now - but if there was one thing he had noticed, it was that Sherlock was, without a doubt, one of the smartest people he had ever met. It didn’t seem like an act, but maybe he just didn’t know the detective well enough yet. He could, however, see why people considered him annoying. Not that he would say that out loud. Nobody deserved to be told they were annoying, and it seemed that Sherlock only was in a superficial way. On first impressions. “I think the world needs a little bit more blunt honesty, at least now.” He shrugged. “Not… not pessimism, of course, but… if you deal with the truth then you know how to handle the harshness.” An interesting point of view from someone who was very clearly an optimist. Not an idealist, though, it seemed. There was a difference, at least for Crutchie. He moved, glancing at the vial Sherlock held up. He took a step or two closer, wincing in sympathy at the curse Sherlock fired off. “What’s the poison for?” he asked tentatively. He wasn’t sure if this was the part of the story where the madman took off his mask and revealed that his intent was to kill the child all along. That seemed the next logical step, though for some reason Crutchie doubted that such a thing was going to happen here. Perhaps trusting Sherlock was a bad decision, but it was too late to second guess it. He just hoped that if he died here it was to help Sherlock find a cure, not testing poisons on his first day.
Nico watched Kelsier warily, but he didn’t say no. It was clear from the way he was still looking around that he didn’t entirely trust Kelsier to keep watch, but the truth was he felt a little more secure with someone having a clear view around them. He managed to get the needle completely disinfected and threaded, which was more difficult than he had expected giving his shaking fingers, then braced himself. To his credit, he didn’t scream. He let out soft hisses of breath every few moments, having to take a short break at one point before he tied off quickly and stood up as though this was just a normal every day occurrence. Perhaps it was. With the world in the state it was, that wouldn’t be too hard to believe. He met Kelsier’s gaze, something in the harsh wall behind his eyes cracking for just a moment. Why did he want to trust Kelsier? Because you’re weak, a voice in the back of his head hissed, malicious as ever. But it was right. The wall built itself back up and he shoved his arm back in his sleeve. “Where are we spending the night?” He asked, voice guarded.
(Present Day)
Will offered Rue the best smile he could. Things may have been awful - and there was no denying that they were, in fact, awful - but it felt a lot more tolerable with Rue by his side. Was that idealistic? Perhaps, but there was nothing wrong with hope in spite of the way it carved its way deep into his chest, festering but refusing to die. “One day,” he murmured in a quick release of air. “One day we’ll find them, and our hope won’t have been in vain.” They both knew it was unlikely, but perhaps that made the hope even stronger. Because unlikely didn’t mean impossible, and they deserved a happy ending. Hell, they deserved more than a happy ending. Thoughts drifting, Will took a step closer to the edge of the roof so he could see a little bit more. He wasn’t tired, but he knew it was getting late and if they wanted to get anything done the next day it would be beneficial for them to sleep soon. “I can take first watch,” he said, turning back to face her. “Not now, but I mean… when we get closer to ready to sleep. I think… I think it’ll take me a little bit to get used to sleeping up here. Tiring myself out with watch will make it easier.” Or so he told himself. He still wasn’t convinced he wasn’t just going to roll off the roof, but it was nice thinking that at least the undead couldn’t reach them up there.
This was joy, or at least the purest form of it they could get in such a situation. Orpheus hadn’t seen a matching expression on anyone’s face in far too long. The last person he had seen smile like that… it had been Eurydice, before he had let her go… before he hadn’t even noticed her drifting away, before he hadn’t even heard her call his name. His smile cracked for a moment before he reinforced it with the thought of all that he and L could accomplish here. There was hope, and it was growing between the two of them, lifting off the ground in a blaze of fire and light, and all they had to do was join forces. “We can make it fun,” Orpheus replied, though truly he didn’t know if that was possible. But he enjoyed playing, and even if it wasn’t full songs, he had a feeling it would bring the same calm feeling washing over him. And maybe, just maybe he could find something that impacted the undead more than what he had already discovered. Then again, maybe not. That hyper focus, that strange state that came over him, had lost him Eurydice. He didn’t want to lose anyone else, especially not someone who was willing to be friends with him now, who was willing to work together. “I suppose it may be more scientific than what I’m used to, but it’s still music, and there’s always… there’s always more to pick up.” The way his eyes widened as he said it was childlike, almost. Like he was looking up at the universe for the first time and realizing just how endless it was. Perhaps that wonder was merely stored in the young man, though. It was difficult to tell.
|
|
|
Post by ®Hawkpath® on Nov 2, 2019 13:22:07 GMT -5
Ronan felt more than heard Noah as he came closer, and his eyes closed at the gentle touch. It was so normal. It felt like home. It felt like everything Ronan hadn’t had for far too long, friendship and casual contact. When was the last time he’d touched another living person? He couldn’t remember, or he didn’t want to. He wasn’t sure which, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. And then Noah was flinching away, and Ronan’s eyes snapped open. He scanned their surroundings, heart pounding, convinced that Noah had seen someone or something move and gotten spooked somehow, because that’s what it had to be, right? It felt like Noah was afraid of him. That was the thought he was trying not to have. It felt like Noah was too afraid of him even for the casual touch they’d shared for so long, and as much as he tried to ignore it, that stung. “It’s your turn to watch.” He said after a minute. He got up and stretched without looking at his friend, gave a huge yawn, and lay down on the ground. “Do not let me sleep past morning, or else.” He warned, closing his eyes even though he didn’t feel at all like sleeping. He felt like he’d never sleep again.
Sherlock grinned. It was strange, how much he was enjoying someone seeing him as more than an annoying wannabe detective, when really he just wanted to learn random facts about poisons and serial killers. And solve puzzles. Okay, and beat people at their own game, but he wasn’t that annoying. He was just...very much Sherlock Holmes. “Trying to be smart, trying to be annoying, all that.” He explained, shrugging away Crutchie’s confusion. “What, I haven’t annoyed you yet? That’s a first, I’ve usually inspired all out rage by now. Does that mean you aren’t going to leave before I’ve run any tests?” Because that was what he was worried about. Not being alone. Being alone was just how life was for him, and he didn’t know how to be anything else, so he didn’t try. He was alone, even when he was surrounded by people, so what difference did those people make? “Agreed. I’d much rather deal with the truth than a lie meant to make me feel better.” He snorted, as though he found this so obvious it wasn’t even worth saying out loud. “Anyway, the poison’s for science, of course. What else? I’m trying to see how different chemicals react to zombie saliva, and see what I can make out of it. Why? Do you have any suggestions?” He put his fingers together and looked expectantly at the younger man.
Kelsier watched for trouble, but he was also watching Nico. The boy was skilled, that much was certain. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing, and somehow he was doing it, even though he looked like he should have passed out from the pain. Kelsier didn’t flinch. Nico didn’t want to be treated as a child, but that’s what he was. How should he be treated? He shouldn’t have gone through any of this, he shouldn’t have had to survive this much on his own. Whatever had happened to his parents, they weren’t here for him right now. No one was. Except Kelsier. The older man knew he couldn’t leave Nico on his own anymore, not after what he’d seen so far. Someone was after him, someone more than the dead...Kelsier needed to know what was happening. He needed to know Nico was going to be okay, and right now, it didn’t look like he would be on his own. So he wouldn’t be alone anymore. “Let’s find some shelter.” He suggested, smiling at Nico as the boy finished up. He wasn’t sure how much sympathy he should show, so just nodded to the arm with a small wince. “That looks better now, good work. Are you alright to keep moving until we find a place to stay?”
|
|
Transgender
strider
No mourners, no funerals
|
Post by strider on Nov 3, 2019 3:00:16 GMT -5
A sinking feeling took root in Noah’s heart. Had he done wrong by reaching out? Or had he done wrong by pulling away? He couldn’t tell, all he had was the distinct feeling that he had done something wrong and now there was no way to take it back. He wanted to call out, to apologize, to say that he hadn’t meant to, but he had given away that right when he had fallen in with the wrong group. He had given away the part of himself that could genuinely apologize, genuinely ask for things that he wanted… forgiveness, above all… and did he regret it? There was no room for regrets in the world they lived in now. “Or else what?” He challenged with a smile, but there was no heart to it. In the old days Ronan would have grinned that sharp, deadly smile of his, and he would have leapt towards Noah until Noah was pinned on the ground, wheezing with laughter and pushing against Ronan playfully until he either acquiesced or the laughter stopped. The vast majority of the time it was the former, but when it was the latter… Ronan stopped. He always had. He had never pushed Noah’s boundaries further than Noah was comfortable having them pushed, and that was what Noah loved about Ronan. It hurt him more than he could say that he wasn’t sure if he was capable of that same trust now. Thoughts flickering in and out of existence, Noah watched Ronan settle into a sleeping position, eyes closed. He was so tense… so ready to spring into action. Noah wanted to trace the tattoo again, wanted to bridge the gap and let things be how they always had been, but both boys were aware that the world wasn’t like that anymore. They couldn’t have what they once did.
If Crutchie were being honest, he had been angry with Sherlock for about five minutes, and then that anger had petered out once he got his way and now he was far more curious than he was annoyed. Sherlock really wasn’t as annoying as he seemed to think, but maybe the standards for annoyance had changed since the start of the apocalypse, or maybe Crutchie would have been able to tolerate him then too. “You’re gonna have to try a little harder to annoy me,” he quipped, letting himself smile. Many of the boys in the lodging house before the apocalypse had broken out were far more annoying than Sherlock had been as of yet. “I won’t be leaving anytime soon,” he added, lifting his gaze to meet Sherlock’s. “Then again, I would still be staying even if you were the most annoying person I’d ever met.” He was quite certain of that, even if the idea of having tests run on him was still a little intimidating. Crutchie found he agreed with Sherlock on a lot of things, which was… surprising. Based on first impressions they really should have been at each other’s throats, but they weren’t, and Crutchie was more than a little grateful for that. Besides, he was interested in whatever it was Sherlock was doing with the poison, even if he didn’t quite understand what the detective was asking of him. At least it didn’t seem like he was asking Crutchie to take the poison… “What chemical is in that one?” He asked, head tilting. “How do you plan on testing if it’s effective?” He didn’t know if he was asking the right questions, but that didn’t mean he was just going to stop asking.
With every smile Kelsier cast, Nico found himself more and more disarmed by the man. He didn’t understand how someone could smile so much in a world that was so open about its need to kill, in a world that broke people down until they couldn’t be broken anymore. He didn’t understand anyone who still wanted to trust, and it hurt him to admit it. How long had it been since he had let himself trust anyone? Since before Bianca died, perhaps? He didn’t deserve to be able to trust people. “I can keep moving as long as is necessary,” Nico replied, expression guarded. Was this how Kelsier got to people? Was this how his cruelty manifested? He tricked people into trusting him, seemed far more genuine and kinder than anyone had any right to be, and then struck? Nico didn’t believe there were human beings who existed without cruelty embedded inside them. In such a harsh world, how else were you supposed to get back at fate for having done you wrong? Nico didn’t think he was cruel, but… he couldn’t ignore the fact that he had brought this upon everyone else. What greater cruelty was there? “Underground,” Nico offered begrudgingly after a moment. “If you find the right place, the smell of the underground throws them off your scent. And there aren’t often cameras. But it’s easier to get yourself trapped if you don’t pick the right place.” He would leave it open for Kelsier to choose from there. He’d shared his two cents, and he found he would be more comfortable only having to worry about zombies coming from one direction. They just needed to find an underground area that wasn’t originally part of the subway. Zombies tended to like abandoned subway stations, though Nico couldn’t for the life of him understand why.
|
|
|
Post by ®Hawkpath® on Nov 5, 2019 14:41:45 GMT -5
Ronan squeezed his eyes shut. He hated the fact that Noah was so normal, so...Noah. He hated the world that had tried to break him, and he wanted to think it had failed, but he wasn’t sure of that. Not really. In the old world, he would have tackled Noah until the other boy was done, and then he would have offered him a hand up and they would have bumped fists, brothers to the end. Well, this was the end, wasn’t it? Why were things so broken? He hated the part of him that wanted to break whatever was left of their relationship. It would be a lot easier than trying to fix it. He bit his lip, hard, to keep himself from screaming at the sky for what it had stolen from him. When everything had been lost, after his father was gone...Noah had been there. So had Gansey and Adam. His really family, even when he pushed them away and refused to bend, there they were, ready to hold him back before he destroyed himself. He loved the feeling of going too fast, the feeling of plummeting with with no direction, and sometimes he forgot that they were his safety net. Maybe that’s why he’s shattered when they were gone. “I’ll kick your ass.” He called finally, his voice just a little bit muffled, though still bravely playful. He wouldn’t let himself be broken. He couldn’t do that, not when he knew for a fact Noah had it worse. This world was built for people like him, people built like knives and broken things. People like Ronan were the survivors. People like Noah died. He sat up, letting out his breath in an angry huff. It wasn’t fair. He couldn’t sleep like this, so instead he got up and stalked back over to Noah, hands in his pockets, and settled down right next to him. He didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say, when they both knew that the world was cold and their hearts were the only thing still beating.
Sherlock wasn’t sure what to make of that, but at least Crutchie didn’t seem mad at him. That was the main thing. The other main thing was, his science was safe and his poisons weren’t the problem they usually seemed to be. “Good. You’re asking the right questions.” He said, as though he’d read Crutchie’s mind. In reality, he was just pleased that the younger man was thinking things through instead of just flippantly ignoring everything Sherlock said. Not that people ever did that or anything. “White snakeroot and arsenic.” He explained, lifting the vial up so that the light went through it. It was kind of pretty, actually. “I’m trying to see if I can make a poison mixture that can simulate death, without actually killing anything. I think I’ve almost got it, according to my calculations, this should simulate the symptoms of shock, then cause complete, temporary paralysis for about a day. When the victim wakes up, they should be blind for a few hours until the effects wear off.” He put it down, raising an eyebrow at Crutchie. “Yes.” He agreed. “Testing it is a bit of a problem, isn’t it? I could test it on rats, of course, but really it could react so very differently with humans it would be quite the useless operation. I need a volunteer.” He peered at the poison, considering it. “I could take it. But I’d need someone who could properly record the results, and I’m afraid that person has to be me. I’ve thought about using it on the dead, but again, very different reactions are possible. I haven’t thought of what else to do with it, yet, honestly.”
I bet you can. Kelsier thought, eyeing Nico. The boy had been going far past his breaking point already, that much was abundantly clear. Who knew how much longer he could push himself before he collapsed completely? But it wasn’t like they had much of a choice in the matter. The sounds and smells of the dead were all around them, threatening to choke them, and staying here meant certain death. They were lucky everything had been as quiet as it was. “Underground it is.” He agreed, and hesitated, torn between offering Nico a hand up and backing away to give him some space. He settled on simply looking away, scanning their surroundings for the danger he was sure was coming. Underground was a good idea. The only problem was finding a way to get there. He glanced back at Nico, and it occurred to him that the boy might know a few ways to get underground. He wasn’t sure he wanted to ask, though. Nico had already given so much away. Did he really want to request any information he had about safe places? “I won’t make you let me help you, but we might go faster if you do.” Kelsier added carefully. It was nothing but the truth, and he hoped the younger survivor would appreciate that. “Either way, we should get moving. We don’t want to get trapped out here in the dark.
|
|
Transgender
strider
No mourners, no funerals
|
Post by strider on Nov 5, 2019 16:23:05 GMT -5
Noah laughed softly. They were both playing an unsustainable game: ‘what-if-the-earth-weren’t-dying-and-this-was-just-like-it-was-before.’ Noah didn’t want to let go of that feeling. “I’d fight back,” he retorted, mischief in his eyes as though he ever had a chance against Ronan. Just like he always did. Because Ronan brought out the parts of Noah that were hidden to everyone else. The thin veil of bravery, the ability to fight back, the endless quips and jokes. The people who met him usually thought he was all rounded edges, fading into the background, not enough to really catch anyone’s eye, cut through anyone, or climb past people’s expectations. The rest of his friends all had sharp edges of some sort, some enough to intrigue, others enough to wound, but not Noah. Not unless he was with them, not unless they were encouraging him and trusting him and letting him laugh and exist as something other than a face in the background. He was still the odd boy with romantic ideas and a strange sense of humor, who seemed to oscillate between much younger than he was and much older than he was, but around his friends, he was more. It was like they could bring him to life. Like he was drawing power from each of them. Now… well, the source was weakened by time and distance and the end of the world, but Noah could still tap in. And then Ronan was sitting beside him and he wanted to lean on the other boy, to bridge the gap, but it was like he was frozen in place. He wondered if he had just missed signs when he was little, had not realized when he wasn’t wanted… had been annoying and needy and everything Whelk had told him over the years he was with him. Perhaps Ronan had just forgotten about his many flaws, or he was just being nice. Or maybe he was just desperate for someone that he was okay with it just being Noah. Over time, Noah had realized that Whelk needed him, had used him as a status symbol, and when he outlived his usefulness, he was left behind. No. No, he was pushed out. He didn’t want to stop being useful here… was that all friendship was? How useful someone was to you? “When you want me gone,” Noah whispered, his voice as soft as the wind. “Just tell me. I won’t mind.”
Crutchie cocked an eyebrow. “So what I’m getting,” he began, his voice almost sarcastic, “Is that you want to take it and then have me record the results.” Willful misunderstanding, though he understood now what Sherlock was asking. At least it didn’t sound like what Crutchie had initially feared. Still, it didn’t exactly sound pleasant. “I’m kidding,” he added a moment later, shaking his head. “I know what you’re asking.” Just in case Sherlock hadn’t gotten the sarcasm. He… was walking on thin ice, he felt, trying to figure out Sherlock Holmes. Because he seemed intelligent and not unkind, but blunt and rather socially inept. Not that Crutchie was the epitome of social grace either, but… he was still getting used to Sherlock’s mannerisms, it seemed. He had a long way to go to understanding the detective. “How do you know it won’t kill your subject?” It was a fair question, but one he doubted Sherlock would know how to answer. Something about calculations, but calculations could be fallible if there were any number of factors present, right? It was a risk Crutchie figured he was going to have to take. Besides, Sherlock had warned him right at the beginning that the chances of him dying during this were pretty high. And anything he could find out from a living Crutchie he could probably find out from a dead one… he grit his teeth, lifting his gaze to meet Sherlock’s. “Fine. Give it here. Just… if something goes horribly wrong and I become a zombie,” that was worst case scenario, “Make sure I don’t hurt anyone.” It wasn’t exactly reluctance in his voice, just uncertainty. And a touch of fear.
Nico frowned at that. “How, exactly, do you plan to help me?” he inquired. Because if it was something simple that didn’t require any trust… fine. If it was anything else, then they would both have to be a little more patient, wouldn’t they? Kelsier didn’t need to be travelling with him, he was doing this out of the same convenience that Nico was. Unless he was actually foolish enough to believe that he could break down the boy’s defenses. Although Nico couldn’t understand why anyone would want to do that when there were a thousand other better uses of the time and effort it would take. Unless he suspected who Nico was… but then he woudn’t be travelling with him. The boy sucked in a breath. He was thinking too much, he knew. He was just going to get in his head and then there would be an opening for Kelsier to hurt him. “Follow me,” he muttered, meeting Kelsier’s gaze and looking around. He knew somewhere they could go – it wasn’t one of his usual spots. He wasn’t that stupid, of course, to lead Kelsier into one of his few save havens, but it was somewhere. They would both be safe at least. He moved quickly and almost silently, watching every building for a camera and making sure that Kelsier was always in sight. If he wasn’t… well, Nico still didn’t trust him not to take advantage of him. It had still been a short enough time that the man could be playing the long game. “Be careful, there may be old traps from people that have used it as a safe place and then moved away. And we can’t stay there for too long.” Mainly because of Nico’s father… his scouts had learned to look underground. They weren’t very good at it, but Nico wasn’t taking any chances.
|
|
|
Post by ®Hawkpath® on Nov 7, 2019 9:32:27 GMT -5
Ronan grinned. It was hard to tell whether he meant it, even for him, because what did it mean to fake a smile? Did it mean you were lying to others, or to yourself? It felt, I’m that moment, like his smile was more real than the creatures in the dark that waited to strike and kill them, longed to tear them apart. Ronan felt real, and it was the best feeling in the world. It was Noah that brought that out of him. Around most people he was cold and hard, an impenetrable fortress with a “DO NOT ENTER” sign nailed to his forehead. He was all rough words and hard truths, and there weren’t many people who were willing to put up with him long enough to see that there was more to him than the edge of a knife. But Noah was still there. After everything, he was still there, and he still didn’t flinch when Ronan sat next to him. Maybe he should. The thought wasn’t entirely comfortable. Noah didn’t know what it had taken for Ronan to stay alive. Noah didn’t know just how heavy Ronan’s heart was, or how deeply he longed for something he couldn’t put words to. “Hell yeah you would.” He agreed, and gave in, laying his head in Noah’s shoulder. It felt like a wolf allowing a human to pet it; a wild animal permitting closeness to a very select few. Noah’s words were like wind in his ears. Barely audible, but he heard them, and for a moment he didn’t say anything at all. It was like he was going to pretend he hadn’t heard anything, until he picked up his head and leveled a stern gaze at the only friend he had left. “Shut up.” He ordered. “You don’t get to pretend like you don’t matter. Not anymore. I thought you were dead, and there are corpses walking around like they own the place, and if you think for even one second that I’m gonna let you wander off by yourself again, you don’t know me at all, Noah Czerny.” He knew Noah felt...less…but the idea that Ronan would want him gone was absurd. Laughable. Ronan narrowed his eyes, refusing to look away. “You’re gonna promise me you won’t sneak away in the night or pull any other sh*t on me. Got it?”
