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Date & Time: backdated to noon of 7/3
Location: UNDERGROUND, the subway tunnels
Characters: Bariyan e Kodhi (

stonefaith), Jericho (

eyecontact), vodka
Summary: Bariyan is having a sad hissy fit and welp time to put that fucker to sleep
Warnings: brariyn

Twenty, nineteen, eighteen.... Bariyan had never been very good with numbers and worse with time. It did not help that he could not recall when he'd first decided to come down into the tunnels in the first place. It hadn't been a planned trip, only a whim.

At a guess, he'd been down here for close to a full day. There had been quite a lot of rubble to get through.

Bariyan carried his netbook under one arm. The last time he'd opened it, it had lasted just long enough for him to check the date and time and message Jericho his location. Then the battery had died. Perhaps that was for the best; Bariyan was not particularly proud of his behavior on the network, as of late. Or of his behavior in general.

So here he was now, alone, isolated, safely away from the rest of the living world. He'd broken a few nails along the way, scraped skin off his arms and knuckles, noticed none of those things. Forged his way ahead with just a flashlight and a half-empty bottle of vodka to guide him. Found nothing of interest in all that time save for an unsettling sort of peace, and too many of his own thoughts to count. They left him anxious and restless. Even now, he was still moving ahead, lacking the patience to sit and wait for Jericho to arrive.

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Jericho wasn't the best judge of character (one needed to have experience with enough character to know one way or the other), but even he knew this was just plain fishy. Not in the heroes-and-villains sense, of course, but just...not a good turn of events, in any case.

He couldn't say Bariyan had ever looked well, and given their meetings being as limited as they were, Jericho couldn't be sure if he were ever looking better than that, but even so. Finding the undead man lumbering moodily through the darkened subway wasn't going to give anyone the impression of someone doing well, let alone looking it.

It had taken quite a while to find him, find the aimless, bobbing rays of the flashlight in-hand and catch up. And even when he did, he had to rely on the sounds of his footfalls (too light), and the echo they made (too soft) to announce his approach. He purposely stomped a couple steps to emphasize his coming, mouth pressed into a thin-lipped frown, just as much in doubt for the meeting as it was to keep himself from panting.

Bariyan turned around, wary and suspicious, swinging the light out until he found the source of the stomping noise. The scowl on his face leveled out when he recognized the figure as Jericho.

"Hey." Bariyan began to walk back, retracing his steps, stumbling a little along the way. He stopped, and sat down on a piece of rubble that had likely once been a part of the wall. He put the netbook down, the bottle in his hand clinking against stone as he did so. "It's been a while."

Had it? It felt like a long while. Bariyan's sense of time was newly skewed, after the months -- days? -- spent out of this time.

He had little experience with drunkards, too. Really, as fishy as perhaps it all was, Jericho was more the fish well out of water than anything.

He could only nod and shrug up his shoulders, hands lifting a little to emphasize his uncertainty as a reply. With his recognition established, he dared to advance a little more, enough to catch better glimpse of Bariyan in the light bouncing off the concrete. He leaned, frowning and squinting to peer and better decipher his features.

Bariyan placed the flashlight down, too, which left his hands free of everything but the vodka. He immediately proceeded to drink, ignoring Jericho's presence for the moment. But not for long; if anything, Jericho's silence made him harder to neglect.

"I think these tunnels go under the whole city," Bariyan said, looking around. It seemed like an important thing to say, suddenly; more important than the reason he'd asked Jericho to come down here in the first place. "It's all caved in and broken up, though, been a damned pain clearing it out. I can't rot stone or metal."

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. How much work had he done just to get here? How tired would he be if he could have felt any of it?

Obligingly, Jericho gave him a slow nod in reply and let himself take a moment to glance about the area, squinting to try and divine details in the dark. Not for long, though; his dubious, concerned stare was locked back on Bariyan once more, silently questioning and wondering.

"Further down that way...." Bariyan waved a hand over his shoulder, back in the direction that he'd come from. "There's something blocking up the entire tunnel. Not debris. I think it's a train."

