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 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."

Bariyan made a tch sound, both at Martin's last statement and at the crossroads. He taps his fingers against the wheel and, for no good reason, takes a left turn.

"What if they're willing?" Bariyan asked, now merely curious and ticking off hypothetical situations. "To let the monsters into their heads, I mean. Willing to fall under their control."

Without the immediate threat of the Masked on their trail, Bariyan had fallen back to thinking about home again. Wondering what any of his allies or enemies would do here, in his shoes. He scowled. He didn't much like the thought that most of them would be doing better.

"Darkovs kill monsters," he repeated quietly, holding his breath when the truck rattled into motion. "It's the only thing...we do."

But I can't even do that much.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, another impulse.

The road ahead was straight again, and on a slight downwards slope. He saw steeper hills ahead and went for them. Bariyan was half-hoping for mountains. Also, still holding out for gas.

"You've got nothing to apologize for," Bariyan said, with a shrug. "You said you weren't human, though. So... why?"

"Because," Martin fidgeted again, slipping in the seat. "Because...we always have. It's just what we do. There's nothing else things like us can do." His foot squeaked against the dash. "That's all."

"Really?" Bariyan suddenly turned to stare at Martin, as the car rolled on. "Seems like you could... let's say, pass as human, easily. And live and do whatever it is humans do in your world."

Not to say that Martin would want to, necessarily, but Bariyan liked talking hypotheticals. It took his mind off reality.

Martin gave him a look, as though he'd suddenly sprouted a second head with purple polka dots.

"No, I can't," he said, his breath shaking, as if he were supposed to laugh.

Bariyan took his foot off the pedal when he spotted a building up ahead. He left off the conversation for a moment to peer at it, but it didn't look like a gas station. Just some half-rotting farmhouse. He sped past in disappointment.

"Bet you could," Bariyan said, lightly. He wouldn't bet actual money on it, not with how little he actually knew about Martin and his background, but hey-- he'd been pretty certain that Martin was just as human as any of them. "Seems like they've brainwashed you good, though."

And that was a rather harsh accusation to make. Bariyan hardly noticed. He used to be far more careful with his words: he used to be known for his charm. No longer.

Martin's heart skipped a beat twice. Once as Bariyan's foot stepped on the gas, and once more at the remark. He didn't wholly understand it, but it didn't sound good.

"...What do you mean?" he asked slowly, uncertain.

Bariyan thought long and hard before answering.

"Have you ever known any other life? Other than killing monsters." Bariyan reached up to tug at a loose stitch. "Did anyone ever sit you down and ask, 'hey, is this what you want to do'?"

Martin's head turned, watching the road again. Really, it was amazing they hadn't hit something, he thought. But save for a few rattles or bumps now and then, he wasn't terrified anymore. But it was the weird way Bariyan was talking that bothered him more than the ride.

"When...I learned to conjure," he said, curling his fingers against the sides of the seat. "When I was nine, I think. Grandfather asked me what I wanted to do. Hunt or...track, or...work up north with the others. Northland monsters. It's different than where I live." He swallowed. "I wanted to stay where I was, so I picked."

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