Sherlock opened his mouth to contradict Crutchie, then paused as he went on, explaining that he hadn’t been serious. “Ah.” He said simply. He didn’t really understand, but he was pleased that his new companion seemed to have caught on without the scientist having to explain in detail what he required. Crutchie was interesting, to say the least. He claimed Sherlock didn’t really annoy him, he made odd jokes Sherlock didn’t understand...he seemed quite unique. If Sherlock had been less sure of himself, he’d have been having second thoughts about poisoning him, but as it was he was quite confident that he’d made the liquid in the vial only almost deadly. “I’ve run tests on samples of tissue, among other things you wouldn’t understand.” He explained, moving to set the vial down and prep his notebook and the old, beat up pencil he now used to record his experiments. Not as good as a computer by a long shot, but he made the best out of what he had. “Of course, I can’t be completely sure, but I’m fairly confident, and for the average person that’s about the same. Besides, it’d be a pain to get a test subject only to kill him at once, wouldn’t it?” Not entirely reassuring, perhaps. At least he was trying. It might have been more reassuring if he hadn’t.
“No offense, but you look like you might pass out.” Kelsier explained, his half smile somewhere between amused and sympathetic. “Trust me, I know how much a wound like that hurts. You can lean on me if you need, or not, whatever you think you need.” He didn’t expect Nico to agree to use him as support, but the offer was out there now. And if he passed out, hopefully he wouldn’t freak out too much when he woke up to find Kelsier carrying him. He probably would panic and try to kill the older survivor, but Kelsier was confident that he could defend himself until his small friend calmed down. The truth was, he was traveling with Nico because they needed each other in this world. Not out of convenience, exactly, but because it was clear that Nico wasn’t doing as well as he pretended to be, and Kelsier was tired of being alone. He missed Mare, he missed Dox. He knew Mare would have killed him for leaving a kid behind, and despite everything that had come between them, he still loved her with everything he had left. Despite everything, the thought that she would be angry with him was enough to make him push himself past his limit for a boy he didn’t know. And he didn’t know Nico. He didn’t know what the boy had done to survive, or even what he was like when he wasn’t terrified for his life. He didn’t care. This kid had been on his own too long, and that was going to end right now. Surprise went through him as Nico offered to take him somewhere. Not his usual place, surely? He seemed far too cautious for that, but the fact that he was willing to bring Kelsier anywhere at all made him think there was more to the kid than survival after all. He smiled gently, nodding his agreement. “Alright. Lead the way, I’ll watch your back.”
|
|
Transgender
strider
No mourners, no funerals
|
Post by strider on Nov 7, 2019 14:33:14 GMT -5
Noah smiled. He wished he could freeze this moment forever, wished he could have Ronan here forever, not… hating him, not wanting him gone, not deciding he had outlived his use. Ronan had changed, of course, Noah knew that. Noah had changed too, possibly more literally than Ronan. He didn’t want to think about Ronan killing others… zombies, mostly, probably, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if Ronan had killed other humans. It was hard to reconcile that truly dangerous person with the boy who now sat with his head on Noah’s shoulder. He didn’t quite understand what the other boy was saying, he couldn’t really process the words when it seemed so contradictory to everything Noah understood. Was this what it was like to be loved? To know that you belonged somewhere? Noah hadn’t felt that in far too long, had taken it for granted when he’d had it. Why did it hurt so badly? It was hard to keep meeting Ronan’s gaze, as sharp as it was. It felt like an accusation, and a promise. “I can’t promise that,” Noah replied, his voice tiny. He looked away, rubbing at the smudge on his cheek. He had betrayed Ronan just by being here. Whatever he did now… well, it would hurt his friend, and he had to live with that. He didn’t want to… he forced his gaze back up, holding Ronan’s for as long as possible. “I don’t want to leave,” he admitted quietly, “but I can’t promise I won’t.” He knew Ronan would fight tooth and nail to keep him with him and alive, but what did it matter when what he was protecting was only masquerading as human? Clinging on to whatever he could remember from life, the feelings that had sustained him, his will to keep on living… but he wasn’t human. Not anymore. Or at least not for long. When he turned… well, he would leave. Because he couldn’t put Ronan through killing him. At least he was being honest about it. “I won’t make a promise I can’t keep. Not to you.” He looked away again, rubbing at his cheek. In the pale light he looked gaunt, older, even. Like there were secrets he was keeping that he couldn’t keep entirely hidden.
It grated at Crutchie that Sherlock was so glib with assuming that Crutchie wouldn’t have understood things – and he was quite confident that he was capable of understanding things if Sherlock would ever take the time to explain them, but he wasn’t going to point that out now. Not when he was staring at a vial of poison that he was going to be willingly ingesting. He limped forwards and picked it up, looking at it with the light shining through it, and then glancing at Sherlock. He hesitated for a moment, as if trying to decipher whether Sherlock was ready for him to take it – or perhaps if he himself was ready, before he gave an unconvincing smile and raised the vial in a mocking gesture of a toast. Then he downed it. His first impression was that it tasted nasty. Nothing happened at first, but it burned on the way down and Crutchie… well, he was suddenly doubting his decision. He propped his crutch up against the wall and moved to take a seat when his eyes widened and the pain registered. Oh. Distantly, he registered that his hands were trembling as he eased his way into a seated position. He retched, his entire body seeming to turn against whatever it was he had just ingested. It was much worse than Crutchie had expected, especially as his heart seemed to tighten, skipping some beats and racing through others. He pressed his arms against his stomach, tears forming in his eyes as he cried out. His breath was coming hard and in short spurts, heaving in and then out, as though he couldn’t get enough air. Suddenly, the reality of the situation hit him. Sherlock had said he wouldn’t die, but wasn’t this worse? Surely he would expect more of this from Crutchie, surely… he couldn’t keep his thoughts straight. Why couldn’t he think normally? Why… why couldn’t he breathe? One hand was pressed desperately at his chest as though he were trying to push the pain out of it, trying to force himself to breathe… he was past trembling now, his body thrown into full on convulsions as he desperately clung on to consciousness, clawing at the floor as though he could cling onto it and stop his body from shaking so badly. He wanted to cry out, but he couldn’t make any words come. Where was he? All he knew was that it hurt and the light was too bright, he was in pain. His blue eyes were open and glazed, staring past the ceiling as though he could see something beyond it and his body fell still, muscles relaxing and eyes closing. His heartbeat was so faint it was practically nonexistent, and it seemed almost as though he had stopped breathing. Evidently, the poison had worked.
“I’m not gonna pass out,” Nico snapped, though he knew that was a very real possibility. It did hurt, but that didn’t mean he was going to let Kelsier know that. That was a guaranteed death sentence in his eyes, and he wasn’t willing to risk that. At least Kelsier didn’t know who he was. Dying was probably preferable to being found, though the truth was he really had no idea what his father would do to him once he did find him. Because that seemed more like an inevitability than a possibility. He kept walking, always keeping an eye on Kelsier. In an ideal situation he would have been walking in back, but he knew where they were going. Kelsier didn’t. “There’s an old warehouse about a mile and half that way,” he told Kelsier, ignoring the man’s statement about watching Nico’s back. He didn’t need to, Nico could do that perfectly well by himself. He ignored the headache pressing in on him, the dizzy feeling that came with it. He was exhausted and in pain and way past his breaking point, but he wasn’t alone anymore. Which meant dealing with it would just have to wait until he was. “Must’ve been built by survivalists or something, there’s a bunker right outside. It’s pretty ravaged,” he winced as he shifted his arm, but didn’t dare stop talking for long. “Must’ve been attacked pretty early in, but I haven’t seen anyone there in months.” Which meant it was almost time to find somewhere new because that much inactivity was suspicious. “I’ve set some traps there-” he stumbled over a rock, then straightened himself up, obviously shaken by the fact he was in such bad shape. “Not traps, exactly, just… things to let me know if anyone’s passed through. Or if anyone might currently be there. It’s…” he trailed off, seeming to lose his train of thoughts. He wasn’t doing too well. If he were less stubborn, or less afraid, he may have accepted Kelsier’s offer, but he wasn’t. He hadn’t lived as long as he had by believing that human beings could be kind. He wasn’t about to start now.
|
|
|
Post by ®Hawkpath® on Nov 7, 2019 18:28:39 GMT -5
Ronan didn’t move. It was hard, to have someone you cared about. He told himself he could protect Noah against anything, zombies and humans alike, and half of him thought maybe it was true. He’d made it this far, hadn’t he? How hard could it be to keep one more life breathing? He could have laughed at himself. It was all so stupid, this whole world that had folded in on itself, destroyed itself. It was stupid, and he hated it, and he wanted to go back but he couldn’t. What was the point in pretending everything was okay? It made Ronan want to break something. The idea of watching Noah be killed was unbearable, but perhaps worse was the idea of never knowing how the story ended. Noah couldn’t just leave. That was a fact. And yet here he was, looking Ronan in the eye and turning him down. “If you don’t want to go, then don’t go.” His tone was harsh, and his blue eyes flashed. “You can’t sit there and tell me you might just walk away like nothing mattered.” He pulled away, eyes narrowing, “Is that what you think? What, you don’t feel like you’re enough so you get to just up and leave me?” He was trying to sound angry, but the hurt was seeping through too. The stupid truth he was trying to avoid was that he didn’t want to be alone anymore. He wasn’t just trying to protect his friend, although that was certainly a good part of it. He was reaching for a light in a very dark world, his fingers barely brushing it, and Noah had the power to shut the door. Ronan couldn’t be alone. He needed Noah to stay, as much as Noah needed him. Even though he would never admit that to himself. “Fine.” He said at last, and the words were like sandpaper tearing at his throat. “But if you go, go because that’s what you want. You don’t get to pretend it’s my fault.”
Sherlock let the boy take the poison, quite pleased to have found a willing participant. It wasn’t often that someone would go to such lengths for...well, whatever Crutchie was getting out of this. It occurred to him that he didn’t know what that was. Which was just a bit unsettling, but he pushed it aside in the interest of paying attention to his current experiment. He nodded as Crutchie glanced at him. He was ready, and he assumed the younger survivor was too, since he seemed to be about to drink it. He watched as Crutchie drank every drop, his expression intensely alert as it scanned the boy’s features for signs of the effect. When it came, it came like a hurricane. Sherlock watched as he started trembling, watched as he reached and gasped for air. He wrote down the symptoms, and whether they were the same as what he’d predicted, and was pleased to find that most of them were. It was a bit difficult to watch. Crutchie looked for all the world like he was dying, and from how wide his eyes were, he seemed to think he was too. Sherlock walked closer to get a better view, entering Crutchie’s line of sight moments before the blue eyes closed and the muscles finally relaxed. The convulsions stopped too, and as the scientist crouched to check Crutchie’s pulse, he thought for a moment that there wasn’t one at all. He waited. Then, faintly, he felt it. Barely, lighter than even he had predicted, but there. Sherlock exhaled, taking his hand away and moving over to his notebook, where it lay open on the table. “Experiment one….” He muttered, scribbling down the results. “...complete. Need...to...wait...until...subject...awakens...to...confirm...results.” It looked good, though. It had been very convincing, so much so that even Sherlock had thought he might be dying, and he knew he hadn’t made it actually deadly. As long as Crutchie woke up and recovered properly, he could call this a success.
Sure you’re not. Kelsier almost said it out loud, but he didn’t, because the last thing he needed right now was to have Nico upset with him. Well, more upset with him. He seemed pretty much there already, if the older survivor was being completely honest with himself, which he made a point of doing. Not that it mattered. Kelsier only needed to intervene if Nico went down, and as long as the boy was unconscious, he wasn’t protesting. Until then, all he had to worry about was everything else. He smiled at that thought, because everything else in this case meant the dead, the living, the elements, disease, infection, random heart failure due to stress...he could go on for a while. The point was, they were not safe and probably never would be. Maybe Nico wasn’t as confident as he let on, though. Kelsier nodded simply as Nico told him where they were going. “It’s funny that the survivalists were right all along.” He pointed out, scanning the area for anything that looked like a problem. They’d gotten lucky so far, but that meant nothing about the future, and Kelsier didn’t trust luck. “Although maybe they weren’t. We had no reason to believe the world would go the way it did. Maybe they should have been enjoying the present instead of worrying about the future. I like to think I do both fairly well, myself.” Nico looked like he was about to drop. Kelsier glanced at him, his worry showing in his sharp hazel eyes, and readied himself to swoop in and catch him if it proved necessary. “Most places are. Ravaged, I mean.” He observed, continuing to speak as though Nico hadn’t just nearly fallen. There was no use calling attention to it. They both knew he was in bad shape and probably wouldn’t make it much further. “Still, sometimes those are the best places to be. It means people have already hit there and taken what they wanted, and while it’s not a guarantee of safety by any means, it’s better than nothing.”
|
|
Transgender
strider
No mourners, no funerals
|
Post by strider on Nov 8, 2019 4:29:49 GMT -5
“No.” Noah’s voice was a whisper. “No, you keep…” the words weren’t coming easy to him. “You keep saying that if I know you at all, then… then whatever.” He looked like he wanted to curl in on himself. “I know. I know you, I know what you were like before and I know you’ve changed, but not really. Not deep down. I… I can promise you one thing.” He lifted his gaze up again. “I promise you deep down I’m still the same and I would never have left because of you, then or now. And of course it matters. How could it not…” he swallowed, pushing back the instinct to cry. “How could it not matter?” He stared at his feet for a moment, still rubbing at the blotch on his cheek – the mark that had the power to change this conversation in a millisecond, turn him into one of them, make him Ronan’s enemy. And he wasn’t strong enough to stop it. Nobody was. “I want to stay.” There was more force in that statement than in anything else he had said since finding Ronan again. “And I’ll stay for as long as I can. When I leave…” he came dangerously close to voicing the issue, to telling Ronan straight out what had happened, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to. He couldn’t… he could say as much as he wanted that it was to avoid hurting Ronan, but it was just as much to give himself the chance of a happy ending, if only for a short time. “When I leave you’ll know why.” He should’ve turned well before now. But he hadn’t. There must have been some sort of reason why, but Noah couldn’t fathom what it was. All he knew was that he had to hold on as long as possible. He didn’t voice the last thought that hovered through his mind: You’ll probably want me gone well before I have to leave anyway. Why did he believe that so firmly? Because Whelk had made side comments whenever he could get away with it. It was a miracle that Noah’s friends had stayed with him for as long as they did, he would say. Miracle that he had survived so long. When he was mad, usually. “I missed you, y’know,” Noah said, wanting to grasp Ronan’s hand and hold onto it, clinging to it like it was his only anchor to reality, but he felt he had no right to touch Ronan anymore. Not after refusing to grant Ronan the simplest thing he could have possibly asked for. “I wish it had been you,” he added, letting his hand finally fall from his cheek. “That I found first. Things would’ve been different, then.” Nothing he said mattered, he knew. The damage was already done. He knew Ronan too well to think that the other boy was truly mad at him. But he was hurt, and Noah couldn’t fix it this time. He wondered when he’d stopped being able to pick up the pieces.
(time skip) Everything hurt. That was the first thing that Crutchie became aware of as his senses returned to him. He felt… cold. Like his heart hadn’t been able to pump enough to his extremities. He was still alive. He could feel the floor, hard and uncomfortable beneath him, and the pain around his chest, and still panging at his stomach. He felt a little nauseous, but this time he thought it was probably from the pain rather than anything still in his system. He sucked in a deep breath, trying to take stock of what, exactly, had happened. His fingernails were torn and sharp from scrabbling on the floor, and the truth was he couldn’t remember the moment he passed out. He couldn’t remember much, actually. He groaned from the pain, opening his eyes to see – nothing. What? He recalled Sherlock’s silhouette just before his vision went dark, but now… it was just dark. He squeezed his eyes shut again as though that would make any difference, but to nobody’s surprise, he still couldn’t see. It was starting to come back to him. Sherlock had said that there might be temporary blindness, just as he said the poison would simulate shock. Crutchie realized now that such a statement meant he would actually have to go through the symptoms of shock rather than just the appearance of them, but… it was miserable. Or it had been. This was still quite unpleasant, but nothing like the initial stages. Logic didn’t stop the panic that came with not being able to see. He tried unsuccessfully to push himself into a seated position, trying to stop his heart from racing. He was safe. He was fine, now. If Sherlock hadn’t killed him while he was poisoned… well, that was as sure a sign as any that Sherlock wasn’t nearly as malevolent as Crutchie’s inner thoughts had suggested. A good sign, despite the fact that he had no idea where the man might be now. That terrified him. He shrunk as tight up against the wall as he could – and it seemed his body was more willing to respond to him now – and waited. Waited to warm up a bit, to be able to see, to be able to sit up with at least moderate ease. He closed his eyes again, trying to clear his mind. It was hard, with the pain and the lack of vision clouding his thoughts and pulling what remained in dozens of directions at once. He was still having trouble breathing, he realized, and then frowned when he realized what the issue was. Great. Not something he could fix now, though that hurt almost as much as his stomach still did.
Nico nodded, though he didn’t necessarily agree that it was funny. He thought it was sad, that even the people who had been most prepared had died, that the ones who foresaw the end of the world had still not been ready for it to arrive. And it was his fault. He wanted to turn back, to undo whatever it was that had caused this, that had made this his fault, that had killed so many people… he frowned, arms crossing over his chest. “Nothing humble about you, is there?” Nico replied sarcastically. The truth was that he found he didn’t mind Kelsier’s presence. And that terrified him. He wanted to hate the man, wanted to be able to flee and have no regrets. He would probably have to do so soon if he didn’t want to get attached. Because as much as he tried to convince himself that he’d gotten used to being alone, being with someone felt so natural, took off weight he hadn’t known he’d been carrying. And it was the most dangerous thing he could possibly do, for both himself and Kelsier. He knew he should run away at the earliest opportunity. “It’s a good way to tell where’s safe and where’s not,” Nico agreed through gritted teeth. Just a little farther, but his vision was swimming in his eyes and he had no way out. No way to get away from Kelsier, to make sure his life was safe, and unless Kelsier truly was playing some sort of drawn out game, having created a trap that Nico was stupid enough to fall prey to. If he fell, if he passed out… then he may as well accept that he was dead in the water. Both Kelsier and Nico knew that Nico wasn’t going to make it much farther, no matter how stubborn he was. He coughed, eyes narrowing as he pressed on, not sure whether he was supposed to propose topics of conversation or just soldier on. He would have preferred silence, but… Kelsier seemed to be willing to wait for him to want to open up. Why? The thought took Nico over the edge, drowning him in haze and half-remembered truths as his body lurched forward and he lost consciousness. He hadn’t meant to of course, but it wasn’t like he had a whole lot of say on the matter.
|
|
|
Post by ®Hawkpath® on Nov 9, 2019 19:22:31 GMT -5
Ronan stared at him. How could it be true? If Noah left too, that meant he had chased away every single one of the people who cared whether he lived or died. How could he believe the boy in front of him - the boy he cared about so deeply it was like a physical stab to his heart - hadn’t changed? This world changed you. It had changed Ronan, hadn’t it? Ronan had killed people. That was the unspeakable truth that stretched between them like a barrier, like a cold wind against a closed door, keeping it shut. Had he done it because he had to? What did that even mean? The people around him were struggling to live the same way he was, so how could he possibly have any sort of right to kill them? Then again, Ronan was not a person who asked for permission. He was a person who took because there were rules against it, who existed mostly to spite the people who told him no. It was hard to say what Ronan Lynch would be like if he played anyone else’s drum. And that was why he couldn’t apologize for what he’d done to stay alive. He wouldn’t tell that lie. He hadn’t enjoyed it; he suspected it made him a bad person, but he would do it again. For Noah, for this moment with his skin close to the other boy and their eyes meeting across the barrier, he would do it all again. “I don’t understand why you won’t just tell me.” He said, his voice almost soft, but still edged with hurt masquerading as anger. “If it’s really not because of me, just tell me why. Don’t you dare say you can’t stay. I’m saying you can.” He wanted to believe Noah didn’t want to go. He thought the other boy might believe it, even, but he couldn’t think of another reason staying was not an option, and that hurt. He wanted to believe in him so bad, and it hurt. His harsh blue eyes softened just a fraction, and he reached forward, grasping Noah’s hands with both of his. The firelight caught his tattoo and made it glow bright; a clawed, unearthly thing with dangerous edges and black teeth. “‘Course you did.” He said gruffly, letting the topic fade. For now. “Hell, man, I would’ve found you a lot sooner if you’d been anywhere I expected you to be. It was like nothing I’ve seen outside my dreams, those first few days in. I didn’t know where to look.” He could honestly say he’d tried. He’d checked the school, the warehouse, all the houses he could think of...he’d torn the town apart looking and come up with nothing but physical and mental scars to add to his collection. He would never admit to anyone the night he’d truly given up, and he tried never to let it in his mind, but there it was.