He kicked at the ground. "Whatever it is, I can't get past it." He paused, and his voice lowered to a mumble: "'ll have to find another way out."

Bariyan paused again, tapping his fingers against the bottle. The sound echoed down through the tunnels. "Or maybe that's a sign."

As the narrating continued, Jericho's gaze no longer followed where it dictated, locked on the rambling man. His frown deepened as he tried to discern the best thing to do.

At the clink of fingers on glass, he reached out and patted Bariyan's arm to get his attention, gesturing with his other and pointing down the way he'd come.

Bariyan grinned and straightened, shrugging Jericho's hand off.

"I suppose," Bariyan said, squinting into the shadows, as if he could be blinded by darkness. "Do you remember the way back? I don't believe that I do."

Jericho nodded quickly, relieved the topic could be turned toward something proactive. He didn't mind listening at all, but there was an air about Bariyan that led him to believe this was better. Nothing good would come of skulking about in the underground dark! Especially not stinking of alcohol, he was sure.

His hand found its way back to Bariyan's arm to give it a tug in the right direction before taking the lead, trotting a few steps ahead, stopping, and waiting for the other to start moving.

Bariyan took another drink as he watched Jericho start to leave, and made no move to follow. It would be quite a ways back, wouldn't it? It seemed a shame, to have spent all that time down here and not stay....

When Jericho stopped to look back at him, Bariyan shrugged. His expression was unsmiling, again, almost sober.

"I'd rather not," he said.

What...?

Jericho looked baffled by that, his brow knitting with the effort it was taking to try to grasp what was going on. Wasn't that why he was called? To get him out of here, to a safe place to rest?

He stepped back toward him, his arms held out in gesture to emphasize his questioning. Again, he pointed toward the way he came. We're going, right?

"I can sleep down here just fine," Bariyan said, with a wave of his hand. I should stay down here. A sentiment that had been creeping upon him ever since he first discovered the existence of the underground, and had now officially camped to stay.

If it were up to him, he would have stayed down here forever. He knew better than that, though, knew he no longer had the choice. Maybe once, but that had been ripped out of his hands. Long forgotten by now.

Down here?

Jericho looked alarmed by the suggestion, his nose scrunching up a little as he took another fast glance about. What about rats, or...sneaky people? You can't just sleep down here...

Back at Bariyan, he leaned slightly with his head tilted, brow wrinkled with doubt and mouth pulling with the pantomime of the word he wanted to say. Really?

Noting Jericho's apparent distress, Bariyan raised an eyebrow. "Will that be a problem?"

He couldn't see how it would be. There was nothing that could harm him, asleep or awake. A train could wake up and run right over him and he was almost certain that the world would find some way of bringing him back anyhow.

How was it not a problem? Jericho would hardly put Bariyan's constitution up as a factor for keeping him somewhere so dank and...depressing. Depressing more than anything! It wouldn't help. Couldn't, as far as the boy was concerned.

He pointed again, insisting on continuing forward.

"It's a long ways back," Bariyan said, resting his elbow on a knee and propping his chin up in the palm of his hand. He looked amused, but his words were flat and hollow. "You'll make it out faster if I stay behind."

He wasn't certain of the logic behind that. It made sense if he didn't think too hard about it.

Jericho looked confused, showing signs of becoming vexed. You asked me to come find you, he thought, staring at Bariyan as if doing so long enough was going to divine some kind of revelation to make things go more smoothly.

This isn't working right. He needs to get out of this dark place.

He straightened up, hands on his hips as he continued to appraise this sad, subtly surly zombie. Then, with a certain, private nod to himself, he stepped forward, crouching in front of him.

Once their eyes met, even in that dim, reflected light, Jericho's whites went black.

The alcohol had taken Bariyan off-guard. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have let Jericho take over quite so easily. Would have been on guard, would have been waiting for it.

Of course, under normal circumstances, he would not have been down here in the first place.

Bariyan realized what was happening in the instant that Jericho's eyes changed, but by then it was too late. He was drunk, he had looked up, their eyes had met. He was lost. He hardly put up a fight. Exhaustion was a thing that he could no longer feel physically, but it had worn his will out in the past few months.

