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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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."

Martin looked reluctantly from Bariyan to the seat. Of course, he wasn't going to refuse; what was he supposed to do if he did? He'd more or less made up his mind in following that man – making little effort to arguing the pros and cons at the time. But even so.

The more I stay here, the worse things get...

He climbed in, knee on the seat as he surveyed a little more before turning and sitting properly. It was strange, but...well. Well, it was comfortable. Except he couldn't help but feel like he was missing something.

"Oh."

The door.

He leaned over and gave it a pull, flinching away as it closed loudly, staring and staring until he realized what he was doing and moved to sit properly again, hands in his lap, clawing at the fabric of his slacks for lack of things to do.

"Tell me if you start to feel sick again," Bariyan said, as he shut his door. And that was all the warning Martin got before Bariyan hit the gas.

The car wasn't as loud as Bariyan had feared it might be, and the lights of the house behind them remained dark in the rearview mirror even as the truck rolled off the driveway. Bariyan wondered if they were going to encounter any of the soldiers on the road. All the ones he'd seen so far had been on foot.. which was rather odd.

He also struggled briefly with the question of whether to keep the lights on, dimmed, or completely off. He went for dim, and mentally cursed the fact that despite being an unholy creature of darkness, no one had seen fit to give him proper night vision.

"YAH-!!"

Martin wasn't expecting it to move (but really, what should he have expected at all?), and somehow wound up pinning himself as still as he possibly could – feet on the dash, elbow wedged between the seat and the door, other hand clutching the back of Bariyan's seat as if to rip the stuffing right out.

I'm gonna DIE--

He remained that way for a good chunk of time, assurances or no. It wasn't natural. All he had to go by was the fact Bariyan still smelled dangerous, not the vehicle, which just made things more confusing.

Sick? Yes. Yes, sir! But he didn't say it; his mouth was clamped shut in a tight, thin line of horror as he watched trees pass by in the windshield.

Bariyan glanced over at Martin and immediately felt bad for grinning. He slowed down a bit, for Martin's sake.

"Calm down, kid." Bariyan checked all the mirrors for any signs of pursuit. He saw nothing. "You're fine. Let me know if you see any... buildings coming up." He was specifically looking for gas stations, but figured that Martin wouldn't have a clue what that was.

And now that they'd finally reached their destination (the car counted) Bariyan had a chance to collect his thoughts and sort them out. So he'd gotten clocked in the face by one of the Masked. But that had been about all the beat-down he'd gotten, before Martin came in. Laurence had said something about an implant -- placed in the back? Bariyan would have to check that out later. He wasn't too concerned, though.

Calm nothing – they were moving faster than anyone had rights to without a horse. No, Martin had unconsciously decided calm was going to be a thing for times outside of the speeding metal box.

He did at least take his hand off the back of Bariyan's seat, obeying as best as he could to an impossible command. As for the rest...

See any what? He shot Bariyan an uncertain look briefly, eyes snapping right back ahead lest he miss something and wind up crashed against a tree.

"Uh." He was still trying to think. See any buildings, of course. "Y-yes, sir."

"You really don't have to call me sir," Bariyan said. Being addressed as such made him feel like he ought to be capable. Someone who knew what he was doing and where they were going, someone who had a plan. Bariyan, though he was doing his best to hide it, was running almost entirely on split-second decisions and gut instinct. Martin deserved better than that.

There was a long pause before Bariyan spoke again. "I didn't expect you to come back for me, back there."

Despite the gripping certainty they were going to crash and die, Martin was still able to feel a great heavy weight of guilt drop on him. I. I forgot his name. A long time ago, actually. The whole time, he'd just thought of him as the dead man, which was probably awful, considering how he...he'd been pulling him out of scrapes and trying to help him the whole time. Not exactly a monster's modus operandi.

He was still wrestling with a way to apologize for forgetting, ask the name and not sound like the utter fool he was when Bariyan spoke up again and broke the quiet. Still shrunk in the seat with his feet pressed against the dash, the seat tugged his hair a little as he turned his head to look at him. He swallowed, biting the inside of his upper lip for a moment as he considered what was said. True. Other Darkovs would've left, maybe...

"You were helping me," he replied, timid. "And you didn't show up after I ran, so..."

Bariyan considered that answer for a while. It was surprising, in a way. That was a lot more than Bariyan expected of anyone, these days. Especially given that he barely knew Martin, and he was certain that Martin still didn't like or trust him -- yet he'd come back anyway. He chewed on that thought for a bit.

"My fault. I'm slow," Bariyan finally said, with a half-smile to the road ahead. Then, just to set himself at ease: "Does this mean you're not interested in killing me anymore?"

"Yes, sir," Martin murmured. A bump in the road and realizing how yes sounded caused him to yelp a little in alarm, bouncing in the seat and obliged to work harder to stay stuck in place.

"I-I mean, I won't!" he corrected, eyes big as saucers at the road ahead. "If you're not--not going to...to try and hurt anyone. People." He swallowed. "Humans. Then I don't...don't have to."

Were they always going that fast? He couldn't recall. It just felt faster, scarier, when he was on-the-spot like that.

Well, Bariyan didn't have any grievances against any of the people here -- aside from the Masked, maybe, but it didn't seem like he was going to be taking any of them down any time soon -- so he supposed he was safe, for now.

Something about Martin's wording caught Bariyan's attention, though.

"You only hunt monsters, huh?" He couldn't recall if Martin had explicitly said so, at any point. But Bariyan could infer as much from Martin's words and actions, both past and present.

And unfortunately for Martin, Bariyan had sped up. It was an unconscious decision. The only way he knew how to drive a car was fast.

"Y-yes, sir," he replied, the sir still an impulse. He grimaced when he realized it. "Sorry."

He held his breath for a minute; with trees on both sides it felt even worse. Eventually he stopped looking altogether and squeezed his eyes shut.

"It's...what we're bred for," he explained. It was better to think on that than the whole speeding-around-in-a-metal-nightmare thing. "For humans. S-so they can be safe."

"I have a question, then," Bariyan said. "What do you do when the monsters are human?"

It was almost an honest question. Most of the people Bariyan knew could be classified as monsters, he supposed -- a whole lot of immortals, a couple more of the undead, one fake god. But on the other hand, Bariyan would have called them all monsters anyway, even as normal, mortal human beings.

He had to slow down again when he saw a crossroads up ahead. Time to decide which way to go from here.

Martin let out a shaky sigh, relieved to be stopped, though still saddled with a troubling question. His muscles relaxed, sagging into the seat until he was obliged to push up with the heels of his hands to sit up again. His shoes dragged on the dash a little with the motion.

"Nothing," he replied. "Unless it's...like...parasites. Controlling them." His head drooped, starting to shrink up again. He hadn't had time to think about it, what with all the danger and strangers, but...

"Darkovs kill monsters. Only monsters."

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