Sherlock watched. And waited. It had been a while, now. Crutchie’s body lay still as death, and if the scientist hadn’t known better he might have said he was, in fact, dead. But he did know better. So he waited, eyes on his subject, for something to happen. Was he cruel for putting Crutchie through this? There was a decent argument for that conclusion. Namely the fact that despite not having physically forced the boy to do anything, he also hadn’t been quick to offer alternatives. Was there another way? Sherlock didn’t know any. So here he was, tapping his beat-up pencil on the table to the beat of a song he didn’t quite remember, and waited. And then Crutchie was breathing, and Sherlock was scribbling frantically, trying to note exactly how long it had been since he’d fallen unconscious, every symptom, every twitch of every muscle he could remember - which was a good number, as he had a spectacular memory - before he missed anything important happening as Crutchie drew in breath after labored breath. The boy was trembling, and his eyes stared withiit seeing. Ah. Temporary blindness. That was probably a good sign, really, considering that if it hadn’t happened then Sherlock had been wrong and who knew what might result from that. “You’ll be able to see again in about….four hours, give or take seventeen minutes.” He announced, apparently either unaware of or indifferent to Crutchie’s fear. “Congratulations, that went even better than I’d hoped. You did marvelous of course. I think I’ve got all I need for that particular poison, for now at any rate, and I’ve more tests to run before we can do anything else anyway. So, you ought to eat and drink something, then rest up as best you can. How are you feeling?” Was the question based on some empathy the man had yet to show, or scientific interest? It was hard to tell. He tilted his heads then snapped his fingers and bounded off. He returned a moment later with a glass of water and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “I nearly forgot, you can’t see a thing, can you? Here you are. Your stomach probably hurts quite a lot right now, but food should help, provided it doesn’t make it significantly worse.”
“Nope.” Kelsier agreed, smiling as though this was a compliment about his personality. “I tell it like it is.” Or he tried to. Kelsier didn’t think there was any point in trying to say what other people thought was true, even if it would have been more convenient that way. The world was full of lies. He didn’t see the need to add to them. He wondered whether Nico had killed anyone. Then he blinked, because what had made him think that? Maybe it was the boy’s expression, the pained look on his face as he pushed himself further and further past his breaking point. Or maybe it was the idea that he knew nothing about this kid, nothing but the fact that he needed help and Kelsier could offer it. If only Nico would take it. He walked close behind him, eyes in him more than they should have been for someone who was supposed to be keeping watch. If anything were to attack at that moment, he might have gone down and never gotten up again, but for once luck was on his side and he wasn’t punished for his negligence. “We should see if we can find some food tomorrow.” He continued, letting the younger survivor ignore the situation for just a little bit longer. He hoped he was helping by being a distraction, but he couldn’t be sure. Maybe the only thing keeping Nico on his feet was the fear of what Kelsier might do if he fell...he almost winced. He didn’t want to look like a threat, but he knew he did and he knew that looks had nothing to do with it, not really. He didn’t look dangerous, he was dangerous. He expected Nico to fall long before he did. When the boy went down he dove forward, his arms slipping under him and breaking his fall before he could even hit the ground. “I’m impressed.” He said softly, straightening up with the boy cradled in his arms. He looked much smaller now, his pale face younger, his frame thinner. It wasn’t hard at all to lift him, and it should have been, and suddenly Kelsier knew for a fact that he could never abandon this kid. Not for any reason. He headed for the building, Nico’s head resting on his chest.
|
|
Transgender
strider
No mourners, no funerals
|
Post by strider on Nov 10, 2019 4:45:15 GMT -5
“It’s not like you’re telling me everything either!” Noah snapped, and for just a moment there was the barest hint of a wildness that lay just barely leashed beneath the boy’s surface. A sort of aggressiveness that most certainly hadn’t been there when the two had known each other before all this. Noah recoiled from his own voice, rubbing at that smudge on his cheek once more. He stared at the ground, unwilling to meet Ronan’s gaze. He was lucky that he hadn’t lost control in front of Ronan… that he didn’t seem to lose control often at all. But this had been a slip that scared him more than he cared to admit. It was true, he thought, that Ronan had his own fair share of secrets he didn’t seem inclined to share with Noah, but that hadn’t been any excuse for the outburst. “I can’t stay because of me,” he admitted after a long, silent moment. “Never you. When I have to leave you’ll know why. I… I don’t know how to tell you now.” He hated the idea of keeping secrets, but he needed this. He needed to know that Ronan was okay, he needed the comfort that his friend provided. He was so tired of dying alone. “I left, after everything started,” Noah admitted, shaking his head. “I took Adele, and we ran, and she found a group. I let her go. I thought they could protect her better than I could, and then Whelk found me.” He shrugged, lifting his gaze towards the stars. “I didn’t look for anyone.” It hurt, hearing that Ronan had looked for him. “I knew I’d hold you all back, and by the time I realized that I wanted to be with you all in spite of that… I was too far away to really do anything.” That was all he was really willing to share, he found. There was more, but it would lead to questions that Noah knew he couldn’t answer. “I’m sorry I didn’t stay back. I… I don’t want to be alone anymore.” He pulled his sweater up over his knees, hugging them tightly to his chest. “Have you been in any gas stations or tourist traps since everything started?” He inquired, his expression having shifted just enough to suggest that there was nothing hidden beneath his gaze. “People don’t take things they don’t need. You can find the best stuff there. It reminds me of before, when we used to go, and they had the snow globes with all the glitter…” He knew he was being fanciful. It had been a character trait before the apocalypse, but now it was perhaps just annoying idealism. Nonetheless, it was a trait Noah hadn’t been able to shake in spite of everything. “I think it would be better with someone than completely on my own. Then I’d at least have someone to annoy.” The way he delivered the words was almost monotone, but if anyone knew him, they would recognize it as a joke. Hopefully Ronan would still take it that way – he had always been the best at understanding Noah’s strange humor. They shared a lot of it between themselves. Silence passed for a few moments before Noah shifted. “Can I… can I see your tattoo?” Coming from anyone else, such a question may have been suggestive. From Noah, on the other hand, it seemed to be genuine curiosity. Or perhaps a longing for some sort of familiarity. Despite the fact that Noah didn’t think he had ever seen it all at once before.
Sherlock’s voice did two things simultaneously. It startled Crutchie, forcing him to retreat in on himself, and it grounded him, letting him know in better context where, exactly, he was, and where Sherlock was in relation to him. Four hours was less than ideal. This all felt like a cruel joke. What was a queer kid with one leg that didn’t work and a lack of eyesight supposed to do in a zombie apocalypse? It felt like all of the cards were stacked against him survival-wise, especially if Sherlock was wrong and his vision didn’t come back. What would he do then? Crutchie pushed the thought down as far as it would go. He had four hours at the very least to worry about what would happen if his vision didn’t return, so it wasn’t the best time to worry about it. There was something in Sherlock’s voice that reminded Crutchie in unequivocal terms that he was just here to be an experiment. There would be kindness, at times, but Crutchie doubted it would be enough to make up for the terrible parts of the bargain. His blue eyes searched the direction he’d heard Sherlock come from, but they remained unfocused and with no recognition sparking in them. Why didn’t Sherlock seem to care at all that it still hurt to breath or that what he had gone through was miserable? On one hand, Crutchie certainly hadn’t expected Sherlock to care in the slightest, but on the other it was still hard receiving the proof of it. Crutchie wasn’t even sure how to answer his question. It was obvious that he was only asking for scientific purposes, but that didn’t make it any easier for Crutchie to put words to it. “I…” how could he be honest when his body was still shaking and he couldn’t even correctly process what had happened? “I feel like I just died,” he replied, voice tense. It was the truth. Of course he knew that he hadn’t actually died, but that didn’t make any difference in dealing with it. “I… may I have some privacy?” he asked in a quiet voice. With the way his breath was coming, he was worried he might pass out if he didn’t get his binder off soon. He wouldn’t have been surprised if he had cracked a rib after having his chest so compressed through that. Hesitantly, he reached out to accept the water, almost spilling it all over himself in an attempt to bring it up to his lips. He had misjudged the distance, it seemed. “Not an exact science, is it?” He muttered, the words laced with more sarcasm than was probably acceptable. “How… how often are you expecting me to be willing to go through things like that?” It was a question posed in a tiny voice, shrunken by the magnitude of what the boy had gone to. Normally it would have been an accusation or a confrontation, but Crutchie knew he couldn’t quite manage that.
When Nico opened his eyes, he was surprised to find himself alive, first of all. More than that, though, he was surprised to find himself in the building he had directed Kelsier to. And he wasn’t tied up or injured or otherwise incapacitated. It also seemed like he hadn’t regained consciousness as quickly as was normal, though given the circumstances he doubted there was any such thing as normal anymore. Weakly, he pushed himself into a seated position, scanning the room to find Kelsier. He seemed about ready to fight the man, but they both knew that he had no weapons and no way to defend himself or go on the offensive. Instead he watched him warily, doing his best to understand where he was and why. Kelsier must have carried him. It seemed like he should have been able to feel some proof of that on his skin, but he was greeted with nothing. Just confusion and a longing to know why Kelsier had taken it upon himself to save a boy who had expected to die. A boy who had give up. Nico wondered distantly if Kelsier was aware that in letting himself lose consciousness, Nico had essentially given up. Given up on the idea of surviving. “Why?” He asked after a long moment, then shook his head. Why wasn’t the right question. Nico thought he might already know why, although this didn’t seem like it was about ransom. After all, it didn’t seem like Kelsier really knew who he was. Anyone who did wouldn’t have allowed Nico any free reign or the ability to slip through their grasp. So it must have been something else. “You can stop playing whatever long game you’re attempting,” he managed after what felt like an eternity of mentally stumbling over his words. “The whole idea of getting me to trust you and then turning your back on me at the last minute, or attacking, or whatever else you might do. I won’t fall for it.” Not again, he amended mentally, remembering too well the man he had travelled with before. The one who had seemed a friend, and had taught him the hardest lesson about life: trust nobody. Humanity is good for nothing but turning on each other. It was a message Nico had internalized perhaps too much. He didn’t have the capacity to believe Kelsier could have saved his life out of any sense of duty or kindness. But what Kelsier had done seemed difficult to comprehend – how far would some people go to facilitate a betrayal? Was Nico going to be made to find out? “You should have left me out there,” he said eventually, knowing Kelsier wasn’t going to take kindly to the suggestion. “I’d rather have died than owe you anything.” His small frame trembled. He owed Kelsier his life. That was going to take forever to repay, and it went far beyond a union for convenience’s sake. It was going to take a while for Nico to reconcile Kelsier’s actions with the image he had formed mentally. But It didn’t change anything. Nico was just going to stay as long as it was convenient. It was becoming evident that such a barrier wouldn’t exactly be easy to navigate. “Leave me alone. I don’t… I don’t want any sort of false kindness. Please.” There was something childlike and desperate in his tone as he struggled to meet Kelsier’s gaze.
|
|
|
Post by ®Hawkpath® on Nov 13, 2019 2:54:00 GMT -5
Ronan stared at him, not backing away even as the outburst hit him like a slap in the face. There was something different about Noah. Oh, he was still the same boy deep down, but...this was harder than Ronan had expected it to be. He’d thought it would be easy for them to click back together like pieces of a puzzle, and yet here they were like they didn’t even know each other. It wasn’t fair, and he didn’t know how to fix it. Why couldn’t he fix it? Well, he couldn’t. Inexplicably, Ronan wanted to punch his best friend and hug him at the same time, for changing and for being the same. For growing into someone Ronan wasn’t sure he knew anymore, and doing it all without even asking first. He could have asked. “Okay.” He said after a long minute, still refusing to look away for even a second. He had to watch Noah’s eyes, watch every second that passed through them, to see if he could learn for himself what it was Noah couldn’t tell him. As though he could read it in the other boy’s eyes. “Okay, fine. Whatever. Don’t say I didn’t try.” And he wouldn’t stop trying until he got some answers, but that part went unsaid. It was better for now to simply be, simply exist near another person who’s heart still beat. It would have been enough to know that Noah was alive, but being so close to him was so much more and he didn’t want it to ever stop. He would never admit it to anyone. Ronan Lynch was lonely. He almost interrupted Noah several times as the other tried to explain what he’d done, but he managed to restrain himself. A frown touched his forehead at the worlds, I didn’t look for anyone, because how was that even possible? How could he have done anything but tear the neighborhoods to shreds searching? How was it possible to move on when you didn’t know, when you couldn’t be sure who was alive and who was gone? Ronan couldn’t. He still hadn’t moved on, and he didn’t expect to, and he had to be okay with that because he didn’t have a choice in the matter. So he was okay, or as close as he was likely to get, anyway. Then Noah moved on and Ronan’s expression shifted, the anger and hurt slipping to reveal something like sharp, cutting longing. For what? He wasn’t sure. He wanted something so badly and it hurt, it hurt, it hurt him to think about before. Before was an extinct version of tomorrow. An excuse to hurt, and Ronan definitely didn’t need one of those. But still, he couldn’t ignore the good parts. And there were good parts. There were snow globes and race cars and people riding motorcycles. There were parties and noise and getting a tattoo for yourself and no one else. There was eating waffles at two in the morning and climbing to the roof just to see the view. We’re those things gone? Ronan’s hand closed to a fist. He wouldn’t let it go. He couldn’t, because it was what he was, and without it, what was left? Was he anything at all then? “Let’s go rob a tourist trap, a**hole.” He said simply, and forced himself to grin at the other boy. He was leaving it all unsaid, for now, for the sake of what was lost and what they could salvage. The world had gone to sh*t, but maybe… Just maybe there was something left of their lives. He laughed. It wasn’t even forced. It was Noah’s odd sense of humor that had broken through to him, and once he’d started, he couldn’t stop for a long moment. When he did stop, his grin was no longer forced. And he turned around, pulled his shirt off, and stretched out his arms in silence. His clawed, toothed, sharp-edged tattoo covered his whole back, curling up around his neck and shoulders like a thing that had grown there on its own. The tips of feathers peeled out to sides, odd symbols and a strange kind of beauty twisted the thing together. Much like the owner, the heart of it seemed softer than all the rest out together, and though the edges were cruel, the entirety of it didn’t seem to be.
Sherlock watched, noting everything about the stiff way Crutchie was sitting to the pain in his voice. He’d known it wasn’t going to be fun, but he hadn’t quite anticipated just how much pain the boy would be in. He felt he ought to look away, but he didn’t because he needed the information. Without it, they’d have to do the whole thing again, after all. No one wanted that. And anyway, Crutchie was an experiment. This was the way it was going to be, for now. Anyway, as long as he was blind, Sherlock had to protect him. That would be something of a pain, but worth it for all the information he was getting. Assuming this even told him anything. It was possible that he would need to do this two or three times, maybe more, before he got anything solid out of it. He was assuming Crutchie would be fine with that, because again, what choice did he have? Did Sherlock care? Even he wasn’t sure. Maybe he cared and he was just pushing it down, or maybe he just didn’t care at all. “You look like you just died.” He observed, his voice detached and cold. “I’d say from this test, the poison does exactly what I designed it too. Although I didn’t expect you to have so much trouble breathing…” He frowned. Why was that? Maybe he should tweak the cocktail of poisons he’d brewed, see if that changed anything...or maybe Crutchie had a problem with his lungs. It occurred to him that he didn’t really know enough about the boy to have him be an ideal subject, but he would have to make do. “Do you have something wrong with your lungs?” He asked bluntly. Then moved on, apparently deciding other things were more important. “Oh, now and then. Once a week, maybe? That ought to give you enough time to recover, I should think.” Probably. He wanted to do it daily, but he figured that might be pushing Crutchie’s limits a bit too far. Twice a week? Once a week was probably better. “Privacy?” He said it like he’d never heard the word before. “What for? I need to watch you and make sure there’s no other side effects. Wouldn’t want you to go permanently blind, or keel over or something.”
Kelsier didn’t immediately notice that Nico was awake. He’d carried the boy to the building he’d indicated, barely avoiding the dead on the way there. On the one hand he was surprised, really, that they’d made it, but on the other hand he’d known they could do it. Of course they could. They’d made it this far, hadn’t they? He was, incredibly, making breakfast. It wasn’t fancy - canned mushroom soup, in fact - but he’d managed to to scrounge up a pot and he was standing at the stove stirring it with an elderly wooden spoon. He was also wearing an apron with purple flowers around the edges, and his blonde hair was still dirty, but pushed out of his face. He turned as he heard Nico shift, and offered a smile. The boy looked...terrified. Could he blame him? He probably hadn’t expected to wake up at all, much less unharmed and unhindered as he was. If people were after him, the poor kid probably thought Kelsier would hold him up like a carrot in front of a rabbit’s nose. Why wouldn’t he? There was no reason for Kelsier to show any kindness from his point of view. And what reason did he have besides ‘I choose to be kind’? Did he need more than that? He chose to not let the world break him, despite everything it had thrown at him. And it hadn’t been particularly kind, especially now. “Why didn’t I kill you?” He clarified, raising his eyebrows. “You’ve already answered that question for yourself, haven’t you? No, I’m not going to hand you over to whoever is after you. I saved your life because you have a life to begin with, and I don’t want to see you lose it. I didn’t kill you because you don’t deserve to die.” Was that why? Kelsier didn’t have a reason for not killing Nico so much as he didn’t have a reason to kill Nico. Or maybe it was because Nico was a child, or because he was innocent, or because Kelsier was trying to be good in a world that made that very very hard. Maybe it was all of the above. All he knew was that Nico was stuck with him now, and he was willing to carry him to safety as many times as he had to. “No game.” He said, and stretched out his arms to show he was unarmed. “No strings attached. I swear, I didn’t save you because I have some ulterior motive or evil plan or anything like that. There are still good people in the world. There have to be, or what do we have left? You can’t let the world win.” His smile went deeper. Maybe he could convince this boy that he really was on his side...maybe it was possible for them to grow closer. He had to believe it was possible. “You owe me nothing. You can walk away whenever you want, and I won’t bother you again. I made the choice to help you, not to trap you in some kind of debt, but to give you the chance to keep breathing as I am. Leaving you out there would have been unthinkable. It’s a fate worse than death.” His face went just a shade more serious, though the smile still played at the edges of his lips. It was the kind of smile that made you think he was laughing with you, not at you. Which made a huge difference. His hazel eyes rested on the boy’s face, taking it in like a father inspecting a child for bruises after a fall. “I will never give you false kindness. I swear on my life that I will never give you anything less than genuine. You have my word.”