He was there, but he hadn't taken physical control. Bariyan was left to sit or shift as he wished for the moment as Jericho got his bearings and exploited his state to actually speak.

You shouldn't stay here, his voice echoed. I'll help, but not here.

Bariyan tensed immediately. He remembered the sensation from before, expected much of the same -- retaining control over his body was, therefore, strange and unexpected, and it put him on edge.

"What's wrong with here?" he asked, in a mumble. He blinked. It felt strange to talk to himself, all alone out here in the dark. First signs of insanity.... Bariyan shook his head. "Can you hear me in there? Or do I have to speak aloud."

Either or.

Jericho was used to people shouting out confusion and demands; a near-civil conversation in the space of someone's mind would be a nice change.

But it's not good to stay somewhere like this.

"It's..." Bariyan cuts himself off. All right, then. He can try this. He brushes his bangs out of his eyes, looks down the tunnel, and tries to remember that contrary to all appearances, he is not alone.

It's what I'm used to. What I ought to be used to.

He tried not to think any more past that, unsure of how much of his mind was visible to Jericho. There were things in his head that Jericho -- or anyone else, for that matter -- had no business knowing.

He was only privy to the immediate reflections, good or ill. It was an effect Jericho wasn't fond of it — he was already intruding, why make it worse? — and did his best to focus more on the physical.

It doesn't have to be, came the reply, sad and almost meek.

It does. I spent nearly eight hundred years in darkness, I think I ought to at least try returning to it.

Bariyan frowns, and goes to pick his belongings up. His motions are slow and suspicious, as he expects Jericho to seize control at any second now. If their positions were switched, Bariyan certainly would have ceased with the nonsense and gone straight to finding a way out.

That doesn't make any sense, Jericho said, a kind of quiet murmur. It's not good for you or anybody to do that.

It's not good for me to be alive. Bariyan manages to finish off the rest of his bottle while answering, and drops the empty glass to the floor when he's done. It hits concrete, rolls off the edge of the platform and onto what used to be the tracks. Bariyan follows its path with the flashlight.

When it's gone, he starts to walk again. Towards the blocked tunnel.

I like being asleep, he admits, something that is easier to say inside his own head. It's nice, to be close to death again. And it seems to be the closest I can get these days.

That's... Terribly sad. Bariyan's step start to slow, coming to a stop; the boy isn't ready to give up on him.

That's not something you should think...Come on. Let's get out of here.

There it was. Bariyan grimaced -- or tried to, anyway. He managed the equivalent of a mental grimace, at least.

Could he resist? He suspected not, not for long. He tried, anyway, if only for the sake of it, resisting the turn. Perhaps some day he would have to throw it off, fight back in earnest.

There's nothing so great up there, Bariyan said. Wondering why Jericho seemed so insistent on bringing him back to the surface.

It's better than being down here! Jericho insisted, turning Bariyan away, starting to stride down the way he'd come before. It'll be better to wake up in a room instead of a lonely tunnel...

The room will likely be just as empty. A twinge of guilt, at that. He had not meant the response as a petulant one, only factual, but it was the fact of it that made Bariyan's thoughts quickly turn elsewhere. Memories shoved back into the dust where they belonged.

Seems that I don't have a choice about it, though. Jericho was walking them back the way they'd come, at a pace much faster than the one Bariyan had taken down here.

It wouldn't be right, just leaving you down here...

He was supposed to be helping, after all. Otherwise...

You can come back here if you want, afterward. But please bear with it right now. He was certain it was better. Had to be.

You've got some nerve, deciding what's right or wrong for me. If it were possible to hear tone in thought, then Bariyan sounded amused.

But he felt faintly irritated. It simply did not seem right, to drag him back out into the sun and open sky. Being underground made his skin crawl. It was exactly that unrest that he was after, to remind him of what he was and what he should have been.

