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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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."

Martin was slow to make his way down the hill, having to hold out his arms for balance as he took unsteady strides at times too fast for him to keep up. He let out a huffed sound once he was on level ground, looking up at his surrounding at last. He was surprised to see anything around after so long, and more than a little worried. Last time he drew close to civilization, those Masked people...

He blinked, attention drawn back to Bariyan at the sound of his name. He made his way over, tucking his arm under his cape again and stared at him for a length of time after the statement.

Then his shoulders sagged with relief. Thank you.

Martin trailed away, slumping against one of the nearby trees until he slid to sit. He started fishing through his pockets again, cradling his blackened arm against himself, turning it and trying to flex the fingers. Time to fix this.

The stone he'd been toying around with earlier made a reappearance and was soon popped into his mouth. He bit down until he heard a crack and spat out half. He pushed it into a hollow formed in the palm of his scabbed hand, pressing it in with his thumb while chewing up the rest of the rock in his mouth.

He spent the next two minutes retching out water and a black substance, scabs hissing and evaporating off his arm, gradually turning its normal and healthy pink.

After seeing that Martin had staggered his way over safely, Bariyan had set about breaking the car in. He'd gone back a few yards, picked up a decent-sized rock with a point to it, went around to the driver's side of the car and swung it into the corner of the window. A second try caused the glass to break. He looked up at the house -- still no lights, still no sound.

He had the door open and was working on getting to the wires beneath the wheel when he heard retching. Bariyan straightened up so quickly that he banged his head up against the wheel.

"Martin?" Bariyan called out, running over. He knelt down next to the boy and put a hand on his shoulder. For a moment he was all concern and worry. "C'mon, kid. It'll be okay."

Martin's body tensed up at the touch, feeling the unpleasant tingle more palpably than he had in a while. It helped get the last bit of junk out, if any good aside from the thought behind it was to be had.

"Nyeah," he said, muffled by the back of his hand and sleeve as he wiped his mouth. "Sorry."

He fidgeted, shifting to get to his knees and out from under the hand and take a breath. He took a look at his hand, a little pinker than the rest, like having just been taken out of hot water. He flexed his fingers, tapping his thumb with the tip of each in turn forwards and backwards until he could do it without messing up the order. It seemed to perk him up a little, eyebrows lifted as he looked up at Bariyan.

It took only a second for the look to get tinted with guilt, even embarrassment, under the heavy air of concern.

"S-sorry," he stammered, quickly trying to explain. "It's just. Snapback. And you have to get the waste out or it'll...be bad."

Surely that made sense. He swallowed, grimaced, and turned his head to spit before pushing himself to his feet, swaying back against the tree.

"It's a...Darkov thing," he offered, his mouth twitching. "Sorry."

Bariyan's blank looked showed that he didn't understand at all. The waste? What waste? From where? 'It's a Darkov thing' somehow made more sense to him, though. Right. Bariyan wasn't supposed to understand. More importantly, Martin seemed to be doing okay now.

"You scare me, kid," Bariyan said, half-jokingly and quite honestly. He gave Martin's shoulder a pat, then stood back up and wandered back to the car.

Bariyan hadn't a clue how to use a computer until he got here. He'd never had to use one before. Cars, though. Cars were useful. So one of the very first things he'd been taught upon reawakening was how to steal one.

He got to the wires easily enough, but it took him a moment to sort them out and confirm where they led to. He had to use his teeth to strip the ends bare, very carefully -- Bariyan wasn't sure what getting electrocuted would feel like as a zombie, but he wasn't eager to find out.

Two of the wires he twisted firmly together: the radio cracked on. Bariyan shut it off. The other two he crossed briefly, before hurriedly pulling them apart. The engine sputtered into life.

Bariyan stared suspiciously at the last two wires. He'd just have to be careful, he supposed.

He checked the fuel levels, too. Half empty. It'd have to do for now.

"Hey!" Bariyan backed out of the car and leaned back to scout Martin out. "Come on. We're getting out."

Martin dragged his tongue under his front teeth, scraping residue off and spitting it out; he took a futile glance around for water and let out a resigned sigh. His wits were coming back now that the real hurting was done, but he was exhausted and thirsty and...

What is that?

He blinked, seeing the truck for the first time. What is that? Bariyan was fooling around with it, or...or doing something. The boy had no idea. Is...is it broken? There was broken glass on one side. He had little imagination and less to try and figure out what it was. Besides odd, that was. He was staring at the wheels when Bariyan called.

"Huh?" he blinked, looking up. "What do you mean?"

Bariyan rapped the knuckles of a fist against the side of the truck. "Just come over here and get in. Door's on the other side for you."

Bariyan brushed glass off from where it'd fallen, then swung in himself. He checked the wires again and tried to twist one over to the side in order to keep them away from one another.

Martin gawked dumbly for near a minute, starting to get an uneasy feeling in his stomach. But...what is it?

He gulped, shaken back to life as he saw Bariyan moving inside, and cautiously approached the passenger side. He pressed his hands against the door, peering through the window at the seat, the dash...then down to the door itself, blinking.

What door? He felt along the sides to the metal handle, frowning and squinting at it. He made a startled, undignified noise when he gave it a tug and found it opening, hopping back a step and watching the whole thing swing open the rest of the way on its own.

"Y..." He looked back at Bariyan, mouth twitching. "In. Here?"

Bariyan nodded absently, then cleared his mind and blinked over to Martin. Who'd obviously never seen a car before. Either that, or he was completely out of it. Both seemed plausible.

"Yeah, you're good," Bariyan said. "Just climb up onto that seat there. And close the door behind you."

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