|
|
Transgender
strider
No mourners, no funerals
|
Post by strider on Nov 17, 2019 14:46:53 GMT -5
Noah watched Ronan uncertainly, trying to decipher his expression. He found that he couldn’t, and he wondered briefly if he had ever been able to or if he was just fooling himself. Noah… Noah had always been an open book. Even people who didn’t know him well had been able to read him, and he hadn’t had much say in the matter. Now, he wasn’t sure. Had they both grown out of being knowable? Had Ronan every let anyone know who he was? Noah thought he had, because the boy in front of him, as barbed as he was, was the same boy that Noah had fallen in love with years ago. Because it had been love, hadn’t it? People used the term to mean romance, and romance only, but Noah didn’t mean it that way. He had fallen, and he had been caught. By Ronan, by Adam, by Gansey… even by Blue and Henry. And then he had picked himself up and kept on walking, without them. Was he a bad person for doing that? He knew there was nothing in the world he cared more about than his friends and their safety, but he knew they were less safe when he was around than they would be on their own. Even before he had been bitten. “Can you really rob a place if it doesn’t belong to anyone?” Noah questioned, a hint of a grin at the corners of his mouth. Because as hard as it was to function in this world, as hard as it was to keep things from Ronan, to know that bit by bit he was going to have to lose his friend’s trust… they had to keep living, didn’t they? Noah would have given anything to go back to the before. Not necessarily before the apocalypse, but at the very least before he had been bitten. He wished he had been able to find Ronan as fully him instead of the rotting version of him that wasn’t going to be there that long. He could feel it, even now, the little bit of degrading. The loss of who he was and what he remembered and his ability to keep his friend safe. A sick feeling rose in Noah’s stomach as a question burned through his head: wasn’t he betraying Ronan just as much by staying with him as Whelk had betrayed Noah by pushing him down? The results were going to be the same. Loss and pain and the feeling of turning, turning, turning. Ronan’s laughter pulled him out of his thoughts, forcing his grin to widen across his face until he was laughing too, doubled over for a moment as the laughter poured out of him and he couldn’t imagine anything better than sitting here with Ronan and just picking up where they had left off. Like nothing had happened. Like nothing was going to happen. And then Ronan peeled his shirt off and Noah had to stop himself from gasping at the beauty of the thing. It was so Ronan, to the point that Noah wondered how the artist had managed it. Had Ronan always had the tattoo, even when they were very little, and Noah had just forgotten? It seemed to be so much a part of the boy that it would have had to have been there forever. Distantly, Noah wondered what he would have gotten if he’d chosen to get a tattoo. Probably something stupid, like a squash holding a knife. He gave a soft laugh before turning his gaze back to the ink across Ronan’s back. He reached out to trace one of the lines of it, then pulled his hand back at the memory of the last time he had done so. It hadn’t been but a few minutes, but Noah still wasn’t certain. How much were they allowed to just pick up from before? Ronan had said he wouldn’t tire of Noah, but how did Noah know that was the truth? Ronan was a dangerous boy to trust. No, Noah wasn’t going to let himself doubt this. Fingers shaking, he started at one of the sharp lines that was usually visible and lightly traced his finger across, following it through symbols and shapes and ending right before the heart of it. There he stopped, letting his hand drop down to his side. “Pretty,” he murmured, knowing that the word choice would probably tick off Ronan. Perhaps that had been his goal. But the intention of the word was what mattered. It was everything Noah couldn’t say. It was thank you, and I love you, and I missed you, and I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
Crutchie bristled at the lack of anything in Sherlock’s voice, then thought better of it. He would rather have this coldness than the pity that people had thrown at him before the world had gone to sh*t. At least this was honest and at least it saw him as another human, not a child who needed to be cared for. It still wasn’t a pleasant feeling, though. “Congrats,” he replied dryly as Sherlock mentioned the success of the poison. The thing was, he couldn’t complain because Sherlock had told him exactly what to expect. And it had happened, Crutchie just hadn’t been ready for the pain of it. He hadn’t been ready for the feeling that he was dying, that he wasn’t going to even be able to see another sunrise. As it was, that wasn’t a definite. “Once a week?” He repeated, the tone of his voice unreadable. “No. Once every other week and you continue to be honest about what’s going to happen. And I reserve the right to say no.” He winced as he shifted. He was trying to make his voice as commanding as possible, like someone who actually deserved to be listened to, but he didn’t think he was doing a very good job of it. “And nothing’s wrong with my lungs right now,” he added, glaring in Sherlock’s direction with empty eyes. “But if you don’t give me a minute of privacy, that might change.” There was no way he was taking off the binder with Sherlock watching him. He just couldn’t do it. Of course there was the fact that Sherlock could just say he was going to leave the room and then not, especially given that Crutchie couldn’t actually see what the detective was doing, but he wanted to believe he could trust Sherlock more than that. He shook his head, not sure what he wanted out of Sherlock. He knew the other man would push for more than two poisons a month, but he figured he needed to start setting boundaries now and then, if things went well, he could give in a bit more to what Sherlock wanted. If the poisons continued not to kill him, at least. Distantly, he wondered if he even had the right to do that. He was pretty sure that, even with consent, what Sherlock was doing would have been considered illegal in the old days. But there really was no law anymore. The only thing Crutchie had on Sherlock to bargain with was the fact that he could easily withdraw and go away. And then Sherlock would lose not only his only willing test subject, but also his only living one. Unless Sherlock was so lacking morals that he was willing to keep Crutchie as an unwilling experiment. The thought of that made Crutchie squirm. What the hell had he gotten himself into? “Fine,” he muttered, staring blankly at the floor. “I think I might have cracked a rib because of my binder. Or… or not quite that bad, but close.” Hopefully Sherlock would understand, though Crutchie wasn’t betting on it. He certainly wasn’t the most sympathetic person Crutchie had ever met.
It smelled good. Nico hadn’t had anything warm to eat in… well, longer than he could remember. It wasn’t often that he was comfortable starting fires and he had always been too frightened to try using a stove. He didn’t know whether that could send some kind of signal out to the people looking for him. Kelsier would have made a good father, Nico thought, in a different world. One where his kids would wake up and find him at the stove making breakfast in the mornings, complete with that stupid apron that they would try to pretend that their father wasn’t wearing. And maybe they would have begged him not to wear the floral one when they had friends over because ‘it’s embarrassing, dad!’ But they would secretly love it, and their friends would too. And he’d crack jokes as he served breakfast, smiling like he was now. The thought physically hurt Nico, and not just because he’d never had that. Even when the world had been normal, Nico’s relationship with his father had been much, much different. It hurt because evidently, Kelsier couldn’t have that either. Nico wondered if he’d ever had a family. He couldn’t just ask that because it would lead to questions about Nico’s life that he couldn’t answer, but he found he wanted to know. Slowly, Nico shook his head. “If you truly are a good person, then you’re the last one left.” It was clear that Nico still didn’t trust him, didn’t believe him entirely, but every ounce of the boy wanted to. He wanted to believe Kelsier, to think that maybe they weren’t all doomed, that maybe kindness still existed. The thing was, Nico wasn’t sure it had ever existed, even beforehand. Kindness was something you found in storybooks and cheesy TV shows and in sisters that died too soon. Because the only people that Nico had ever known to be kind had died, and it had been his fault. And even if, by some miracle, kindness did exist, then… well, it wouldn’t take a bad person to kill Nico if they knew what he was. The best person alive could still justify handing him over or hurting him, because it would be right to avenge all those who had already died. Right? Despite the offer, Nico didn’t move to leave. He should have. He should have because if Kelsier was a good person – and Nico was really starting to fear that he was – then what sort of a person could betray him by taking advantage of his kindness when they didn’t deserve it? “Don’t,” he whispered, not sure why he felt like he was about to tear up. “Don’t promise that.” Because if Kelsier promised then Nico was going to have to believe him, and he knew… he knew that was a bad idea. But he wasn’t desperate like he’d been the last time he’d found someone to trust. He understood, now, exactly what he’d done. But Nico couldn’t force his gaze away from Kelsier’s face. He couldn’t convince himself that trusting Kelsier was a bad idea, not just for him, but for Kelsier as well. He didn’t want to hurt anyone else. He couldn’t, and he hated that Kelsier had saved him. He hated that Kelsier seemed so genuine, that he hadn’t sold him up to his father. It would have been so easy. And then Nico would have been justified in running away, or… or anything else. He’d have been right about people. But he wasn’t, and he wished that Kelsier had stumbled across any other kid lost in a convenience store. Because any other kid would have deserved Kelsier. Any other kid would have maybe found a dad after having lost theirs, or… or at least found a friend. But instead Kelsier had found Nico. “You don’t even know who I am, you… you can’t make promises like that. You can’t know that I don’t deserve to die.” Even if kindness existed, it had to be conditional, right? At least in his case? The food smelled so good, and Kelsier’s smile was so real, and it all felt like daggers in Nico’s chest. He glanced at his arm as though to distract himself, pleased to see the wound hadn’t opened back up again. But at the back of his mind, there was that thought: Kelsier had made a bad decision. And Kelsier was genuine in a way that hurt, and Nico so badly wanted to give in to it. Kelsier had done something completely irreversible in saving his life.
|
|
|
Post by ®Hawkpath® on Nov 21, 2019 18:19:18 GMT -5
Ronan waited as Noah touched his tattoo, carefully still, as though trying not to frighten away a wild animal. They were all feral creatures now, he supposed, himself included. He’d always been just a shadow wilder than the rest. What did that make him now? For the first time in days, he thought of his brothers by blood. That was how he thought of it; brothers by blood and brothers by choice, because Noah was his brother as much as anyone else had a right to be. He was in love with all of them, completely and utterly captured by them, and sometimes he forgot that they weren’t just extensions of himself. Ronan goes right, Noah goes right. Ronan goes up, Noah goes up. Now: Noah goes up, Ronan goes down. They weren’t attached in the same way anymore, and he felt it like a wound. Especially now. Especially when things were almost how they used to be, but not close enough to touch. He longed for things to be the way they were before, when Noah had been completely certain that he was allowed the gentle touches, the close contact he needed. A quick hug, a gentle brush of skin against skin, Ronan always just a little more forceful, Noah gentle and open and kind in a way Ronan knew he could never be. Noah was everything Ronan wasn’t, and maybe that was why they fit together so effortlessly. At least, they used to. Maybe they really were different now. Maybe Ronan was too feral, Noah too injured. Maybe nothing could ever be the same. Can’t go home again. Lock the door, toss the keys down the sewer. Can’t go home again. He shook his head. This was pointless, this endless pining for a world that was gone. He was here, he was now, he needed to get his head in the game. Quickly. “Good point.” He agreed, grinning right back. They had this still, didn’t they? They might not have everything, but Ronan would give his life to protect what they had left. So it wasn’t nothing. It had to mean something. He didn’t move away, his sharp blue eyes fluttering shut. The tattoo was something he’d gotten for him, not anyone else, and that made it special. Declan always said he was reckless and stupid for having spent so much on it, just to spite me, but the middle Lynch brother disagreed. It wasn’t a beautiful thing, he thought. It wasn’t delicate and careful. It was him, it was sharp edges and dangerous claws. It was teeth and strange symbols and he loved every bit of it, because it was his. There weren’t many things he could call his own anymore. ”Pretty?” He repeated incredulously, turning back around to fix Noah with a stare so exaggeratedly offended it was clear he meant it to be a joke. “Maybe you’re pretty. It’s not pretty, it’s….” He went quiet, not sure how to finish that sentence. He shook his shaved head and moved on. “C’mon a**hole, let’s go break something. Actually, no, wait, I have an even better idea. Follow me.” He turned, smirk resting comfortably on his lips, and whipped his shirt back on. Then he stood up, stretched, and began to jog.
Sherlock blinked, clearly taken aback to be told “no”. What could he do about that? He supposed he could theoretically just do it anyway, because he didn’t think Crutchie would leave if he could help it, Sherlock being alive and the rest of the world being mostly dead, but then again if things got too bad the boy might decide there wasn’t a choice. He didn’t want that to happen. Not because he was lonely, he explained firmly to himself, but because he needed a willing test subject if things were going to continue going well. He’d been really struggling before Crutchie had come along. He didn’t want to go back to that. That was the only reason. He wasn’t lonely at all. Nope. “Fine. Every other week.” He agreed, because that was the best option. He’d wanted to do it more than that, but mostly he’d suggested weekly because if he’d suggested every other week, the younger survivor would probably have said monthly or something equally absurd. The more unreasonable his request, the more likely he was to get something closer to his goal. Simple. “Don’t know about you saying no, though. Didn’t you promise to be a willing subject? I thought this was your life’s purpose now or something. Did you already forget about that?” Did he meant it to sound so mocking? Well, sort of, but not to the extent that it came across. He stepped towards the blind boy, tilted his head like a curious bird, and stopped. “Can you see anything? Or nothing?” He asked, apparently deciding to move on to another subject. That one could only take them so far, and he didn’t really like talking about it. “What’s going to happen to your lungs? Are you alright?” He stepped back, observing the boy with calculating bright blue eyes. He seemed to be in a bit of pain. That was interesting. The pain was different than what he’d expected, not dramatically so but enough to make him wonder what he was missing. Maybe nothing. Maybe the poison had side effects he hadn’t anticipated. Maybe- Oh. Sherlock got it half a second before Crutchie explained. He blinked, and there was a moment of silence while he tried to process the information in a way that made sense to him. “Ah.” He said finally, sounding a good deal more like a human than he had since Crutchie had woken up. “I’ll be just outside the door if you need anything. I should be able to help if you have broken anything.” And he turned and obediently left the room, shutting the door behind him.
The thing about Kelsier was that he had never wanted children. It seemed odd, now. Mare had always wanted kids, but he hadn’t, because he never thought he would have made a very good father. Who was he to raise tiny, smiling faces? Who was he to be a shoulder to cry on when a favorite tv show was cancelled? Who was he to think he was up to the challenge? And yet here he was, standing between Nico and the world. Even though the boy didn’t want him. Even though there was no reason for him to have to stay, he was going to stand by this kid and fight his demons as best he could. Maybe that was parenting. Maybe it wasn’t, are you up to the challenge? Maybe it had nothing to do with you after all, and everything to do with the very short person in your care. He didn’t expect to be a good father. He just wanted to try, for Nico’s sake. Besides, it meant he got to show off the someone. There was always silver lining, right? “I wouldn’t say that,” he said lightly, turning back to his soup and giving it a quick stir. He better not burn this poor kid’s breakfast. “Maybe there’s whole groups of good people out there, and we just haven’t run into them yet. It’s a big world, you know.” And it was. Big enough to get lost in, even before the world had gone insane. Kelsier stirred the soup in silence for a few more minutes, wondering whether Nico would leave when he could. Why not? He’d just said the boy didn’t owe him anything. But he wanted to know Nico. He wanted to know what had happened to make him so afraid, and who was after him, and why he seemed so determined to be alone. Not that Kelsier couldn’t understand some of that logic, given the circumstances, but...there had to be something, right? He’d lost Mare and he was still here, ready to befriend anyone who didn’t try to kill him on sight. Ready to befriend the good people left in the world. Because he knew they were out there, the same way they always had been: hidden and under attack, but still bravely moving forward. It was like he couldn’t give up on that no matter how hard he tried. Kelsier glanced back at the soup, but he paused as the small words reached his ear. Don’t promise that. Because it had been promised before, hadn’t it? Promised and broken. Kelsier knew a boy used to being lied to when he saw one, and it was like a physical pain in his chest to watch it happen. “I won’t lie.” He said softly, back turned to Nico now to give him some privacy in case he didn’t want to be watched. “You can take me up on that, okay? If I ever so much as tell you it’ll rain when it won’t, I’ll take over your shifts at night for a week. Sound fair?” He was being light about it because it wasn’t a light topic, and he wanted Amico to smile. He doubted that would happen, but there was no way he was giving up just yet. He’d get a smile out of this boy sooner or later. He turned back, meeting Nico’s dark eyes now, his own serious. “I mean it. You’re worth a whole lot more than to be lied to, and so I promise that my kindness is real.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Just like a promise that this soup is ready. I do not promise that it will be good, because it came from a can and is therefore dubious, but it should be edible. I found us a couple of bowls, too.” He produced the (somehow clean) plastic bowls and filled them with steaming mushroom soup, then handed one bowl to Nico. He was smiling again, the same genuine smile that meant so many things he didn’t put into words. Maybe he couldn’t put them into words. Maybe that was the point.
|
|
Transgender
strider
No mourners, no funerals
|
Post by strider on Nov 21, 2019 19:59:06 GMT -5
“I think I used to believe in fate,” Noah murmured, fixing Ronan with a strange look. It was a thought that had come out of almost nowhere, plucked somewhere from the strange recesses of Noah’s mind. “I think before I would’ve thought I found you for a reason, and it was supposed to happen, and nothing could really be coincidence, but it’s not really like that, is it?” Maybe he shouldn’t have said it aloud. Maybe the thoughts should have stayed inside. He had always been bad about that, knowing what to keep to himself. Would Ronan think that meant Noah was anything less than grateful they had found each other? “I don’t think it had to happen like this,” he added, knowing that he might just be digging himself further into a hole. “I mean… I could’ve kept walking and you could’ve built your fire somewhere else, but it just happened like this, and… and I’m glad it did, but it so easily couldn’t’ve… it’s all just coincidence. All of this.” a frown was a troubling expression on Noah, but he was wearing it now. Perhaps he wasn’t built for thoughts like that, or perhaps he had just never been taken seriously when he had them. He flicked the thought away as though it was a bothersome mosquito that had happened to land on his hand. It was that easy for him, it seemed, or maybe he was just pretending it was. “And yes,” he added definitively. “It’s pretty,” The look on his face said that it was pretty and thousands of other things on top of that. The look he wore said that it was Ronan and that’s why he loved the tattoo as deeply as he loved the boy, but who was he to say anything about love? It was something many would say he gave away too easily. Deep down, he wondered. If this was coincidence, would they ever return back to normal? If it was fate he knew they would, he knew they were destined to return to being brothers, but if it was just coincidence then coincidence could drive them apart so easily. Would Noah be able to hold on tightly enough that he couldn’t be torn away that easily? But what if he held too tight? And then the doubt was gone and Ronan was moving and Noah was moving before he’d even thought about it. He didn’t know what Ronan was intending, but he trusted him. He trusted him so much it hurt, because he knew what betrayal looked like now. He knew that trust wasn’t something you should easily give away, and yet he had given it to Ronan too long ago to take it back now. Was that stupid of him? He needed to stop thinking in absolutes like that. Even if it was stupid it had been done, and maybe he didn’t need to second guess everything he did anymore, because Ronan didn’t care when he ****ed up. Well, he cared, but differently. Ronan’s care was sharp and protective and sometimes when it was too strong it bit down on you, but it would never abandon you. Even if everything else turned to shit, if Ronan’s sharp loved turned to even sharper hatred, his care would be the same. Whelk’s care had empty and as thin as air, prone to dropping you on your head when you least expected. It was cold and dead and you weren’t sure it was there until he was disappointed in you, and then it stung. “Where are we going?” he called, though he knew full well that he wasn’t going to be getting an answer. One foot in front of the other. Noah could go on forever and ever and ever if he wanted, he’d always been good at running. Good at running and good at flying, and it didn’t matter how badly his body wanted to fail him. He kept pace with Ronan, every stride making him wilder and more carefree and more Noah. Like the forlorn, empty shell of Noah had just been a coat that he shed off now, running with the wind in his pale yellow hair, a few steps ahead of Ronan now, daring him to keep up, because Noah was good at this. And some things never changed.
Every other week still sounded like hell, but it was hell Crutchie knew he could go through. After all, he had almost everything else here ready for him, he didn’t have to worry about surviving every day. He just had to worry about surviving one out of every fourteen days. That was doable. He tensed at the mockery in Sherlock’s tone, knowing that under other circumstances he may have spit in the man’s face. Sherlock was just lucky that Crutchie couldn’t actually see his face. He wasn’t an animal. He was a human, and he had his won rights and ideas and the ability to say no to whatever he damn well pleased because it wasn’t him relying on Sherlock. Sherlock needed him to complete his experiments, though the detective seemed to have forgotten that. “I don’t have to do any of this,” Crutchie pointed out, tone biting. “I could leave as soon as I wanted and then you’d be out a test subject. No, you’d be out the best opportunity that’s ever walked through your door.” He wasn’t going to let Sherlock forget that. “I’m staying because I want to help you, and I want to help other people, and I didn’t lie when I said I was willing to die for it. I won’t say no often.” His voice was softer by the end, but it still managed to hold the same intensity he’d begun with. “But I suppose you want some insurance I won’t be turning down every poison that comes my way.” Crutchie was used to negotiating. He knew how to get what he wanted, and he knew when to compromise. “Fine. Every time you can’t wait two weeks, and there’s one you want me to try in between, on top of the two a month, I get to say no to one poison.” It wasn’t a fair deal on Crutchie’s part and he knew it. He was taking the short end of the stick, but he wanted that backup. He wanted the ability to say no even if it put him through hell every once in a while. “And vice versa,” he added. “And no,” he snapped. “It hasn’t exactly been four hours, has it?” And then Sherlock was gone and Crutchie sucked in a breath. He took off his binder quietly, making sure to keep one grasp on his shirt so he could slip it on when he was done. Nothing broken, it seemed, but it was probably a close call. He still couldn’t breathe well. He sucked in air greedily, coughing a few times to clear up the fluid in his lungs. He would be okay. Even if he had to be in the dark for a little longer. He pulled his shirt back on, using one hand to keep him steady and another to search for his crutch in the nearby vicinity. Fortunately it wasn’t too difficult to find. He left it where it was, grateful to know that, in an emergency, he’d be able to find it.