The remark did spark guilt; it was something Jericho had to learn to balance and accept as part of his power. To not exploit it for selfish or wrongful purposes...that was the main thing. He was sure it was right to get out of there — no way would anything good come of staying down in the dark, no matter what Bariyan said. He just had to see it through, hope it would make a difference for the better...

You asked me to help, he replied. I don't think leaving you unconscious in a subway is very helpful...

It took a second, stopping and trying to rediscover the dingy stairway he'd found earlier and march up. Seconds more to get his bearings up on the surface and remember the way back to the Hold.

If being underground had been uncomfortable, emerging out of it was even more so. He almost shrunk away from the open air in mind and soul.

Unconscious in the subway is what I would have preferred. But Bariyan had resigned himself to being put to bed, and his irritation had already begun to ebb away. He was still feeling decidedly bleak under this sunlight, though.

After that last complaing, Bariyan fell silent. He had nothing more to say, more to think about and reflect upon. None of it happy.

Jericho may have been feeling bad about the whole situation, but that wasn't going to convince him to turn right around and just dump the guy back underground. No matter how Bariyan felt he deserved it, Jericho just didn't believe that was right. For him, or...really, anyone. At least...given the circumstances, he was sure there was no need for something like that.

He prodded no more, instead silently leading the resigned man through bright, almost-busy streets, politely sidestepping where need be when passers-by were numerous, moving briskly and wasting little time.

When at last they came to the housing, he climbed the stairs to the right level, drifting slowly toward the right room; it took a moment to remember the right one. He patted Bariyan's pockets, looking for the key...

Which Bariyan probably hadn't touched in days. Still, it was there, hiding somewhere in the very bottom corners of his pocket. He watched himself unlock and open the door and braced for company. Bariyan was no longer entirely certain who his roommates were; there'd been a few of them, coming and going over the past months. He was no longer certain if he had roommates at all, really.

But he heard no noise and saw no shadows. The place looked empty. There was at least that to be thankful for. It saved on awkward questions and explanations.

Just as last time, nothing spectacular waited within. Jericho hadn't expected anything less; he was growing accustomed to the vacancy of his own room, ever since the pair of peculiar teenagers he'd met on his first day vanished, having not returned even after the second mission. Solitude wasn't a terrible thing, but the circumstances made it troubling.

Solitude in dark, sad places with dark, sad thoughts, on the other hand...Jericho was still very certain he was doing the best thing he could.

Bariyan's stray belongings were set with care on a waiting table, and the man himself was led toward one of the bedrooms, sat with almost as much care.

I'll make sure to lock up behind me, the boy's voice said as farewell. It didn't matter if it didn't matter to Bariyan; it was the polite thing to do.

When he left, the black-and-green signature of possession left Bariyan's eyes, the energy which had taken charge leaving in such a rush as to wipe out his own, so there would just be that heavy rest once more.

It shouldn't-- Bariyan started to answer, but Jericho was gone before he could finish the thought. And then Bariyan was gone, too, his eyes remaining open just long enough to fill up red before closing shut, his body collapsing onto the mattress.

Heavy rest, indeed. When Bariyan went to sleep, there was absolutely nothing to suggest that he was anything but dead. No movement, no breath, nothing. Which was, of course, exactly what he'd wanted.

After Jericho managed to push Bariyan's dangling lifeless (literally?) limbs onto the bed with the rest of him, he let out a weary little exhale. He still wasn't sure what to make of it...of him, but he was pretty sure he wasn't a textbook bad guy. Supervillains aren't really the beat-yourself-up-type, right?

Couldn't say he knew much about zombies, either, other than jumping into a dead-moving body was super creepy. It was actually nice to have butterflies in his stomach for a change! It helped him try to shake off the creepy-crawly feeling he'd been walking with for the past half hour. He picked up a few stray things here or there laying on the floor to help get his mind off of it before surveying the room one last time, locking up before leaving.

I'll have to figure out whether or not I should keep doing that for him, he realized, hopping a the last couple steps on the way down. Maybe I should ask Raven about it...

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oh shit whoops SRY FOR THAT SUDDEN TENSE CHANGE UP THERE

W/E MAN IT'S A TIME TRAVEL GAME

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