exsiliumlogs | slip of the tongue

Entry tags:

slip of the tongue

Date & Time: 2/28 dayish
Location: miles north of the hold and such
Characters: Bariyan and Marty
Summary: PATERNAL INSTINCTS?? PLAIN OL' GUILT? whatever it is it's making this dead dude sniff out this kiddo
Warnings: Fightytimes and scarytimes

The tempering stones sparked uselessly for their second appearance in a row, but Martin had less time to reflect and be disappointed than before. No time, actually, not with those...things hot on his tail. Whatever they were, monster or not, they were strong. Not the sort of thing Martin would suspect any of his cousins to take on their own...hardly the sort he'd stand up to alone, either. That was for sure.

I said I'd come and kill them all, he thought despairingly, ducking behind another sickly, thick-bodied tree and dropping to a crouch, head down and panting. If I can't kill even one, then...Then what good was he, really? Maybe that'd be proof enough he was really not cut out for...for whatever it was this place wanted him for. Maybe this is all a big test.

The further away from the crumbled and ruined cities Martin ran, the fewer encounters he had. All the better. He ought to conserve his energy for returning straight to the Hold, where Martin (big Martin), Bariyan, Eliot, Nik and all the others were. Keeping the scourge burning in the palm of his hand from getting out of control was important – the blacker it got, the less he could conjure. So if I don't have to conjure anything for another three hours...

After waiting for the sound of...of anything and hearing little and less, Martin slid to sit at the roots, letting himself catch his breath. He winced before he could sit all the way, having to sit up and pull the netbook out of the back of his pants (a satchel would really have helped...) before plopping on the ground.

He took a few steadying breaths. Skirting away from the towns and broken cities, yes...He could do that. Veer a little, but always have eyes for the south. He might be a little late, but...but it was better than being a lot dead.

I have to at least try...

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"You don't get to worry about what I do," Bariyan answered, almost cheerfully.

That was when the third of the Masked showed up. Bariyan didn't see its entrance, but he heard it land, and a quick glance over his shoulder showed him exactly what he expected: new soldier all of five feet behind them, with the first two catching up.

Bariyan jammed his next step into the ground and stopped.

He couldn't really throw Martin proper -- human-shaped things were, in general, difficult to toss around -- but he let Martin back onto the ground and pushed him away all in one fluid movement.

Bariyan spared just a second to say "Go," then turned to slam his shoulder into the first of their pursuers.

One of the others arrived a split second later. Bariyan swung his arm out, clocking them in the exposed jaw. And then he dug his nails in and held on. He hadn't a clue if his magic would even work on these things, but it was worth a shot.

Martin couldn't keep track of up or down, let alone the problems at hand as they developed. Before he knew what was what, his feet were back on the ground – he only realized that after getting pushed into motion once more. Instinct moved him along for that, steps ahead of his train of thought. The looming feeling of more bodies spurred him – We have to go! – and got him running at last, ducking a low branch and sliding on loose gravel down a mild decline in the terrain.

It took a few good breaths of clean, uncorrupted air to clear his head and get to second guessing.

Wait, where's...?

He slowed, sliding to a stop by bumping another tree as he turned. "Whuff––"

He's still––

Adrenaline had left him numb, but his growing worries drew feeling back, turning into tight little knots in his stomach and nervous tingles on his skin. Guilt, too, bubbled up and caused his throat to hurt and heart to flutter.

He said to go and don't look back. I'm looking back!

But there's more of them, and he's by himself...

It didn't occur to Martin to recall Bariyan was dead, even as he was taking heavy, trotting steps back the way he'd fled, veering far off-course to go around.

All right, so magic did work. Sort of. He saw the Masked that he'd grabbed go out cold for about three seconds, before suddenly snapping back to attention. That was just enough time for Bariyan to try and rip his other arm free from the first one he'd attacked.

That didn't work out so well. By the end of it, Bariyan's arm was still stuck in a deathgrip, and the one he'd knocked out had made a full recovery to pull out... what? A gun?

There wasn't enough time to examine it any further. Out of the corner of his eye, saw the third soldier start to move in the direction that Martin had gone.

"Hey! You stay with me." Bariyan twisted hard, swinging his free fist around and aiming for the exposed mouth again, right under the visor.

And that got him a clock to the jaw. But hey, he had all three's attention now. That had to be enough for Martin to get away safely... and it seemed like the kid had listened. At least, he wasn't anywhere in sight.

Martin's steps faltered at the sounds of a scuffle. He said to not look back, to run and keep going...

He forced himself to slow down and take careful, soundless steps, one hand clamped over his mouth to silence his panting. He stopped behind the trunks of trees and waited as he went, wincing as the sounds got closer. I'm taking too long, and he said not to look back, to run and keep going...