“It’s gotten a lot smaller,” Nico retorted, pessimistic. Your fault. Hades voice told him coldly, echoing through his head. My fault, he agreed silently. “There’s no room for good people anymore.” Was that true? Had there ever been room for good people? “There’s no room for happy endings.” Had he given up on one, or had he never believed in them? “Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. You can’t have friends or family or care for strangers until you’re safe. Nobody’s safe now, so there’s no extra energy for being a good person. We’re all selfish. And cruel…” he trailed off, the look in his eyes speaking what he couldn’t quite give voice to: except for you. For some reason. It was probably disconcerting, hearing such a concept spouted by a boy who couldn’t have been much older than twelve, and even then looked much younger than his actual age due to malnutrition. It had been one of Hades’ first lessons, when he and Bianca were growing up. Don’t trust people, because people are only people when they have everything they need. And some people didn’t have that. And sometimes, Nico had learned on his own, people had everything they needed, but they wanted, wanted, wanted, and that came before everything else. Some people made themselves inhuman with their wants. Nico wanted so badly to believe in Kelsier. Wanted to follow him and find the good people he was so convinced were still out there. Wanted to know what kept Kelsier so human, so optimistic, so unafraid. Perhaps it was just that he didn’t have anyone after him. Kelsier’s words pierced him, and he knew, in a way, that those very words were a lie. You couldn’t just promise not to lie, not when you didn’t know what a person was. “Stop,” he whispered. He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to hear Kelsier make these promises, didn’t want to hear the way he cracked jokes so easily about it, because he was so desperate to believe him. He was so desperate to give in and let Kelsier’s words wash over him, to leave behind who he was, all the guilt and blame and the knowledge that this was all on him. He wanted to be a regular kid and let Kelsier protect him and take the fall for him… no matter how Kelsier died – and he would die – it would be Nico’s fault. Regardless of if he gave in or not. “Stop, you can’t afford to be kind to me.” Because if his fathers’ men found out that Kelsier had been harboring Nico… he shuddered to think what they might do to the man. The one good person left, out of everyone. “You don’t know what I’m worth. You don’t know who I am.” The words were meant to be sharp, but it was like he was afraid of hurting Kelsier. Like he knew he had to, but didn’t want to. If you did, you’d know everything you’re saying right now is a lie. If only Nico were brave enough to say that out loud. “Save your kindness for someone who actually deserves it.” He watched, eyes wide, as Kelsier produced clean bowls and dished the soup into them. It was warm, he realized, as his fingers betrayed him and took the bowl from Kelsier. He was taking advantage of Kelsier, his thoughts screamed. He should leave. He should run and leave Kelsier to find someone who actually deserved to be saved by the last good man. Nico had learned to survive. But even before that… even before that, he had doomed too many people, everyone, everyone who ever existed, to a life of misery. This was his legacy, and nobody knew it. Everyone should have known it. They hadn’t known who to blame. They had known about the explosion, and something in Hades’ factory, but his father had covered it up smoothly. Nobody blamed Hades, so nobody had to blame Nico. But it was his fault. Unquestionably. “You’re stupid for trusting me.” The words hurt to say, and the weight of them was enough to nearly bowl the boy over. He clung to his bowl of soup like it was the last thing grounding him to the world. “Even if I was worth it, even if I never betray you – and… and I don’t think I would – they’re going to find me eventually. And then I’ll be the one responsible when they kill you. You should have sold me over. It’s not too late now, you know.” His gaze flipped up to meet Kelsier’s. “I wouldn’t hold it against you.” He didn’t want Kelsier to do that, but the point was that he could. He turned his gaze back down, dipping a finger into the soup and tasting it, as though that could diffuse the weight of the words he'd just uttered. Eventually, he looked back up at Kelsier. “You lied, by the way” he murmured under his breath, something that was almost a smile tugging at Nico’s lips. “It’s the best thing I’ve eaten in months.”
|
|
|
Post by ®Hawkpath® on Dec 5, 2019 19:42:52 GMT -5
Ronan watched as Noah spoke, his blue eyes taking in the serious look on the other boys face. Noah was absolutely right, of course. Any number of things could have happened to prevent this moment. Aside from the fact that both of them could easily have died long before now, Ronan might have decided not to stop for the night (as he sometimes did), or Noah could have decided to stay farther away from the fire. Either of them could have simply made a wrong turn months ago and ended up miles from here and now. Was that fate? “It’s not fate.” He said simply, shaking his head. None of this happened because it was meant to, just like Niall Lynch hadn’t been killed because he was meant to die. He’d been killed because he was a brave, stupid man who couldn’t stay out of trouble, and eventually someone had given him the end he’d been asking for. Ronan knew that. Didn’t make it any easier. Just like coincidence didn’t ruin this moment for him. Things weren’t meant to happen, they just happened, usually because someone decided they ought to. Usually someone with a lot of money, or so Ronan had found. “That doesn’t change anything.” He continued, shaking his shaved head and meeting Noah’s serious gaze with his own. “Who cares if this was meant to happen? It’s f*cking happening, isn’t it? We’re both here, and the others aren’t, and it’s not fine but it’s gotta be good enough for now. Hell, maybe we’ll find the others wandering around too, and we’ll get everyone back together. Just like the old days.” He knew it wasn’t likely, but he wasn’t lying, because he was still possible. Maybe someday they’d all meet up again, and he’d see Adam and Gansey and Blue and evening Henry again, alive and (mostly) in one piece. Or maybe he’d find Adam’s head in a ditch one of these days. He considered saying that, but decided against it due to the fact that he was no longer sure Noah wouldn’t just up and leave him if he did. He discovered that he didn’t want to be alone anymore. He scowled playfully. “Not pretty.” He growled, a bit like a dog playing tug-of-war with an old bone. “Man. I think you’ve been out in the sun too long or something. Jeez….” Of course, he saw some of the things Noah didn’t say, and he couldn’t keep the scowl for long before he was grinning again. He loved Noah like he loved the others: he was deeply in love with all of them and he knew it was reciprocated. Is was an amazing thing to know that you were loved, even when you didn’t quite feel worth it. Coincidence. Coincidence brought them together, and it could tear them apart, but Ronan wouldn’t let it. His love was fierce and wild, and his arms were strong enough to keep Noah by his side, and so only over his dead body would harm come to the other boy. He knew that like a promise, deep inside. When Ronan moved, he moved fast, but not too fast for Noah to keep up. He was jogging, not sprinting, and there was indeed a difference between the two. Even though his jog was fast enough to be some people’s sprint. He was looking for something, that much was clear. His blue eyes scanned his surroundings, his body twisting here and there as though he thought the shadows might leap out and tear at him. If he thought that, he had reason enough. Then he found it, and stopped. In front of him was a beautiful blue and green motorcycle, somehow in decent - not perfect - shape. He turned to look back at Noah with a deadly smile, his gaze glittering in the dim light. “I hid this beauty a few days ago. Haven’t taken her for a spin yet.” He said proudly. “Wanna hitch a ride?”
Sherlock blinked, clearly taken aback to be told what he could and couldn’t do in such blunt terms. He was used to people being angry with him, but somehow this felt different. Was that because Crutchie was the first post-apocalypse person to snap at him? Or was it because of what he was snapping about? He did a quick calculation in his head, slipped into his mind palace for just long enough to snag the answers to some complex equations, and decided Crutchie was worth his temper. He wasn’t wrong, after all. Sherlock remembered now that operating without a mostly willing subject was a bit of a nightmare. So yes. He was glad Crutchie was willing to stay. He also couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take him to drive the boy away. “Fine. Twice a week, with exceptions now and then.” He agreed unexpectedly, flipping a hand dismissively even though Crutchie couldn’t see it. It was a far more generous offer than he could have gotten from anyone else, after all, and he needed a test subject if he was going to be able to test these experiments properly. Why he was developing a poison when he hadn’t seen another living being in months was a bit questionable, but he did have a reason. He’d thought the chances of a group finding him were actually decently high provided he stayed alive (which he had) and the chances of them being friendly were incredibly low (Crutchie being the obvious exception). He figured that if he was going to survive the zombies, he’d be an idiot to forget about the humans. And he didn’t really want to kill anyone. So, the obvious thing to do was to develop a poison that simulated the effects of death as nearly as possible, was very painful, and put the victim in a state of helplessness. As you do. When he left, he stayed close to the door, listening as the sound of Crutchie removing his binder reassured him that the boy wasn’t trying something stupid like leaving while he was still blind. He was also listening for zombies, because if one happened to get in somehow, he didn’t want to think about what would happen to the kid in there were he alone. He figured he could always go back in if he needed to, and he could probably even do it quietly enough that the boy didn’t even know he was there, but he didn’t. If Crutchie needed him, he’d call. Probably. Unless he thought Sherlock wouldn’t come, in which case he might not call anyone, but the chances were good that he’d at least try shouting for help if he thought he was about to be eaten.
Kelsier listened, even though he wanted to jump in and tell the boy he was wrong. He had to almost physically hold himself back. Everyone was selfish, everyone was cruel...it wasn’t hard to imagine some of the things Nico had gone through, though the older survivor knew he couldn’t guess everything. Somethings would take trust and time, and lots of it. Good people didn’t get squashed out. Good people were good because they decided to be good, and that was a choice that got harder and then it got stronger. Kelsier couldn’t say doing the right thing was easy, or clear, or that he never screwed up. But he tried. He always tried, and he found that often that was enough. Nico was trying too. Even if the kid didn’t know it, he was obviously trying so hard to do what he thought was right, and it hurt Kelsier to see him so sure he was failing. You’re doing fine, he said in his head. Not out loud. Because he wasn’t sure Nico was ready to hear that from him, not this early on. They had to get to know each other a little better first, so that those words would have something behind them to make them mean something. “Some people refuse to let that change them.” He answered, lifting his chin, almost as if in defiance of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs itself. “Some people don’t have anything at all and still find a way to give. Some people help when they need help themselves. And some people choose to be good even if the world doesn’t reward them anymore.” It was true. He wasn’t lying for Nico or anyone else, he was just saying what he really thought was true. He really believed he couldn’t be the only humane person left on earth, he refused to believe that. After all, he’d found Nico, hadn’t he? And Kelsier was scared, sometimes. He was so afraid of finding someone good and then losing them, and he was afraid of making the wrong decision. But he would not let that fear take him. He would surrender to it, not ever, not even if it came true. He would never let it control him. That was his decision. He’d found that the less decisions you had available, the more important they tended to be, and the harder to make. You could choose between a thousand paths, but if it was only left and right you tended to trip up and wonder which one to take, which was the “correct” choice. He thought this was because the less choices you had, the more you craved the ability to make them. The more you craved the independence necessary to make choices in the first place. It made the choice itself feel more important. So now, when options were always limited, every choice mattered. Every decision made you who you were. And Kelsier thought that might not be a bad thing. “You’re right.” He agreed, taking his first bite of soup. “I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. And yet here we are, having a meal together. You, not tied up, me, not incapacitated. Just having a meal like people used to.” He leaned in a little bit, his face taking on a more serious expression. “Whatever you’ve done, I don’t care. You did what you had to do out there. Everyone has regrets, they did before, and they sure as hell do now. You can’t avoid it. I can’t avoid it.” He leaned back, taking another bite. It was hot, but he was hungry and he wanted to encourage Nico to eat too. “I don’t know why those people are after you, and you never have to tell me anything if you don’t want to. Okay? I only want you to tell me if you decide to because you want to.” He meant it, too. Forcing the truth out of Nico wouldn’t tell him anything about the boy. Being told whatever it was Nico was hiding, with no force needed...that would tell him everything. “I can afford to be kind to you.” He added in a whisper. “Watch me. You can’t make me be cruel. The world has tried and failed already. I won’t give you up, and even if they catch me and try to get it out of me, I won’t break. I choose not to break.” He paused. “I choose to trust you because it’s worth the risk to me. Not because I don’t think there is a risk. It’s just worth it.” He smiled, then, because Nico tasted the soup. “Ah, but I never said it wasn’t good.” He pointed out, eyes light with humor now. “I said it might not be good. So I’ve still never once lied to you. And I never will.” His smile deepened, and he took another bite. “Make it a game if you like. See if you ever catch me in a lie.”
|
|
Transgender
strider
No mourners, no funerals
|
Post by strider on Dec 17, 2019 17:51:48 GMT -5
“Just like the old days,” Noah echoed, despite knowing that they were both fooling themselves. Then again, if someone had told him that he would find Ronan again and that they’d be able to just talk and enjoy each other’s company like the old days… well, he would have said they were crazy. He hadn’t let himself hope that his old friends even remembered who he was let alone would be willing to have him spend time with them again. As far as Noah was concerned, he was a liability to everyone he cared about, and he couldn’t stand that thought. The little voice in the back of his head once again screamed that he was just putting Ronan in danger. He ignored it. He knew it wouldn’t do them much good if he kept thinking about the past – about everything that had happened and everything that was gone and everything that had turned to sh*t. Yet it gave Noah a little bit of comfort that Ronan didn’t seem to be able to put it all behind him either. It was just that Ronan did a better job of pretending that they could move forward. That he didn’t care about the past… but they both hoped against hope that they would find the others. It was a kindness on Ronan’s part that he wasn’t reinforcing just how impossible that task would be, even if they dedicated the rest of their lives to it. “Ah yes,” Noah teased, shoving all of his thoughts away. There was no room for those right now, not when reality was right in front of him and Ronan was reality. They had best do everything they could to make the most of what they had, even if they had come together again completely by coincidence. “Because being out in the sun can definitely change your standards of ‘pretty,’” he let himself laugh, nudging Ronan’s shoulder with his own. Noah tried to follow Ronan’s gaze, to see what he was looking for, but there was nothing immediately obvious. All he knew was that running was taking more of a toll on him than he was used to… he was usually quite fast. He could have been on Aglionby’s track team if he had ever wanted that, but now it was harder than he cared to admit. He could always keep pace with Ronan when they were little, and he still could now, but he was feeling the effects of it. He wasn’t stupid – he knew the bite was wearing him down, killing him slowly as the venom spread and desiccated him. When they stopped he had to pretend that he wasn’t out of breath, that his muscles didn’t ache. They hadn’t even been running for that long. And then he saw what Ronan was referring to. His mouth dropped open, eyes wide. “Where’d you find this?” he asked, not quite daring to step closer. The motorcycle was beautiful, and although it wasn’t really the kind of thing that Noah would immediately assume belonged to Ronan, it felt right to see Ronan besides it, a wicked sharp grin across his face. This was what he could have looked forward to every day if the world hadn’t turned upside down. Ronan, with a car as sharp as he was. Or a motorcycle. Or anything to get around that had once been seen as cool. That still was, objectively cool. Noah, with his own beautiful dream car because he’d had enough money to pay for it, but sometimes he would hitch a ride with Ronan because Ronan would turn corners too quickly and race as though it was a car chase even when there was nobody else on the road. That was what it could have been. This… wasn’t that, but it was as close as Noah assumed he was ever going to get. “Is that even a question?” He asked, mischief twinkling in his gaze when he lifted it up to meet Ronan’s. “Why would I ever pass up a chance to take a ride?”
It would take a lot more than that to drive Crutchie away. He had some leverage over Sherlock, and he knew that being with the other man was probably a lot safer than anywhere else in the world. Also, he wanted to know why he had survived when so many others had died. He wanted to be able to maybe help those that were still alive, because… well, chances are there weren’t going to be too many left alive unless someone developed a cure, and quickly. And as long as Crutchie had someone smarter and better trained in chemistry than him… well, that was a possibility. Not a definite, but the closest Crutchie had come to an answer since the apocalypse had started. “Thank you,” Crutchie murmured after a long moment. He wasn’t sure he had actually expected Sherlock to listen to him. At best he had been expecting the detective to roll his eyes and say “fine, maybe” and then not actually follow through. Then again, it remained to be seen whether Sherlock would actually follow the rule they were agreeing on. It didn’t seem, however, like Sherlock was a liar. Just that he didn’t really seem to care all that much about the value of human life other than his own. Crutchie could work with that. It wasn’t ideal, but that wouldn’t force Crutchie away. Crutchie waited until he heard the door click shut, then did what he needed to do. The feeling of air rushing back into his lungs was a much-needed sensation, and Crutchie was grateful for it. Part of him wondered if he was continually misjudging Sherlock. He was an impossible man to read, and for some reason that made Crutchie all the more interested in figuring him out. Because everything that Crutchie had experienced was a contradiction. The only thing he was certain of was that Sherlock wasn’t intentionally a bad person. If he did bad things it was because he didn’t seem to be aware that they were bad… at least that was the best conclusion Crutchie could reach. It was the only thing that accounted for Sherlock simultaneously respecting him when he demanded it and also putting him through whatever he had just gone through without enough warning beforehand. “Sherlock?” He called hesitantly, gripping his crutch as though it would keep him steady. “I can see light now, I think.” That felt like an important development. He fixed his gaze on what he assumed was the light source in the room… it looked slightly different from the rest of the blackness around him. A little more orange, like when you close your eyes and look into bright light. Even if it didn’t mean anything, it was a development he was sure Sherlock would want to take note of.
“Those people are living in a world that doesn’t exist anymore,” Nico replied quietly. ”You’re living in a world that doesn’t exist anymore and I… I don’t know how or why you’re doing it, but I think you’re wrong. You’re never going to listen to me, but people…” he shook his head. “Fine. Fine, you’re a good person in spite of everything that’s happened, and maybe you think that you can help make more good people, or maybe you think that you really don’t care about the awful things people don’t talk about, but…” Nico didn’t know where he was going with that. He was just certain that he needed an excuse not to like Kelsier otherwise everything would start going downhill immediately. He couldn’t risk being hurt again, and he certainly couldn’t risk hurting someone else. Being betrayed was bad enough, he didn’t want to force that on someone else. The best thing he could do was leave. He knew that. But the thought of that was so painful… he couldn’t leave, not when he owed Kelsier a debt. Not when Kelsier had saved his life and made him food and let him feel more at home than he’d ever felt before. That sense of security… terrified him. Like people used to. Something about the way Kelsier said that stung. Because even before, Nico didn’t think he’d ever had a meal like this. He’d sat at huge banquet tables and been served as his father discussed business with very important people, but he had been mostly forbidden from talking at those events. ‘Speak only when spoken to’ his father had said, and even then Nico made sure to say as little as he could get away with. The consequences for ruining his father’s business deals were more drastic than Nico could fathom. And Kelsier… Nico wanted to punch him or slap him back into reality. Or hug him for giving him a gift greater than Nico could even begin to comprehend. Which made him just want to slap him even more. “You say that as though we all do the same sort of things because we have to, but you don’t understand.” Nico wasn’t sure he was ever going to be able to make Kelsier get what he was saying. Not without outright stating he truth, and since he valued his life he wasn’t exactly inclined to do that. “For all you know I could have killed countless people because I wanted to, or maybe I shoved people in front of zombies for fun, and maybe this is all an elaborate trap that you fell prey to. You have no idea who you’re dealing with!” Nico knew without a doubt that he wasn’t capable of any of those things. Well… not usually. For all he knew there could be a situation where he’d push someone in front of a zombie to save himself, or maybe he would start killing in cold blood if the world were cruel to him too many more times. And the thing was, Nico was more certain that Kelsier wouldn’t do those things than he was sure he himself wouldn’t. Which was horrible and messed up because there was no way he was supposed to be trusting a stranger. There was no way he had let himself fall into that again, not after the last time… There was a question that was pressing too deep on Nico’s mind, too heavy for him to breathe under it. And he didn’t have to let on what it meant, but he needed an answer. Now. “You think you don’t care. You think that what I did didn’t matter. But you’re a fool if you don’t draw the line somewhere. What if I weren’t me, but the person who had started all this? The person who was responsible for every death since the apocalypse started? You have to draw the line somewhere.” He stared into his soup, taking another cautious bite. He couldn’t meet Kelsier’s gaze, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Because every time he did, all he could see was that the man was genuine and earnest and everything that Nico had yearned to find in a person. Everything that Nico was terrified of, because it was always a pretense for something else. “Nobody’s unbreakable,” he murmured quietly, jaw clenched. “And you’re arrogant as h*ll to believe you are.” Nico had been broken at the very beginning. A broken boy with a broken family in a broken world. Another bite of soup, and Nico shook his head softly. “Fine. It’s a game. Though I think it’s pretty dumb to invent a game you can’t win. Either I win or one of us dies before it’s over.” Despite his words, Nico knew they weren’t quite true. Kelsier could win. Kelsier could win Nico’s trust, and his admiration, and everything else Nico was so scared to give up. And that was worth a lot more than anything else Nico had to give. And what scared Nico the most was that Kelsier was well on his way to winning it all.
|
|
|
Post by ®Hawkpath® on Jan 6, 2020 13:06:03 GMT -5
Ronan was still having trouble believing this was real, but he was trying. It helped that with Noah beside him again, his own pestering thoughts were quieter, easier to manage. It also helped that a part of him didn’t care if this was a dream, because if it was he’d rather have it than reality. Even a fake Noah was better than no Noah, and a pleasant lie might be better than a bitter truth. Besides, he had no say in whether this was real, so who even cared? Wasn’t like he could change it, or decide to wake up. And Noah was so very much himself, after everything. Noah was still Noah, with his soft edges, and kind smile, his patience and mischief and his laughter at Ronan’s hard jokes. They were opposites in so many ways. Ronan was sharp and wicked, charged and fierce and sometimes terrifying. Noah was softer and easier, kinder and gentler and fun. And yet Noah was also fierce in his own way, and Ronan could be gentle and kind. It was hard to say who influenced who, but they needed each other like they needed food and water and air, and now that they were together again it was hard to tell they’d ever been apart. And still, they longed for the others. It was odd to be alone with Nico, instead of alone in the group, one member of a family. Ronan was so used to that family, so used to every single one of them that it was almost even more painful now that he remembered how to not be alone. He was trying not to think about it too much. He didn’t know how else to cope, really, because being with Noah again was the best thing to have happened to him in so long, and yet it was salt in his wound. Still he grinned at his friend, chasing away his dark thoughts like clouds on a summer day. “I raided the nearest shop when sh*t happened.” He explained, petting the motorcycle like a horse. “Most people made for the food and guns, so it was pretty easy pickings. I just grabbed the best one and ditched.” Sure, it had cost him the first five seconds of easy food before the rest of the crazed survivors hit the supermarkets, but it had been worth it. He had managed to escape the worst of the bloodbath before most other people even considered making a break for it, and considering how many bodies there had been after everyone was gone, he figured it was better than being dead. Besides, he hadn’t starved yet, right? Then Noah confirmed everything in that one response. Confirmed that he was still Noah, that Ronan was still Ronan, that the world was still alright, even if it was broken beyond repair. “Hop on.” He said, and swung a leg over the bike. He knew the noise would draw the dead. He didn’t care. Let them come, he’d be ready, he and Noah both. He didn’t know whether Noah could fight at all, but it didn’t really matter. Ronan would fight for both of them, and they’d be okay, he’d make sure of that. He looked back at his best friend, and his smile could have toppled towers and leveled mountains, but instead it was just for one person to see. “I’ll show you around. This place isn’t bad, considering what it’s been through. It’s a little bit like us, I guess.”
Sherlock hesitated, then sat down outside Crutchie’s door. He’d wait until the other decided to let him back in, however long that took, because his experiment was on the line here and he couldn’t afford to mess it up. Besides, it seemed that Crutchie was willing to at least try and put up with him. So that was something new. He couldn’t help but wonder why. Why Crutchie was here, why he hadn’t left the moment he was physically capable of doing so, why he seemed to plan on staying. It wasn’t that the scientist was lonely of course - he didn’t get lonely - but he liked it when things made sense, which Crutchie so far didn’t. Maybe he wanted to solve the puzzle, or maybe he was just intrigued by a person he couldn’t immediately understand, but either way he found that he didn’t want the boy to leave. Which, in itself, was incredible. “Don’t thank me, I haven’t done anything yet.” He corrected, not harshly but not exactly kindly either. He was assuming Crutchie was referring to the rules he had set in place, not the fact that he had obediently left the room as asked. It seemed more likely, since leaving the room was such a basically decent thing to do even he didn’t think twice about it. He listened. Hopefully the boy would let him back in soon, because he really did want to be around when his eyesight returned so he could see for himself any visual changes there might be, but he held back from opening the door even a crack in case Crutchie noticed. It was so hard to wait, especially for something so important, but somehow he did it until he heard the next words. His face was instantly against the door, his blue eye trying desperately to peer through the keyhole. “What kind of light?” He demanded. “How much? Can you tell where it’s coming from. Bloody hell can I come in yet?” This was driving him crazy, he needed to get in there, he had to see what was going on before the changes were too far along. He put a hand on the doorknob, but didn’t turn it, not yet, not until Crutchie answered. “Please? There might be other changes you can only see from the outside, this will all have been for nothing if I miss it, please let me in?”
“It’s a world that could exist, if people fought for it.” Kelsier answered stubbornly, his voice still gentle even as he contradicted Nico. “You think people aren’t capable of kindness anymore, or maybe you think they never really were. But I think you’re wrong. I think people can choose to be kind and good and there are lots of reasons why they don’t, but one of them is because they’re afraid. They’re afraid to be good in a world where no one else is even trying anymore, just like you’re afraid to trust me because of what might happen. I don’t think that’s wrong. I think it makes sense, but I refuse to live that way.” He chose to live smiling in the face of tragedies and gore and bitter truths with no mercy. He chose to be kind in a world that didn’t reward it, because if you were only kind when you got something out of it, what did that say about you? He chose to inspire hope where there was none, and to be a light where there was only darkness. And he didn’t choose that because it was easy, either, because it wasn’t. It was quite possibly the hardest thing he’d even done. “Don’t think I don’t care.” He added after a moment of silence, sipping another bite of soup as he considered Nico. “I know that it might seem that way to you, but believe me when I say I think I sometimes care too much. The world is cruel, I know, but it isn’t only cruel. It’s also beautiful. There are flowers and sunrises and people who still care. There’s hope.” He fell silent again, another bite of soup finding its way into his mouth. He understood why Nico didn’t want to believe there was hope, and why deep down he probably desperately did want to believe in it. It was a painful thing, hope. Painful to have, more painful to lose, and the worst pain of all came from having it again when you’d lost it before. That was what he was asking of Nico; to trust again, even though it hurt. Because it would be worth it if only he could bring himself to try. But he knew it wouldn’t be easy. Which was why he wasn’t surprised that it wasn’t happening right away. He lowered his spoon as Nico went on, nodding a little at the point the boy was making. “I know.” He agreed, gently, and smiled again. “Believe me, I know. I’ve been betrayed by someone I loved more than anyone or anything, and I nearly died because of it. I’m not saying I know for sure that I can trust you, I’m saying that it’s worth the risk of you betraying me or killing me in my sleep. I’m not stupid, Nico. I know you could have killed people before, just like you know I could have. What I’m saying is, being able to trust even when it’s a risk is worth it. Does that make any sense?” Of course it didn’t make sense. It didn’t even make sense to him, and he was the one saying it. It wasn’t supposed to make sense, it was supposed to be something to cling to while the world tilted under your feet, something to hold so you didn’t drown. That’s what it was to Kelsier, and he was offering his hand to Nico, offering to pull him onto the lifeboat too. He hoped his offer would be taken someday. His soup was gone. Kelsier started down at the empty bowl for a few minutes, considering Nico’s question, then looked up and studied the boy’s face. Could he be saying… No. There was no way he was saying that. Kelsier dismisses the thought, and instead chose to to answer as honestly as possible. “If you were the one who started all this...then what? What does it change? I would ask you, or whoever is really responsible for this, why they did it. But it wouldn’t change the fact that I still believe you’re worth the risk of trusting you, no matter what. I really mean that, whatever you’ve done, even if you had started the apocalypse...I trust you.l Maybe he was arrogant. He was willing to be. “Watch me.” He returned, not unkindly. “Watch me fight the whole world and come out unbroken. I did it before the apocalypse, I’m not about to stop fighting now.” That was his honest answer. He didn’t know how Nico would react to it, but there it was. He shook his head a little at the notion that his game was dumb, which it was probably a little bit, but that was alright. Kelsier was willing to play a dumb game if it helped Nico, even just a tiny bit.
|
|
Transgender
strider
No mourners, no funerals
|
Post by strider on Jan 20, 2020 1:21:32 GMT -5
“You’d think people’d be smarter than leaving a perfectly good motorcycle lying around,” Noah murmured, smiling at Ronan. He had to admit it was a fantastic find, and for Ronan to have kept it secret for what was probably quite a long time was quite an accomplishment. He didn’t waste a second in climbing onto the motorcycle behind Ronan, a ghost of a smile still present. It had been so long since he had last felt the thrill of being alive in such a capacity. The thrill of moving so fast the world couldn’t catch up, of feeling wind flowing through his hair. That was what it was to truly be alive. It had been too long since he’d even used a skateboard… the thought reminded him too much of everything they had lost He knew he needed to focus on what he had now instead. What they could still do with just the two of them and a motorcycle… even without the motorcycle. He wanted the others, he realized – he wanted the way they interacted, the way they all played off of each other. There was never a dull moment. Noah frowned. Somehow, being with Ronan now made him realize just how much he missed the others. He pushed the thoughts away, instead focusing on Ronan. That smile was enough for him to fix his mind on, to hold onto as Ronan started up the motorcycle. Because Ronan almost never smiled like that, and it meant all the more when he did. “I can’t wait,” he replied, a glint in his eye. He was going to make the most of this. See exactly what Ronan saw in this place, the little sideroads where there weren’t often zombies, where he spent his days. It wasn’t the same as Henrietta was, it could never be home, but it was still something of Ronan’s. It was something they could share, now. Ronan was stronger than even Noah remembered – he had always been the strongest one in the group, but now he just seemed even stronger. Noah, if anything, had gotten weaker. “Almost seems like you like this place,” Noah replied, teasing just a bit. It was a lot lighter than any of the other joking remarks he had made. He knew what it was like to fall a little bit in love with the only place or the only people that kept you safe in a world ravaged by hell. Even if it ended up hurting you even more in the end. He hoped that this place Ronan had found was nothing less than kind to his friend. Maybe, if they played their cards right, they could stay here. Avoiding zombies, fighting them off when they had to… but just having a home base. “Where’s your favorite spot?” he called over the wind, holding tightly on to Ronan as though if he let go he wouldn’t just fall off, but he would lose his mental tether to the world. He hadn’t meant to anchor it on Ronan, especially not so soon after encountering him again, but the heart did what it wanted. Ronan was what was keeping him here. Ronan was what was keeping him human, and he was scared to let go. He was scared to lose himself so soon after finding home again. And the worst part was that he didn’t know how to tell Ronan that. He couldn’t tell Ronan that. He knew that if Ronan knew the truth, he would kill him. And even if it was the right thing to do, even if Noah saw it coming this time, it would hurt even more to be betrayed by Ronan in the same way he’d been betrayed by Whelk.
Crutchie took a deep breath, trying to get accustomed to the idea that this was what his life was going to be like from now on. It was a bit of a hard adjustment, but Sherlock, when asked to be, and when it suited him, was a lot more agreeable and willing to compromise than Crutchie had originally thought. He took a moment to appreciate the privacy, not bothering to respond to Sherlock. Obviously, the detective had misunderstood what he was thanking him for, and he didn’t feel like correcting him. What Crutchie hadn’t expected, however, was that Sherlock was waiting on the outside for him to tell him he could come in. He had just assumed that Sherlock would come in when he thought enough time had passed – or when he got bored of waiting. Crutchie hadn’t thought that he would actually be thoughtful enough to wait until he was invited back in. Perhaps he really had misjudged him more than he thought. “Come in,” he managed, trying not to let his surprise show in his voice. The light had been exciting for a moment or two, but now it just… felt the same. He waited for the sound of the door opening, turning his head towards it. “It… it’s kind of like when you close your eyes and look at the sun, but… less bright, Same color, I guess?” He frowned, unable to describe it exactly. He just hoped it was a precursor to the rest of his vision coming back just as easily. Crutchie wasn’t sure exactly what Sherlock was going to do when he came in, but he found he wasn’t as scared as he should have been. If Sherlock wanted to run some tests… it couldn’t be worse than the original poison. Besides, Crutchie wasn’t sure he was right about Sherlock being willing to do things he knew would make Crutchie purposefully uncomfortable. It seemed that the detective had certain boundaries. It just meant that Crutchie’s boundaries needed to be more clearly explained… this could end up working a lot better than Crutchie had expected. “It’s… sort of harsh light,” he admitted, blinking a few times. “Hurts less when I close my eyes,” he added. He tried a few more times before nodding to confirm his initial impression had been right. He didn’t know too much about science, but he had a feeling something in his eyes was just having a hard time adjusting to the light.
Who was this man? Of course Nico knew his name now and knew more or less what he stood for, but… where had he come from? What had he lived through that he could still believe things like that? Nico wasn’t sure if Kelsier was the most frustrating man alive or perhaps the most honorable. Maybe even both. In a way, that was even more frustrating. Nico didn’t consider himself cruel, but he knew what he had done. He had done it even without meaning to, because he’d been desperate for some sort of connection, for something that could tie him to the world beyond Hades’ dinner parties and experiments. This was all on him, and it wasn’t that he necessarily thought that Kelsier was foolish, but he did know that he was wrong. “People won’t fight for it, though!” Nico insisted, eyes flashing a little bit. Kelsier was asking him to believe in a fairytale, and life wasn’t one. It never had been. “How many people have you met that have been genuinely kind for no reason, even before all of this?” he snapped, tone accusatory. He held the soup close to his body as though Kelsier were going to take it away because of his outburst. “You can live however you want, but don’t pretend like people are going to live the same way. Sure, people might be afraid. But they could also just be awful and sickeningly depraved. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that anyone’s grateful for the apocalypse, but more people than you can imagine live their lives to hunt down the rest of the living. Because it makes living easier with less competition. Nico sighed, defeated. He didn’t want Kelsier to think that he was a bad person, he just needed Kelsier to know that he was wrong. Though, truth be told he didn’t know why contradicting Kelsier mattered to him so much. “I don’t believe that you can choose to be good all the time,” he managed, all of the fire having gone out of him. “Life’s too complicated for that. If you aren’t bad at the outset, you make the choices you can based on what you know. But when you look back… the bad outnumbers the good, no matter how hard you try. And sometimes you can’t see that. Sometimes you think you chose what was right, but you didn’t. Sometimes you can’t even see that what you’ve done is bad because you’re so certain that you’ve been making the right choices the whole time and it’s too late to look back now. And maybe sometimes your reason for making the choices you make is bad at the outset, but you choose not to believe that. You convince yourself you’re doing something good, and then nothing can change your mind. And then maybe something happens and maybe what you were doing was good the whole time, but someone else messes it up and makes it all go bad, and then everyone blames you and only you know the truth. And maybe you know what’s right… maybe you’re doing something good but nobody else can see that because they don’t understand all of the circumstances-” Nico broke off, staring down at the floorboards as though he could pierce right through them if he glared hard enough. He had been trying his best not to cry, but he angrily wiped a belligerent tear from his cheek. He didn’t know when he had switched from thinking from his own perspective to thinking from his father’s, but the thought sent a chill down his spine. He had never been able to blame Hades for what happened. Because he and his father were the only ones that knew the truth. That the apocalypse rested squarely on Nico’s shoulders. He looked away, slowly taking a bite of soup. He tried to hide his shaking hands from Kelsier, but knew they wouldn’t escape the man’s notice. That was two outburst of two entirely different natures in the span of just a few minutes. That had to be a new record, and it was embarrassing. “I’m sorry about the person who betrayed you,” he murmured after a moment. “You didn’t deserve that.” What he didn’t say was that it was foolish of Kelsier to take that risk again. He had already called Kelsier a fool a few too many times n this one conversation, though, and despite the philosophy Kelsier seemed to be espousing, Nico was prepared for the moment when Kelsier would get fed up with him and decide that Nico had spoken enough. He was waiting for the sharp reminder of a palm across his cheek, or worse. It never came. Nico was still afraid he’d overstepped, though, so he just listened when Kelsier answered the question that had almost physically hurt him to ask. He wanted to answer. Wanted to tell Kelsier that he hadn’t meant to do it, not really, it had just sort of happened. That he had been young, but that wasn’t an excuse. He wanted to tell Kelsier that he wished every day he could go back and undo it, but he couldn’t. Wanted to say that if he had been able to do something so awful unwittingly, there was no hope for him to do good things on purpose, no matter how hard he tried. “I think you’ll find,” Nico murmured quietly, “that if you fall you’ll fall harder and deeper than the people who try a whole lot less.”
|
|
|
Post by ®Hawkpath® on Feb 8, 2020 22:07:58 GMT -5
Ronan gave a sharp laugh. Maybe Noah thought that people would care enough to take care of a motorcycle, but Ronan thought that there weren’t a lot of people with room in their brains for anything but the will to live left. He was one of them though, and proud of it.“Maybe they have two and they just decided to dump this one.” He suggested, and off they went, his leaning forward as the motorcycle picked up speed. This wasn’t home, but it was a hell of a lot closer to it than sitting still was. This was heart-racing, eyes-narrowed-against-the-wind speed, this was racing against yourself and winning, and Ronan was one of the best there were at that. Even before the apocalypse, he had been wild and out of control, and now? Now there was nothing holding him back. It wasn’t that he loved how things were now. Or even that he liked it. If he were honest, he’d trade all this and more to get Adam and Gansey and Blue and even Henry back, to return to the days of Monmouth and wandering and seeing strange things on a cloudless night. But he knew he couldn’t, so what was the point in wishing? He almost laughed at himself. The point of wishing was that you couldn’t stop. Ronan wasn’t immune to it, he just pretended to be for his own sake and now Noah’s. He pretended he didn’t sit awake every night waiting for them to come home to him, or him to them, because they were each other’s home and apart, they were broken. He was broken. He leaned forward, picking up speed. Noah felt firm and real behind him, but he still couldn’t help expecting him to vanish at any moment, like the taste of the past he seemed to be. He swerved, first one way, then the other way, each time getting lower to the ground as though eventually he was going to go too low and knock them both off. He didn’t, of course, but he knew Noah’s reaction would be more than reward enough for his antics. He’d missed this - missed the teasing and the remarks, pushing each other but never too far. Just enough to get a reaction, enough to be felt but not to hurt. Not even Ronan would have hurted them, and he was the most prone to lashing out of any of them, they all knew that. Was he really the strongest? He didn’t feel that way, sometimes he felt like the weakest there was, because the others all seemed to belong and be content and he was always starving for something more. He flipped Noah off, but grinned, effectively ruining his response. “What’s not to like?” He retorted, his time equally light and almost laughing as he turned sharply and took them in a quick circle. Just because he could. “I mean sure, there are more corpses walking around than there are people, and there’s barely any good food or water, and ‘here’ is wherever we happen to decide to camp out for the night, but you have to admit it’s pretty nice not to have any cops around, right? We can loot and race and do whatever the hell we want.” He glanced over his shoulder, a single bright blue eye fixing on Noah’s face for a moment. It was as though he could read the other boy’s thoughts on his skin, though of course, he couldn’t. Maybe if he could, he would have stopped right where he was and told Noah they weren’t going another step until he explained exactly what was going on. He probably would have done something like that. But he didn’t know. So he just quirked a smile and turned back to the road, waving the hand with the leather bracelets over his head. “Wanna see?” He called back, and sped up even more, they were racing faster than anyone without at least three helmets should go now. “I can show you the best place for miles around.”
Sherlock rubbed his hands together, eager to get back in there and see what was happening. The changes were coming earlier than he’d anticipated, which was a good thing - the less time it took for the subject to recover, the less time between experiments - but of course if he were stuck out here he couldn’t see what was happening, now could he? He could have broken back in, but it didn’t occur to him that the closed door was anything less than an unbreakable barrier until Crutchie allowed him back in. It wasn’t thoughtfulness so much as it was the fact that he didn’t consider entering before Crutchie was ready to be an option. Would he have done it if he did? Maybe. Maybe not. He didn’t know, and so neither did anyone else. When the boy called out, Sherlock immediately threw himself into the room and lunged for Crutchie, his eyes wide and careful as they inspected Crutchie’s eyes from only a few inches away, his hands already reaching for paper and a pen. After a moment of staring, he retreated and began to scribble down effects, exactly what the eyes looked like and how long it had been down to the minute, along with a prediction for the future. He put it aside. “Anything else?” He questioned, bouncing on his heels with an excited sort of energy. “Physical symptoms? Brain fog? Unexplained anxiety? Anything at all, please tell me, I need to know everything I can about what’s happening to you right now in order to get the most information I can.” That, and he needed to know what to tweak when it was time for another experiment. And if he ever needed to poison someone, he could tell them exactly what to expect when they woke up. And he was just being a good scientist and recording everything he could. Really there were endless reasons why he needed to know, so he hoped Crutchie could tell him everything and they could move on to the actually fun part of actually making a new batch.