The fight was in view at last, as Martin peered behind the back of a sickly oak. From the distance he was at, it was hard to get details, other than his rescuer was ganged up by three, not two. And one of them had a weapon of some kind. Martin had never seen it before, but it had to be bad.

Branding, bigger-Martin had said. But he saw no hot irons. This was...worse. He had to help.

He needed to move, get at a better angle...

Bariyan had been thinking real hard about trying to get one of the Masked in a headlock, though he suspected that at this point they'd just rip his arms out to keep him from being a nuisance. He'd just begun shifting his weight to make a grab for the one in front of him when he spotted more movement to his left.

At first he thought it was yet another one of the Masked.
He would have preferred that, actually.

There was still quite a distance in between the two of them, but Bariyan was rather hoping that his you're a bloody idiot stare would get through to Martin anyway.

And then Bariyan went for the headlock, for the sake of distraction. But his target dodged and went behind as the third one grabbed his free arm, which left him mostly out of options.

Spotted, Martin flinched and disappeared behind the tree again, hugging his arms and hunching forward. What do I do what do I do?! He held his breath as he listened, all the while feeling the pressure of no time to really think things through.

When he moved out of hiding, he found Bariyan in much more of a pinch than he'd left him. Maybe it was branding, iron or not...but Martin wanted very much to stop that. Tree to tree, he circled around the scuffle, trying to line up the attackers best he could. If he could hit them all at once--

He slipped, having to plant his hand on the ground for a moment to get his footing before slipping out of sight again. Please don't die please don't die please don't die-- He straightened out his arm, curling and uncurling his fingers until the bones became so stiff they froze in place. I'm going to help please don't die--!

With both arms locked down and no useful magic to speak of, Bariyan went for conversation instead.

"Three of you?" he asked. "Seems like a waste of resources to me."

And it did, really, but Bariyan wasn't going to pretend like he knew their full numbers or intent. He wishes they'd talk, though. Or make some noise. But they continued to be the most uncommunicative trio of men he'd ever seen.

Bariyan decided that he didn't like them.

He looked around and realized he couldn't see Martin anymore. Could be a good thing. Could be--

The soldier behind him put the gun right between his shoulders, and fired. Bariyan felt nothing, and didn't even register that anything had happened. He kept looking for Martin.

One, two, three...

Martin could see them, lined up in the gap between his middle and ring finger, curled and frozen in place. His whole arm shook still, even after having taken a knee and a chance for breath. He used his other hand to steady it, propping his elbow on his thigh.

His aim...his aim wasn't great, even at his best. It was too hard to judge. But if he aimed for the one closest to Bariyan, lowest, and the other two behind that one...Aimed for the chest, then...

It was like a whole extra limb trying to claw out of the palm of his hand, the bone base the only true aspect to come from his body. He never really understood how the rest worked, conjuring and all...it was different for every Darkov. Whatever it was, it made a mean projectile – wider than his arm, twice his height, shaved to a point like an over-sized pike. It soared like something a tenth its size and bulk, clearing the distance from Martin's hideout to the three.

THWOKK

One, two, three. Back to back to back, pinned to a tree a few yards back.

It wasn't going to hold forever; the clock started now.

Martin rushed out of hiding, skidding and sliding to Bariyan's side, tugging at his shirt by the shoulder with one hand, the other tucked against his stomach.

"Let's go," he huffed. "Let's go, come on--"

Bariyan's head whipped around as the thing came hurtling out of nowhere, taking all three of the Masked with it and just missing him. What the hell was-- oh. It came back to him. That was the thing that Martin had attacked him with only days ago, wasn't it? Gods.

"What--" Bariyan stopped for two reasons. One, he realized that the things weren't dead -- he wasn't going to wonder how -- and two, now was not the time for talking. "Right."

And with that, he grabbed Martin up again. And ran.

Good, he thought, relieved to have the running duties taken from him for as distracted as he was. He didn't think of how good a shot it was or where on that horrible island they could possibly be going that was safe. Only the tictictictictic of a clock, like the one from the compound. Tictictictictic.

Make it last. Make it hold.

If those things weren't dead already, he had to make the spear remain long enough for Bariyan to give them a great deal of distance. But it was hard. He had a Goliath-class, armor-piercing conjure, trained to appear, impact, and disintegrate. Pinning things was hard, despite the need to learn how. It was a great deal of mass and material to will and keep in existence. His record was three minutes, standing still and hardly under stress.

It was a little different on the shoulder of a dead man, racing through places unknown and pretty devoid of Darkovs aside from himself. The more he thought about that, the harder it became. He squeezed his eyes shut as things began to blur. Tictictictictic.

Six minutes. The unpleasant effects of Bariyan's body and power weren't lost on him, compounding the effort.