Kelsier watched Nico, hazel eyes light and hard to read. What did he see what he looked at the boy? He saw a child who had lived through much more than his fair share of pain, a child who was unbelievably strong and didn’t even know it. And he saw himself, a little bit, as the boy he’d once been, the boy who had fought tooth and nail for every ounce of freedom he could find. Nico wasn’t the sort of person who didn’t know what it was to feel pain, after all. He was the sort of person who lived and breathed hardships, and maybe even thought he deserved them in a way. It made Kelsier want to walk over and put his hands on Nico’s shoulders and tell him that he was worth so much better than this cruel, thoughtless world. It made him want to fight, and win, against the dead and even the living, because there was no way it was only the walking corpses that had turned Nico into such a cautious, fearful boy. No, he watched for cameras because there were living eyes after him as well, perhaps even more dangerous than the dead ones to him, and that more than anything else made Kelsier want nothing more than to protect Nico from it all. He met Nico’s eyes, his own gaze steady. “Not everyone.” He admitted quietly, his own tone calm and sure. “Not even myself, sometimes. Don’t think this is easy or natural for me Nico, and don’t think I believe for a second that everyone’s nice on the inside and just waiting to laugh and forgive their enemies. Humans aren’t like that, I know. That’s not what I’m trying to say.” The problem was, what he was trying to say wasn’t necessarily what Nico would want to hear. “The truth is, I’ve met people before who are willing to do the right thing. My wife, for example. My friends…” He almost said their names, but he didn’t. Not because he didn’t trust Nico - he did, however much you could trust someone you only barely knew - but because he didn’t like the taste of them on his tongue anymore. He liked to think about them still, they were still his friends, it was just that...he missed them. He really, really missed them, and he didn’t like reminding himself of what he’d lost. “I think people have potential to be good.” He said simply, meeting Nico’s fire with a small smile. If they didn’t, then he couldn’t have had such good friends, and he had, so people could be good and Mare had betrayed him even though she hadn’t had to. Ouch. Where had that thought come from? Too late, he realized where his mind was going, and he did his best to pull it back to the situation at hand. Right in time to hear Nico start to talk about himself. Because that was obviously what he was doing. Kelsier listened quietly, his sharp eyes watchful and kind, as Nico went on about the mistake he’d apparently made, about how you couldn’t really be good. How your bad choices would always drown your good ones to nothing. It wasn’t true, but Kelsier could feel the desperation in Nico’s voice and he knew without needing to be told that this was the knife in the younger survivor’s heart. This had something to do with the people after him, something to do with everything that was going so wrong in his own private world. He watched the tear slip from Nico’s eye without judgment or pity. How could he judge when he’d shed so many tears of his own over less? The tears didn’t make you less in his opinion, but they did mean something was very wrong, because he knew Nico wouldn’t be crying in front of him unless he couldn’t in any way help it. “You don’t have to tell me what happened to you.” Kelsier said gently after a minute, and took another bite of soup, as though they were discussing something mostly without consequence. Like tomorrow’s weather. “But if it gets to be too much for one person to handle, I won’t judge you. Whatever mistake you made, whatever misunderstanding there was, I won’t judge you for it. You have my word.” Not that that would probably be enough, but he didn’t have anything else to give, so it would have to be. And he meant what he said. He wouldn’t force anything out of Nico, even if he thought he needed to know, which right in this moment he didn’t. He knew to avoid cameras, and he knew that Nico needed him more than he would admit, and that was enough for him. “It was my wife. Mare.” He said unexpectedly, his smile staying even as his eyes clouded. “I’m sorry, too. I wouldn’t say I didn’t deserve it, but I didn’t see it coming, and to this day I can’t understand why she did it. I still love her, you know.” The truth. That was what he could offer. The truth, as full as he could make it, and he could hope that that would be enough to win Nico’s trust. Even if it wasn’t, maybe it would be enough to gain his friendship. His eyes dropped. you’ll fall harder and deeper than the people who try a whole lot less. And that was the price, wasn’t it? The price of caring. The price of feeling. The price of trust itself, impossible to ignore, stinging like a snakebite deep in his chest, like the wound of Mare’s betrayal and the loss of his crew. Of course he’d fall harder for having tried. “If you never climb the mountain, you’ll never see the view.” He answered very softly, and his expression was serious now, unyeilding. He wouldn’t break, no matter what happened, he wouldn’t break.
|
|
Transgender
strider
No mourners, no funerals
|
Post by strider on Feb 11, 2020 23:28:18 GMT -5
Noah clung on to Ronan for dear life, his cheek buried against Ronan’s shoulder as though they were the same person and nothing, not even the forces of time, or this god*mn virus could tear the two of them apart. His grip tightened when Ronan swung too low for comfort, but he was laughing the whole time, willing Ronan to push a little further, get them a little bit closer to the ground. This is what it meant to be alive. It was no flying through the air on a skateboard, but it certainly wasn’t bad. And Ronan really knew how to make the thing go, take them faster than seemed humanly possible, let them, just for a moment, taste life at its fullest. He socked Ronan in the arm, lightly, as they got just a little too close to the ground and Noah was almost certain that the fabric on his knees was about to be scraped off by the road, but he didn’t want Ronan to stop. If Ronan still knew him as well as he once had… he would know that. Noah wasn’t afraid about that, though. He was still Ronan’s Noah and Ronan was still… well, his Ronan. They were both just a little bit rougher around the edges without the rest of the group to smooth them out, but it felt better than being alone. A cube with two sides wasn’t really a cube, but it could still stand on its own, right? Noah almost yelped as Ronan took them in a tight circle, but if Ronan had turned enough to see his face, he would have seen that he was still grinning. This was what he had missed. This… existing. Ronan took risks, far too many of them, but they had never been risks that would hurt his friends. Noah knew that his presence here was enough that Ronan might try to keep himself safe, if only to make sure that Noah stayed safe. Which was why he couldn’t know that Noah was well beyond in danger. Noah was danger itself. “A bit hard to race when there’s nobody around to race you,” Noah replied quietly, burying his face in Ronan’s shoulder before peeking out to meet his friend’s gaze. And he didn’t say it, but he doubted that looting was much fun when there wasn’t the thrill of danger to it. If there was no risk in being caught, why would they do something like that? They had always gotten up to mischief when they were little, but it was never anything too harmful. Racing… but it had only been fun because there was an opponent and an element of danger. He broke eye contact first, hiding the smudge on his cheek against Ronan’s shoulder again. He knew that was probably dangerous – if there was anything that could spread from him to Ronan, having his face so close to the other boy’s would be dangerous, but he wasn’t thinking like that, not now. Right now he was just a normal teenager in a world that wasn’t falling apart, and he wasn’t going to let it start falling apart on him right away. Not like this, not now. He was allowed a few good moments, even if he had to wrest them from the arms of fate. “Of course I want to see!” Noah shouted forward as they picked up speed, letting out a ‘whoop’ of pure joy. “Better be as good as you say!” He closed his eyes against the air streaming past them, letting himself imagine where they were going – see houses on either side of the road as they had once been, see trees growing in the distance in evenly manicured lawns, not the overgrown jumble of weeds they tended to be now. He could pretend things were alright, with Ronan here. But then again, perhaps that was a dangerous thing. In a more realistic moment he would have told himself that it was stupid to let himself have a glimpse of life as it should have been – he could never have it that way, none of them could. There was no going back, so it was worthless to pretend they could. But that didn’t stop Noah now, letting himself, just for a moment, pretend that Gansey and Adam and Blue and maybe even Henry would be waiting for them wherever Ronan was taking him.
It took everything Crutchie had in him to keep from cringing away from Sherlock when he was aware the man was so nearby. He may not have been able to see Sherlock just a few inches away, but he could tell he was there, and it was… unnerving, to say the least. But he had agreed to help Sherlock out, so he kept his eyes open for as long as possible so that Sherlock could observe everything he needed to. “I think anyone would be anxious after being poisoned,” Crutchie replied, his tone biting. Not in a malicious way, though… if Sherlock had known Crutchie better, he would have known that he was no longer using the hostile tones he reserved for the people who were really on his nerves – this was just his rather sharp wit that tended to reveal itself a bit too often. Unfortunately for Sherlock, he had seen far more of Crutchie’s firecracker side than the side of him he tended to adopt around friends. Though from how quickly he retorted, it was clear he was not as shaky as he had been when he had just woken up. He wasn’t as upset either, though that was probably difficult to tell from his tone. “Still having trouble breathing,” he admitted after a moment, frowning. “Though I think that’s less from the poison and more from…” he trailed off, knowing Sherlock would catch his meaning. “And my stomach still hurts.” He blushed as he realized that Sherlock had handed him a plate a while back, and he’d set it down, only to completely lose track of where it was. “You… brought me a sandwich, didn’t you?” he asked after a moment. “I seem to have misplaced it. Thank you, by the way.” He knew it was all just part of the experiment, but still. It was the sort of gesture that Crutchie hadn’t been expecting here, and it served as another reminder that though Sherlock was more than a little bit self-interested, he wasn’t cruel. And it wasn’t that he wanted to be rude or overdemanding, it was just that he didn’t seem to be able to see what was – to Crutchie – a very obvious line between things that were alright to demand, and things that weren’t. And they’d already bridged that obstacle, hadn’t they?
Nico let his spoon drift down back towards the soup, listening to Kelsier as he spoke. Maybe he was right. Maybe there were people who were willing to try to be good, but then how did it make sense that they all seemed to falter just at the last moment? He had always believed Bianca to be wholly good, but then she had died, and he’d had a chance to think back to her life, and it pained him to admit it, but she wasn’t. She was just a girl trying her best in a world that was too hard, and she hadn’t been able to care for her baby brother on top of all of that. But she had tried. And how had Nico repaid her? By leading almost directly to her death. By starting this whole mess, and killing countless people, and leading to countless betrayals. He didn’t know why, but it hurt more finding out that Kelsier had a wife. Or once had a wife. It sounded like she was gone now, or he didn’t know where she was. You’re fault, Nico’s voice hissed in his head, and he didn’t even bother to push it away. He would face what he had caused, and he would not back down from it. Kelsier might have had a family by now. He may have been a father, with a kid who wouldn’t appreciate him enough until he was older. Selfishly, Nico found he was envious of that nonexistent kid. That thought he did wipe from his mind. “Maybe,” he conceded after a moment. “Maybe people have the potential. Not everyone, and even fewer people try, but… maybe.” He stared at Kelsier for a moment, not sure where the comment was coming from. Well… no, he knew exactly why Kelsier was saying that he didn’t have to tell him what happened to him, but he didn’t know why he was saying it. Because secrets could put them both in danger, and as long as Nico was travelling with Kelsier he was hiding himself but making it more likely that Kelsier would become a target of Hades’ search as well. Who knew what would happen to them both then? The thought sent a chill down Nico’s spine. Suddenly it felt like his appetite was gone, because how selfish could he be, really, putting Kelsier in danger like this and not even telling him what kind of danger it was? Kelsier could make all the promises he wanted while he was in the dark about what was really going on, but once he knew the truth? Then Nico had no doubt that he would try to follow through with these promises, but he would regret them. Because they were made before he knew the truth about the situation, before he knew exactly what kind of kid he was latching himself to. “I’ll be gone before you ever have to find out what I’m running from,” Nico replied, forcing himself to take another bite of soup. Which still tasted amazing, and it was infuriating, because Kelsier had made it, and it was just another reason to want to stay with Kelsier. Eventually, he would have to wrench himself away from this before he got to really trusting Kelsier. He would need to leave before it got too dangerous for either of them. He just had to think of Kelsier as a way to cover his tracks, otherwise he would get too attached, and never be able to leave. And then things would get really, really bad, even if Kelsier did take the truth well. The fact that he was even actually thinking about it meant that this had gone too far. Nico should never have walked out of the gas station with Kelsier. Already, despite not fully trusting the man, he wanted to stay with him. He wanted to grow to trust him. That was the scariest thing. He was about to take another bite of soup when he heard the next thing, and he hesitated, letting the spoon drift back down again. There was something about Kelsier’s smile that made the truth even worse. Nico couldn’t pretend he was just naïve and idealistic, they had both lived through this world that Nico had created. They had both been scarred and hurt by it, and neither of them could get away from it. The only difference was that Nico could barely hold himself together, and Kelsier still had hope about the world. Maybe because he hadn’t been there when it had ended. Nico cringed away from the memory, the explosion, the knowledge that his entire world was falling apart. He could remember playing in a field with a boy with yellow hair, bragging to him about his father and telling him that he had a secret, but since they were friends, he thought it would be okay if he told. As long as the other boy swore not to tell anyone else. And they had both sworn, and Nico had bragged more, and everything had been fine. The next morning, the world ended. He never knew if his friend had told, or someone had overheard, but he did know loud and clear that it was his fault. It didn’t matter if his friend had betrayed him or not. And part of Nico – the part of him that still had hope – wanted to believe that Jason Grace had honored his promise to keep it a secret. Nico would never find out, though. Jason had been dead a long time now. Another death on Nico’s hands. He didn’t know how to respond to Kelsier, but he had let the silence hang in between them for too long. Finally, he lifted his gaze to meet Kelsier’s and spoke. “If you said she was willing to do the right thing, I believe you,” he murmured, struggling to fit the words together. “Maybe she did what she thought was right. Maybe there are things she didn’t tell you, so maybe you don’t have the whole story.” He could make that concession. He could let Kelsier be right that there was someone else good. Just this once. Just for his wife, even if Nico didn’t really believe it. “If you want me to call you foolish or naïve for loving her still, I won’t. The heart is a traitorous thing.” The shift in Kelsier’s expression was arresting. Nico froze, watching Kelsier’s face for a moment. The words hit like arrows. “I’m scared of heights,” he replied quietly. It was a rebuttal to Kelsier’s statement, of course it was, but it was also the truth. An acknowledgement of fear in no uncertain terms, and a gift: just a little bit of Nico’s trust.
|
|
|
Post by ®Hawkpath® on Mar 4, 2020 22:56:41 GMT -5
Ronan let out a shout as the motorcycle almost wrenched itself away from him, the incredible speed threatening to tear them both off and send them flying for having dared to taunt it. The wind tore at them both and they were like bullets speeding through it, and nothing, nothing, nothing would stop them. Least of all the ruins of their lives chasing after them like a baying bloodhound. Ronan knee Noah well enough to know he was enjoying this, even the parts where Ronan almost got too cocky and rammed them into things, and he didn’t have to look over his shoulder to feel the grin on his best friend’s face. This was the feeling of being alive, this insane desire to tempt fate and tease death to its face, this daring death to touch them if it could. They could crash and both be killed, but what was that in light of everything else? Neither of them knew what safety was, not before and not after, and really their chances of survival were pretty similar whether they raced ahead or not. Ronan wasn’t thinking of chances, or cost vs. benefit. Pros and cons were far from his mind as the buildings flew past, blurring together into a dull mass he needed to escape. He knew Noah felt the same way, about being trapped, about their lives chaining them down. Or trying to. Ronan grinned as he veered left and they nearly went flying, and his laugh was sharp like shards of glass, shattered into countless pieces. He’d missed this. Dammit he’d missed Noah, more than he could ever put into words, more than even he knew. They were all a part of each other, all necessary to function, yet here they were, severed and holding on for dear life as the pebbles shot away from them. With Noah, it was a little bit easier to pretend he wasn’t in pain. To pretend he could ever be whole when pieces of himself were gone. Ronan gave a sharp bark of laughter at that. “Doesn’t seem so hard to me.” He shot back, his voice wild and free as a raven soaring over their heads. “Since I’m doing it, and I don’t hear you complaining either.” He watched as Noah broke eye contact, he for a moment there were traces of a frown on his forehead, as though someone had drawn them and then tried and failed to erase them. There was something...off about Noah, he knew that much, but he was trying to pretend there wasn’t. He needed things to be normal, for once, even if he had to ignore what was right in front of him to get it. He could question his friend, demand to know everything that had happened since they parted, but he wouldn’t do that. Ronan, the boy who flew too close to the ground, the boy who tempted fate and spoke roughly and frightened children, wasn’t going to bring up something Noah so clearly wanted to forget. They both wanted to forget after all, in a way. They both wanted to exist in this moment, in this little bubble of safety where nothing could rip their hearts out and crush them. And neither were going to be the first to end it. Ronan gave a silent grin in response, mischief dancing in his blue eyes. Then he turned off the road and bounced into an alley, which looked closed at the end until you saw that it wasn’t really, there was an opening in the back just big enough for Ronan to shoot through at full speed, nearly taking off his head in the process. They bounced and bumped downhill, and it was dark now, so dark it was a wonder Ronan didn’t crash into anything, and then there was light ahead, and they came to a very abrupt stop. It was so bright. Not where they were, but the shape of a doorway streaming with golden light bled into the darkness they were in, and now that the roar of the engine had died there was silence. Well, almost. There was an unfamiliar sound coming from the doorway. It sounded sweet and light, and if you listened hard enough, you would realize that it sounded like birds singing without a care in the world.
Sherlock peered into Crutchie’s unseeing eyes, possibly invading the boy’s personal space. He was looking for something specific, and when he didn’t find it he exhaled in a way that sounded almost...relieved? Maybe just satisfied. He backed off, his brain flying along at top speed, and began to pace to try and work off some energy as he meticulously picked the situation apart. “You will definitely get your sight back, and sooner than I originally thought.’ He announced finally, his tone betraying how happy that made him. “There was a small chance the damage would be permanent, but it wasn’t, so...congratulations. Anyway, I’m officially calling this experiment successfully, not that I don’t expect to get more information, I’ve just already got more than I expected, so don’t start getting lazy about keeping track of your symptoms, alright?” He sounded cold, but there was another side to him too, a side that made it clear how much this meant to him. “This”, being the experiments, the results, accuracy. Mad scientist wouldn’t have been an incorrect title, but there was something a little bit more like a detective about him too, something that made you think of fighting criminals and maybe being one at the same time, of taking down people a lot like himself. And maybe that wasn’t who he was, but maybe it was a part of him, like a hat he couldn’t quite get rid of. He turned, looking at Crutchie, and nodded before he realized that the boy couldn’t see him. “Your binder.” He said helpfully, assuming that’s Crutchie had somehow forgotten the word for it. “Yes, I wish you’d told me about that, I could have warned you not to wear it while we’re testing. At any rate, you’ll probably have trouble breathing for a while, soreness and some swelling maybe, did you break a rib? Hopefully that won’t need medical attention, because I’m not a doctor and neither are you.” He’d been about to sit down, but now he bounced back up and began to search, shoving things haphazardly out of his way as he did. It took a couple of minutes, but after consulting his mind palace a couple of times, the scientist managed to produce the plate with the sandwich still on it, which he triumphantly handed over. “Here you go. I think it got buried in paper but that shouldn’t hurt anything at all, and you must be hungry. Also, I need you to be in good physical condition for these tests to be accurate, so eat up, won’t you?”
Kelsier watched, waiting for Nico’s expression to shift, one way or the other. He would either be angry with Kelsier for suggesting people had potential, or he wouldn’t. He would either fight back with his own arguments, or he wouldn’t. Kelsier wouldn’t mind if the boy challenged him; he might even welcome it, because it would prove that Nico wasn’t so afraid of him he agreed to whatever he said, which to say that was a good thing would be a vast understatement. Kelsier really believed everything he’d said was true, he really did believe that people could be truly good and that they had potential to make the right choices, but he didn’t expect Nico to agree with him about that. Of course people weren’t all good or all bad, but...well. He thought there were good people and bad people, and he was willing to fight the bad to protect the good. That was just how he thought of it. And that was how he acted too, it was how he interacted with the world and how the world interacted with him. Maybe it was too simple, maybe...but he didn’t think so. And hearing Nico agree, even just agree that it might be true, was like water after a long run. He grinned, and there was something less playful and more touched in that expression, like he hadn’t expected to get that and now that he had it, he wanted very much to keep it. And he meant what he said. He looked back, letting Nico take in his serious, calmly honest expression, and he repeated, “you don’t have to tell me. You can, but only if you choose to. I only want to hear what you want to tell me, okay?” He was telling the truth, but he knew Nico was likely not to thank him for it. Sometimes, the only thing more terrifying than a cruel hand was a kind one, after all, and Kelsier knew all too well how hard it was to make the decision to trust. He made that choice every day, and sometimes it hit him back, but it was always worth it. That was why he was trusting Nico now, with food and knowledge and the ability to hurt him if the boy chose. He didn’t need to get into everything that trust was to him. He knew Nico wasn’t ready for that yet, and when he was, Kelsier would be there for him. Even if that was never. Kelsier shook his head slightly, and he couldn’t help the sliver of alarm in his hazel eyes as he leaned slightly forward. “You don’t have to be alone, you know.” He murmured, and stopped himself, realizing that Nico would probably rather he stayed well away. Of course he didn’t blame him for that, it was only natural under the circumstances, but he was still filled with the sudden wish to give the boy a hug. Nico deserved a hug, if only he wouldn’t hate every second. “I won’t force you to stay.” He added, leaning back again and dipping his spoon into his soup without much emphasis on actually eating it. “But I hope you will, for a while anyway. It’s a little less lonely with the two of us, don’t you think?” He smiled then, eyes on Nico, soup all but forgotten. Which was impressive, considering how long it had been since he’d last eaten, but that wasn’t the point. He knew this wasn’t easy...dammit, he knew that. He didn’t expect it to be easy, or comfortable, and he did expect to gain anything but perhaps a friend. He was willing to give his trust away for that chance, a chance at something that was so rare nowadays it was almost physically painful to think about it. Since Mare, since his crew….he’d been alone for too long, and it was showing. He wished Nico didn’t have so many reasons not to trust him, but he didn’t consider those reasons to be flaws in any way, they were a part of the boy. A part other people had forced there, maybe, but still a part of him, and that mattered. It mattered to Kelsier, and maybe it even mattered to Nico, maybe he could learn to see himself as someone worth keeping alive, instead of simply living out of fear of the alternative. Kelsier knew that feeling, and the thought that Nico was going through that...it hurt. It really did. No, Kelsier wasn’t naive. He was a man who cling to hope with both hands, refusing to let go even when everything seemed to scream at him to do it. Even when the world was in shattered pieces and humans were barely surviving, usually by killing each other, Kelsier hoped and believed and he looked Nico in the eye as he did it, so any chance of him lying could be thrown away. He watched as Nico’s expression shifted. He couldn’t tell what the younger survivor was thinking, but whatever it was, it wasn’t good. He seemed to be imagining something, or remembering something, and Kelsier had the sudden feeling that he was trespassing on something personal without meaning to. He wished he could look away, but he didn’t want to make Nico any more uncomfortable than he already was, so he didn’t. He just watched, and as he did, memories of his own swam lazily to the front of his mind. Memories of a laughing crew and a gentle woman who loved him and would never betray him. Memories of walking, alone, down streets where only the living roamed and sometimes, late at night, not even then. Sometimes he would climb the roof and lay there alone, watching the stars hang as light as a bird in the sky. And sometimes Mare would join him, silent and unobtrusive as she did. She wouldn’t judge him for going there without her, but that didn’t mean she would always stay behind. She never could stay behind. Not even when it would have saved her life. Nico’s voice broke him from his reverie. He looked at the boy, and there was an odd expression in his eye, something like...surprise? Maybe because he was being reassured by Nico, who thought humanity was doomed and deserved nothing more than their demise. He smiled a little, more subdued than his usual grin but a smile nonetheless. “I think you might be right.” He agreed softly, and looked down at his soup, which he no longer wanted to eat. Betrayal tended to take your appetite away, he supposed. “Yes it is.” He agreed, his voice light but serious. “Yes it is.” He fell silent, gazing at his soup until Nico spoke again. Then he looked up and a spark of his old humor came back, bright against his bleak expression. “How can you be scared of heights?” He asked, only half teasing as he was genuinely surprised to hear that. “They’re so...freeing. I could live happily on the edge of a cliff.”
|
|
Transgender
strider
No mourners, no funerals
|
Post by strider on Mar 6, 2020 4:01:25 GMT -5
Noah clung on tight to Ronan, almost feeling like he was no longer in the world that had tried to push him down, that had tried to kill him, the world that refused to leave him alone and was dragging him back into hell every time he tried to fight back. This world, with the buildings flying past them so fast Noah couldn’t focus on them, was not the same world that had allowed Whelk to push him down and run. This world almost let him forget that. There was nothing but him and Ronan and the motorcycle and the wind carrying them further, threatening to rip them from the bike, letting them fly, if only for a moment. Noah grinned as Ronan came close to killing them both several times. Funny, how in a world where they were always on the brink of death, how this controlled danger made them both feel so much more alive. They needed this, he realized. They needed this as much as they needed air and water and each other. Ronan’s laugh was sharp, cutting Noah down to the core. Reminding him of everything he had been and everything he could be and everything that lay behind them. Everything that lay in front of them if they could just manage to stay together, stay on this bike, forever. Even without the others, it wasn’t ideal, but they could do it, if they wanted to. And maybe someday they would find the others, like they had found each other. One day he would have to tell Ronan the truth, or he would have to leave, or he would face Ronan as something other than himself and he would be killed by his friend. Right now, though, he didn’t have to think about it. He didn’t have to do anything but hold on tight and keep from falling off. That was the simplest thing in the world, holding on to Ronan, holding on to everything that had been his past. His grip on Ronan tightened once they veered into the alley, but not so much that his hold was strangling. He trusted Ronan to keep them alive. He trusted Ronan more than anything else in the world. In the darkness he could see nothing but his own pale hands gripping Ronan, the hint of a wicked tattoo on Ronan’s shoulders, the hint of something light way off in the distance. Noah had gotten used to fearing the dark, because it was when he had the least control. It was when he couldn’t see if he was alone or not, when he risked falling into another trap. This dark didn’t feel the same, maybe because Ronan was in it besides him. Ronan was guiding him through it. And then light, blinding and beautiful and hard to see through, assaulted Noah’s eyes and he had to squint against it. Dark and light. The world they were in and the world outside. Noah in control, Noah on the edge of a precipice, so close to teetering over, to losing himself entirely. It was so quiet that Noah could scarcely move, even though the motorcycle had stopped. So quiet that he didn’t want to be the one to break the spell, to remind them that they were real, that they existed in a world that was cruel and dark and ready to squash out any hint of the beautiful. Bird song. If there was one thing the apocalypse had done, it allowed nature to return to the way it must have been, once. Even so, Noah tended to spend time around cities, where the birds still tended to stay away unless they were scavengers. Bird song like this… it had been a long time since Noah had heard it. His eyes widened and he swung one leg off the motorcycle, landing on the ground. He approached the blinding light as quietly as he could, trying not to disrupt the beautiful noise in front of him. Noah turned, catching Ronan’s gaze. If he took just a few steps, he would be somewhere beautiful. He knew that well enough… Ronan, as sharp and tough and terrifying as he seemed, appreciated the beautiful as much – if not more – than anyone. The thing was, he was frightened to walk into that light, especially without Ronan in front of him or right at his side. What if it wasn’t as beautiful as it sounded? And what if it was? What if this was the sort of world they could have, if only they could survive? How could he contaminate a place like that if he was destined to not live that much longer?
“You do realize that in not telling me these sort of risks beforehand makes me much less more likely to be as willing to do it next time, right?” Crutchie replied, voice hard. It wasn’t as much of an accusation as it had been before, just a keen observation. “Next time tell me the risks, even if you don’t think I’ll understand them, or you think I won’t want to do it because of them. You owe me the ability to at least know what I’m in for.” They had already come to an agreement of when these sort of tests could be performed, and Crutchie wasn’t going to go back on that, but he figured the least Sherlock could do was be honest about the risks. He wasn’t mad, though. He knew it wasn’t meant to be a malicious action on Sherlock’s part. The situation might have been very different if Crutchie had lost his vision permanently. But he was going to recover from this poison, and he was going to take the next and hopefully recover from that as well – though next time he hoped he would be a little bit more prepared for what could happen. “Right,” Crutchie muttered, cheeks reddening. He didn’t expect Sherlock to understand that it wasn’t something he could just comfortably and casually mentioning to an almost stranger. It didn’t matter now, though. Hopefully it would get easier to breathe, and in the future he would take it off before they started any tests like this. Sherlock was aware of the danger now, which had to be good enough. “I think,” he murmured, lightly pressing on the tender spot on his chest, “that a broken rib would probably hurt a lot more than this.” Crutchie lifted his gaze in the direction he thought Sherlock would be, considering. “It’s not like we could get medical attention even if we needed it,” he commented wryly. They would have to make do with each other if either of them got seriously hurt here… and they had just better hope that Crutchie hadn’t broken a rib. If he had… well, it might delay Sherlock’s tests, and though Crutchie wouldn’t necessarily complain about that he wasn’t keen on the idea of having to sit through the healing of a broken rib. Crutchie reached out for the plate, missing it a few times before it was finally in his hands. “Thanks,” he mumbled, picking it up the sandwich. He was painfully hungry, and it had been thoughtful of Sherlock to bring him food at all. “Have you eaten?” Crutchie asked reflexively. He felt bad eating if Sherlock was going hungry, or if his having food meant that Sherlock could not.
Anyone who could grin the way Kelsier did in times like these, when the world was falling apart and kindness among strangers was as rare as snowfall in the summer, was either insane or worthy of admiration or fear. Or maybe all three at the same time. Nico pushed his soup further away from him, hating the idea that he would be wasting such a precious resource, but he wasn’t hungry anymore. If the way his ribs were almost visible through his shirt were any indication, he probably should have kept eating, but he had more on his mind now. Things he hadn’t considered since before the apocalypse had started. Things he had never even let himself consider, but that seemed perfectly natural and obvious when Kelsier was around. There was the possibility that humans were good, though Nico had never met any but Kelsier. And, honestly, Kelsier hadn’t even proven himself yet. Nico didn’t want to give him a chance to. He didn’t want to destroy Kelsier’s faith in the world when his fate caught up to him. There was something about Kelsier’s words that sent a chill down Nico’s spine. The choice to tell Kelsier when or if he ever wanted to. The knowledge that he ever could. The understanding that somehow, Kelsier would hear him out one day if he wanted that, that he wouldn’t judge or turn away, at least not right away. The knowledge that Kelsier somehow cared about Nico in a way that was more than just how Nico could benefit him, or the danger he posed to a reputation if he was allowed to stay out in the world. The worst part of this all was that Nico believed Kelsier, believed that he cared, that he would be kind and listen to Nico’s secrets only when and if Nico decided to share them. No, Nico snapped at himself. He doesn’t care about you because he doesn’t know you. He cares about the idea of you. Underneath that lay the knowledge that Nico’s secrets would completely blow up Kelsier’s idea of him. That there would be no coming back from that. “What if I want to be alone?” Nico asked, instinctively leaning away from Kelsier as he came slightly closer. The ache in his voice betrayed him: he was clearly exhausted with being alone. He needed someone else to stand with him and stand by him and fight for him, but he would never let himself admit it, even to himself. There was nothing in Nico that wanted to be alone, he just saw it as the only way to exist now. The only way to keep others safe and to keep on living himself. He relaxed once Kelsier leaned back again, though some small part of him was reaching out, trying to connect with Kelsier in a way he’d been denied for much longer than the world had been ending. He quickly squashed it down. Nonetheless, Kelsier was right. It was less lonely even now, sitting and talking and trying to figure out where to go from here. “Maybe,” Nico conceded, while aware that he was giving up ground far too quickly. “Maybe it’s a little less lonely.” Maybe his heart constricted at the idea of leaving. Maybe he wanted to see if Kelsier could uphold his promise not to lie. Maybe he wanted to live in this world Kelsier had in his mind where people could be kind and good and make those kinds of choices. Maybe he wanted to be some anonymous kid who the world wanted nothing from. But he wasn’t that kid. “Would you rather have company and look over your shoulder the whole time, or be lonely but safer?” It was a pointed question, and Nico was watching carefully for Kelsier’s answer. Kelsier had promised not to lie, so he wouldn’t here. At least Nico hoped he wouldn’t. This was no longer a matter of Nico’s own safety. He cared about that insofar as much it kept him alive, but never before had he needed to worry about keeping others alive as well. Nico had consequences to face, but that didn’t mean anyone else needed to be pulled into that. “You can gamble with your own life, but I refuse to. This is a temporary arrangement.” Nico would leave eventually, and Kelsier would never know where he went. Nico was good at hiding, he’d been doing it for the past several years successfully. He’d been hiding people with much better technology for tracking people than Kelsier would ever have access to. Nico fell silent then, watching Kelsier’s expression briefly, trying to read what was going on in his head. One day, maybe, he would learn. Or maybe he’d be gone long before that. How selfish could he be here? The thought sent a shiver down his spine. Kelsier’s life was not a price Nico was willing to pay for a few days of company, of feeling like he meant something, of feeling like maybe, just maybe, there could be a point in doing good things. Kelsier’s life was not a price Nico was willing to pay for a chance to live in the man’s world, however briefly. “That explains a lot about you,” Nico murmured, hugging his knees against his chest. He rested his cheek on his knees, not looking at Kelsier as he spoke, instead letting his gaze drift around the room. Kelsier, living his life like he was on the edge of a cliff at all times. What could he gain from that? Nico itched to know, but he wouldn’t ask. Questions would only invite more questions, and there were things Nico didn’t want to answer. When the winds pushed Kelsier off, would he fly or would he fall? Nico wanted to believe the former, but his knowledge of the world assured him it would be the latter. “When you’re up high you can’t control what’s happening. Why would I give up an inch of the little control I have when the rest of the world seems out to wrench it from me?” His gaze met Kelsier’s for just a moment before he turned his head back to the side, thinking. The traitorous part of Nico wanted to walk up a mountain with Kelsier, sit at the top and just look out over the world and learn what Kelsier meant by that. To feel the freedom the man spoke of. The practical part of Nico catalogued every weapon in the room in case the situation, at any point, went south. He got to his feet, casting a glance at Kelsier before walking past him and placing his half-full bowl of soup on what probably was meant to be a counter. He’d probably come back and eat it later. Nico turned back, watching Kelsier from where he stood, silent for several moments. “Nico,” Nico murmured quietly, the words seemingly unprompted. “My name is Nico.” It was all he could give in the moment. Kelsier had given his name in their first few moments of meeting, and Nico had owed it to him then. Better late than never, apparently.
|
|
|
Post by ®Hawkpath® on Mar 31, 2020 20:37:13 GMT -5
Ronan was sharp and deadly, everything that screamed I’m dangerous. You should be afraid of me. Ronan didn’t pretend to be a weapon, he was a weapon, and he knew he could kill if it came down to it. He was aware of how capable he was, how careful you had to be around him, how parents used to cross the street with their children to avoid walking past him. Back then, he hadn’t cared, because so what if they knew him? So what if they worried he would do something? He had looked scary because he knew he really was scary, not because he was trying to blow himself up into something he wasn’t. Maybe some people were born as weapons. He knew there were people who weren’t that way, people like Gansey and Adam, Noah and Blue and Henry, people who looked normal. Rich or poor, they didn’t frighten people by simply existing the way Ronan did, and they definitely didn’t make people edge away from them in movie theatres and trains. It didn’t really bother the dreamer, though. He knew it would confuse Gansey, annoy Adam, worry Noah, and probably make Blue lecture the offending bystander about judging a book by its cover. But him… Well. Maybe it was because he expected it. He knew why they were afraid of him, and he said that’s right. I should scare you. He felt Noah’s hands tighten on his shoulders and he sent the boy a quick, reassuring look. Here they were, together, as friends, and Ronan had no idea what was going on with Noah. He knew there was something of course, but what? That, he didn’t know, couldn’t know. Noah was one of the few people in the world Ronan counted as a friend, and he trusted him completely, forever, whether that made sense or not. He trusted him with his life, with no hesitation, and he knew it was mutual. He knew Noah would never have gotten on this motorcycle if it wasn’t. They were standing in front of the light now, and both were hesitating, the way you did when you were about to try something new, something that was the best or worst thing in the world. Ronan turned, eyes on Noah, on Noah’s pale skin and the smudge on his cheek, the imperfections Ronan loved about him. He looked at Noah in silence for a long moment, and then - finally - he slipped his hand into Noah’s and stepped through into the light. It was beautiful. Emerald green grass spread out in front of them, soft and gently swaying in a silent breeze that was barely even there. Trees, real trees, not the kind you might see planted along a street, stretched their limbs towards the sky and caught the light in their dark, shimmering leaves, their bodies hard and stiff as the tiny twigs shook and rustled gently together. There was a pool of water there, clear as a mirror, and there were fish in the water, dark shapes that moved and flipped gracefully through the shining liquid. And then there were the birds. Every color imaginable. There were scarlet reds and deep purples, shocking yellow and sapphire blues, pinks and greens and oranges and even some blacks and whites. They were all chattering with each other, too, singing their songs loudly and freely without a care in the world, without even noticing the two boys had entered their haven, or else not caring. Ronan glanced at Noah, hoping to catch the look on his face. Perhaps hoping to see the awe that he himself felt, translated onto another person’s skin.
Sherlock stared at him, head slightly tilted to one side, as the boy lectured him about something that, yes, he really should have already known. “Fair enough.” He replied, nodding agreeably. “But you can’t refuse everything, otherwise you’re not really my assistant anymore, are you? More of a...nuisance.” He looked around, then grabbed a notebook and began to write down everything he’d learned about the effects so far. Not that it was much, but anything was worth saving. He looked at Crutchie. “Any tingling or numbness in your fingers?” He asked, as though it had just occurred to him. It had, honestly, because he hadn’t expected the boy to get his eyesight back so quickly and so it was possible other side effects might start up sooner than he’d anticipated. Oh yeah. He was supposed to be mentioning those things. Oh well, it wasn’t like he could rattle off every possible side effect. Or, he could, but he wasn’t going to, because it would take approximately forever and he didn’t want to. Surely that wasn’t what Crutchie meant…? If it was, he was out of luck. There were a lot of possible side effects. “Yes, probably.” He agreed with Crutchie’s assessment, because a broken rib probably would hurt a lot more, assuming the boy had a normal pain tolerance. “Although you can break a rib and not know it. It’s even been known to happen from someone sneezing too hard.” He didn’t say why he knew that, just rattled it off as a fact. As it happened, he knew this not because of some fascinating story involving master criminals, but because medical magazines were the only available reading material now that the world had ended. “I’m a bit of a doctor myself.” He answered easily, because he was, sort of. He was by no means a neurosurgeon, but he was probably better at first aid than the majority of people. “So don’t worry about that. If you’ve got a broken rib, it ought to heal on its own, and I’ll need to find you some calcium. Actually, the calcium would probably be a good idea regardless. You look like you could use it.” He watched Crutchie take the sandwich, and he raised an eyebrow in surprise as the boy asked whether he’d eaten yet. “Yes.” He answered, though he didn’t remember when the last time had been. Recently, right? Maybe? Probably? “I mean, in my life. I don’t know when the last time was but it hardly matters. I’m not the test subject.”
Kelsier watched the boy push the bowl away, and he couldn’t help wishing he wouldn’t. He obviously needed as much food as he could get, but they would need to start slow, not too much at once or he would get sick. So maybe it was actually a good thing that he wasn’t eating too much at once. Maybe. Kelsier still, personally, felt that finishing the bowl wouldn’t have hurt anything, but he understood why the boy hadn’t done it. He understood that this was probably unprecedented in the boy’s life, having someone laugh and smile and everything that Kelsier was doing. Caring. The things that he was thinking about were things that had plagued Kelsier for far longer than the end of the world. People being good, people being able to be good at all...he wondered. Of course he wondered. He believed they could, and he tried to prove it with his example, the way he chose, as best he could, what he would do. It was never easy, but when he looked at the boy, he knew it was worth it. Completely. Because Kelsier cared. Kelsier cared about humanity, about people, about the world itself. He cared about individuals, about children and the lost and anyone who had nothing and no one. He cared, and he’d already made the choice to act on it, as best he could. He was far from perfect, but he was trying, and he thought that maybe if other people tried to… Maybe the world wasn’t over after all. It was a fool’s hope, a fool’s dream touched with the madness only believing in it could bring. But Kelsier’s smiles weren’t without a tinge of madness themselves, and it fit somehow with everything else about him. He was just insane enough to really believe they had a chance. He looked at the boy, bright, genuine honesty in his hazel eyes. It may have been true that he cared about the idea of him, but maybe it would have been more accurate to say he cared about everything he might be. He cared about whoever the boy was, whoever he would be someday, and whoever he wanted to be. Anyone at all. “You don’t.” He said softly, giving the boy more space while his eyes met his and held them, like a child holding a soap bubble in their hands. Gentle, careful not to break it. “You don’t want that any more than I do. The world may have forced you into it, and it may have tried to convince you that you needed it, but we both know it’s wrong. I know it’s wrong. You may not want to be around me, but the last thing you want is to be alone.” He didn’t know whether it was the right thing to say. All he knew is that it seemed like the only thing he could say. He smiled as the boy conceded. He couldn’t call it a victory, because they were on the same side, the two of them together, but he knew it was progress. And he was more than willing to take it. “I would rather trust.” He said simply, meeting the boy’s eyes with his own. He wasn’t lying, as he’d promised. He was going to have to try a lot harder than that to make Kelsier break his word. “Because then I’m not worried or lonely. Then I’m safe, not alone. I would rather find someone I can offer my trust, and in that moment I know they won’t break it. I know they never will, no matter what.” Except for Mare. The one who had betrayed him. The worst thing you could do to Kelsier was, perhaps, betrayal. He valued his trust so highly yet gave it so freely, he was a contradiction of laughter and tears. He believed the boy wouldn’t stab him in the back, and so he didn’t look over his shoulder, just as he hadn’t been looking when Mare’s knife had pierced him. He either never learned, or something else. Something deeper and harder to pin down than that. Something warm and gentle and so real. He nodded once. The boy didn’t have to dance on the winds with him. Kelsier wouldn’t force him to play his dangerous game, not now, not ever. That was a decision you could only make for yourself, when you were ready. Would Kelsier feel differently if he knew the stakes? If he understood who the people after the boy were, really were? No. For all the reasons he felt the way he did, and all the reasons he had to live, for everything he stood for, Kelsier wouldn’t back down. Not even if, someday, the dagger pointed at his chest was held in the thin fingers of the young boy himself. He smiled, then, at the boy. Maybe it did explain a lot about him, living on the edge of dying as he did. Living every day like his last, taunting fate like he thought he could beat it. Maybe he could win against it if it came to a fight. He’d never know if he didn’t try, right? “That’s where you’re wrong.” He said simply, no hint of anything but the calm knowledge that he was right in his tone. “When you’re up high, you’re in complete control. You decide what you do with where you are, what happens next. The world is in your hands, to save or to burn. Do you think I’d love heights if they stole a single piece of my freedom from me? Do you think the birds are more capitive than us humans are?” The birds soared above it all, monster and human alike. They were safe and free and Kelsier envied them that freedom, because even he was chained to the ground as much as the rest of the human race. He got as close to the sky as he could, but never close enough to touch. He watched the boy stand, half expecting him to run for it. What would he do if the boy did, Kelsier wondered? Would he chase? Let him go? Call after him, hope he came back? Kelsier knew all too well how powerless he really was here, how little control he had over what the boy did, but he hoped...he hoped he was right about him. He hoped he was right about him not wanting to leave. He blinked, startled, and the name seemed to echo around his head and soak into him. He knew, in that moment, that he wouldn’t have to ask for it again. Even if the boy - Nico - left right now and never came back, he knew he wouldn’t forget it, not ever. “It’s very nice to meet you, Nico.” He said softly, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. Not a scornful smile. More like...a smile you might give a very close friend when they’d given you an expensive gift and asked for nothing in return.
|
|