"D-dowh--" Martin uttered, losing and finding his voice. "Put me, put me down. P-please."

Or I'm gonna throw up...

Bariyan very nearly refused him on the spot. Put him down? They weren't nearly far enough for-- well. He turned, looked, saw and heard nothing. And continued to see and hear nothing, even when he came to a full stop. All right then.

He let Martin back down, somewhat more slowly and carefully than before. But he turned away almost immediately to look behind. How far had they gotten? Were they coming back? Where in hell were they going to go from here?

Bariyan asked the easy question first. He turned back to Martin. "How are you doing?"

Martin sank to the ground, doubling over slowly with his arm pressed up against his stomach. He said nothing until the wave of nausea passed, propped up by the other hand.

"Justasecond," he breathed, sitting up to give his hand a chance to move and dig into a pocket. Slow and methodical, bleary-eyed and sweating, Martin was briefly detached from the danger of the situation. With a few more steady breaths, his head started to clear out the fog the strain was causing and urgency started clawing at his gut.

"Just a second."

He spilled a small handful of rocks out onto the ground, a bunch not unlike the kinds he'd threatened Bariyan before. Those were plucked up and stashed away, however, leaving one little brown-and-white one. Martin took another heavy breath, quelling a tremor.

"They're gonna be free," he mumbled, pinching the rock between finger and thumb and bending forward again. "Sorry. Hang on."

He let his head drop and quieted, holding his breath and squeezing his eyes shut. This is the worst.

Letting the weapon disintegrate caused a whiplash effect, energy and matter returning to him all at once and caused his body to seize up, knocking the breath right out of him. He pitched forward, forehead against the ground as he ground his teeth against the noise bubbling up from his throat.

He exhaled and gasped in air when the snapback was done, reeling to sit upright and shaking his head, trying to blink the dizziness away.

"Just a..." He winced. "Second." And exhaled again. "Sorry."

It doesn't burn yet, he thought suddenly, looking down and pulling his arm away from his stomach. The skin of his hand was black and leathery, bubbling up with an array of sores, but he didn't feel it. He blinked, forgetting the problems at hand for a second. Seeing Bariyan's feet in his peripheral snapped him back, however.

"Sorry," he said quickly, looking up. His other hand closed around the rock. Save it for later. "Sorry, I had t--" He shook his head, shifting and starting to get to his feet. "We can go now. They're not...pinned anymore."

Bariyan nearly panicked when he saw Martin seize up, but Martin had recovered and picked himself back up again before Bariyan could do anything about it. That didn't quell his anxiety much, though, especially not after seeing Martin's hand. He found himself staring: it looked awful.

"Is that normal?" Bariyan asked, hesitantly.

He started walking; they had to move, but after that, Bariyan had doubts about how much stamina Martin had left in him. Hopefully he could keep up with this pace, for now. And hopefully Bariyan would come up with a better plan than 'wander aimlessly through the countryside' before nightfall.

Martin slipped his arm under his coarse-fiber mini cape, shifting weight from foot to foot, steadying. He was tired. But it wasn't burning yet, so he decided to try simply...not thinking about being tired. He had to follow, and that was task enough.

After a couple staggered steps, Martin slipped back into pace, not unlike the way he had when he'd followed Bariyan around the Hold before. Days ago? He forgot. He forgot to count the sunsets.

He forgot Bariyan had asked a question, too. Minutes later, his head snapped up again, eyes big with alarm. What was it?

Oh--

"Y-yes," he replied, a bit on the loud side. He swallowed and exhaled. "I...yes, it's. Natural. When you overuse...It's normal, I mean."

"That... wasn't necessary," Bariyan said. It felt like the wrong thing to say. Martin had done well, and done good -- only he'd chosen the wrong place, time, and person. Wasted resources.

Wasn't his fault, though. Bariyan can't recall if he'd ever told Martin exactly what he was. Better clear that up.

"I've been killed once already," Bariyan said, with a half-smile. "That makes it pretty difficult to kill me again."

The trees seem to thin out ahead: is that a road? If that's a road... hm. Bariyan goes quiet and picks the pace up as he weighs pros and cons inside of his head.

The thought hadn't occurred to him then and there. Martin's stomach did another nervous flip, none too reassured by the information.

But...not impossible? Right? It was a weird thing to wonder about, to want to be assured of. Maybe part of him just wanted to be useful, not...not unnecessary. He swallowed, his throat feeling thick and raw.

"Sorry," he murmured, eyes dropping to the ground ahead of him. For...helping? Or. Or doing something needless, maybe. Or...because he's already dead. I don't know.

Bariyan's weak, daytime shadow slipped out of sight as he sped up and Martin gave no thought to closing the growing gap.

Yes, there was a road. Bariyan stood at the crest of the hill -- if it could be called that, even, there was barely a slope -- and stood out looking thoughtfully.

In his own universe, Bariyan had been murdered centuries ago. He'd woken up in an entirely different world, and in his travels had subconsciously made a list of new developments that had his approval. Computers and firearms: strange and suspicious. Automobiles: yes, very good. Much better than horses. Full approval.

Looking out from here, he saw no towns or cities, but there were houses dotting the fields. He supposed that they had to have cars. He just didn't like how flat and open it was from here on out.

Bariyan turned. "Martin?"

He hadn't been walking that fast, had he? Then again... the kid had been on the run all this time. And the repercussions of that last attack had looked painful.

For what felt like the longest time, Martin heard was the sounds of his feet shuffling against grass and dirt. Much of his attention went to feeling the weight of his own steps, how the soles of his feet burned and dulled in rhythm...how his skin tingled and burned with scourge. Oh. It is burning. It felt far away, though.

He stopped at the sound of his name – just a sound at first. He lifted his head and saw Bariyan ahead. When did he get so far ahead?

"Here," he replied, barely cracking a whisper. He swallowed a couple times and repeated himself louder. "Here. Sir."

The weakness of Martin's voice struck through to Bariyan, and he doubled back quickly to the boy's location. Martin had sounded bad, and he didn't look any better from here.

"Gods." Instinctively, Bariyan placed a hand against Martin's forehead -- and felt nothing, of course. But he didn't recall that fact, not even now. "Can you keep going?"

There was very little flinch that time around, and even then, it wasn't very timely – just a little shudder under the collar and a couple blinks.

"S-sorry," he stammered, starting to feel guilty, ashamed. He straightened up, as though it'd be enough to negate how cruddy he looked and felt. "I'll follow. And pay more attention. I'll be alright."

Bariyan gave him a doubtful look as he took his hand away. But he let it go. Martin was, in Bariyan's mind, still a child, but he wasn't so young that Bariyan felt obligated to make all of his decisions for him.

Still. The moment Martin showed any sign of faltering, Bariyan was going to pick him up and carry him around again. They couldn't afford to coem to a full halt yet.

"Come on, then." Bariyan straightened and turned away.

They skirted the edges of the copse, following the road but not going straight to it. Bariyan regulated his pace, with constant checks on Martin's status, but also kept an eye on the sun -- if he was going to jack a car, he wanted some light to work by.

And did Bariyan have any reservations about planning to steal property? Not particularly. Not yet.

Martin lapsed back into his trance of single-minded following, one heavy step after the other. He wanted to walk faster than the guilt he felt tugging at him. Maybe I should've just run. Even if they were going to hurt him. If it was going to turn out alright...Was it?

He wound up trailing again after a length of time, realizing it much later. By then, his arm was hard to ignore; he tried squeezing it with his other hand to try and press the pain away, but it did little but make him more aware of it. The look on his face was a mix of pain and reluctance: he really, really didn't want to have to stop and fix it. For all he knew, they were still in a lot of trouble.

But if I don't fix it, I won't be able to help if something else happens...

"Can we stop?" he piped up at last, finally done wrestling his thoughts. "Please. Sorry."

There it came. Bariyan gave Martin a look that fell somewhere between concerned and pitying, and looked to the sun and the road again. They're coming up on a house now. Bariyan was loathe to stop.

"We're close." Bariyan scuffed the ground with his shoe. "You can hold out, or I can carry you the rest of the way."

He hadn't meant to put it like that -- as no, we can't stop -- but that was the way it came out. Bariyan didn't mean to be harsh. He frowned, looked away, and said, "Sorry. It's only a little more."

He felt a little pang of dismay, a trace of it passing across his expression before his gaze fell back to the ground. He squeezed his forearm again.

"Yes, sir," he responded, automatic. "I'm alright."

He continued walking as though he hadn't said anything at all.

Bariyan grimaced at that response and immediately felt guilty. He wondered, briefly, how he would have acted before, what he would have said then -- back when he was human, with all the included weaknesses and sympathies and mortality. He would have responded better, he imagined.

But if Martin wasn't going to make a fuss about it, then neither would Bariyan.

As they moved forwards, Bariyan finally broke away from the hill to descend down to the road. There was another cluster of trees by the left-hand side, and hidden in it a long driveway leading up to the house itself. Bariyan stopped to observe it from afar but saw no lights and no movement and so he ventured forwards.

A truck was sitting in the driveway, not far from the house. Bariyan approached it, experienced no repercussions, and circled it. It was of an unfamiliar model to him but he thought he could handle it.

Bariyan called out Martin's name, and waited for him to catch up. "We can stop here. For the moment."

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