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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That was a lot of responsibility to note for such a little chip. Martin gulped again, staring at the knife with big, round eyes. But what if I miss it? Or do something that makes things worse? It only sounded like a simple thing to do, but he wasn't...wasn't very good at doing things right, especially the first time around.

He tried to accept the knife with a steady hand, but his nerves had the better of him. He closed his other hand around the first and drew the knife closer to himself and took a bracing breath, nodding a little.

"I'll try," he uttered, almost a whisper. Another swallow, speaking up. "S-so...turn around, and...And I'll try."

Bariyan nodded. "Good. Careful, then."

He turned and crouched down to accomodate for their height difference. He wasn't at all worried about what sort of state his back would be in after Martin was through and done. Bariyan didn't bleed, so there wouldn't be much of a mess, and any damage inflicted upon him was guaranteed to heal itself almost overnight. With all that in mind, it seemed like the task of getting the chip out was about as simple and straightforwards as possible.

And he wanted that damn thing out of him.

Martin's gazed drifted from the knife and to Bariyan's back...and back again. He hesitated moments longer, too, to eye the strange, out-of-place marks, in case they suddenly revealed themselves to be not what he was looking for at all. But compared to the array of stab wounds and damages he'd seen before to some degree...

He let out a breath, sucked in another, and held it, putting fingers against Bariyan's skin to steady himself. It caused a fresh, dreadful tingle of his own skin, but he had to ignore it.

It neither the straightest cut, given how shaky his hand was from the start, nor was it at all that deep from the get-go; he was waiting for oozing blood or something foul. With little and less of anything dramatic, Martin eased the blade in, tilting it sideways and lifting a portion of pierced flesh and muscle up. It was still short of where the chip had been inserted, so he had to readjust and try again. He made a hissing sound between his teeth against the sight, wanting very much to be doing anything but what he was doing right then and there – he squeezed his eyes shut for a second, forcing them open wide. Almost...

"I see it," he said suddenly, startled. A corner, anyway; he tilted the blade again and pushed more up – still slow, for he wasn't completely convinced he wasn't hurting him. "H-hold on..."

With his other hand, he worked to pinch the chip between finger and thumb, missing more than once due to how slippery it was. He finally got it by getting his finger against a toothier part near the middle – something that gave under the force of his pinch and scraped off when he was pulling it out. Martin hardly noticed the brief, high-frequency whine that rose and died seconds after doing so, fixated as he was.

He let out a loud exhale, removing the knife and backing away a good four steps, legs feeling like jelly. "I...I think I got it," he said, opening his hand and letting the chip slide from his finger to his palm.

Bariyan remained mostly still and bored throughout the process, having no idea what Martin was doing. For all he knew, the boy could have cut straight through his spine. It'd happened before, though that had been on purpose. And much to his opponent's surprise and displeasure, it hadn't done much at all.

Bariyan heard the whine, though. He tensed. The hell was that?

As soon as Martin was done, Bariyan straightened, pulled his shirt back on, and turned to suspiciously eye the chip in Martin's palm. It didn't look like much. And if it had been damaged at all, it was too little for Bariyan to notice. Still, he hadn't liked that noise.

Bariyan crossed his arms. "Did it break?"

"I, I don't know." Martin stared down at the object in his hand, uncertain of what broken would really mean. He gave Bariyan a doubtful look as he stretched his arm out to give him a better look. "What's it supposed to look like?"

"I don't know." Bariyan picked the chip out of Martin's palm. He held it out in front of his face, watching the metallic bits shine in the light. It was such a small thing. It just didn't seem possible that they'd notice if--

In the silence here, small sounds were magnified a hundredfold. For a long time it'd been nothing, just himself and Martin and the wind. So Bariyan noticed right away when he heard the clatter of new footsteps coming from behind.

He didn't even turn to look. Just held out his hand for the knife back and said, "Back in the truck, now."

And he cursed himself out in his head.

Martin didn't even bother to ask, seeing Bariyan's posture and demeanor change so suddenly. Something is wrong. He handed the knife back and backed up toward the truck quicker than he had time to think about it, grabbing hold of the door handle to keep from skidding too far away. The lean gave him an involuntary glance out and down from their perch; he saw shapes moving up the rocky incline and his insides went to water.

"Bariyan," he murmured, losing and finding his voice as he glanced back toward him. "Bariyan, they're down there--"

"I know. Get in." Bariyan was already swinging back into his side. He slipped the knife into his belt. They were good on gas, he thought, but-- getting chased on this sort of ground? He didn't much like the idea of it. The road was only going to get worse the further up they went. Still, they couldn't exactly go back. There wasn't a choice.

He swore to himself as he got the engine up and running again. Stupid, that had been incredibly stupid, but he could beat himself up over it later. If he got that chance.

He did as told, scrambling into the seat and having to fidget around to reach behind himself and pull the door shut. With his back against the window and feet on the seat, he breathed a sound like alright and nodded to Bariyan. His right hand stayed on the dash to keep him upright – the other straightened out at the elbow. Just in case.

Bariyan drove fast – Martin knew that well enough, but...but somehow he doubted it was going to be fast enough. They're so fast. And...

Bariyan hit the gas as soon as Martin shut the door. The Masked were already in the rearview mirror by then, at least two of them that Bariyan could see.

He wasn't even sure what they could do. He could keep driving up the mountain for now, but how long would they follow? How long before the road got blocked, or before they ran out of gas, or before Bariyan veered off the god damn side? He ground his teeth together and forced the questions away. Later. That could all wait until later. For now: run.

"I'm sorry, kid," Bariyan said. For what? For Martin being stuck here, for the fact that they were on the run again, and mostly for the fact that Bariyan was about to execute some awful driving.

He spun the wheel and swerved away.

That was his line. Martin only glanced at Bariyan for a couple seconds; there wasn't a whole lot of time to really mull over the words before he had to focus on staying upright against the jerkiness of the truck. He braced himself, ducking his head to keep from bumping the window.

He soon found it was easier to kneel, facing the back end and hugging the head of the seat with an arm. From there, though, he had an awful view of figures racing to keep up with the truck. He chewed on his lip, turning over possibilities in his mind. He lifted his arm, palm out, and tried training aim on one, so if--

THWUMP

"Eahh!" Martin flinched, catching glimpse of one of the masked shapes leaping onto the side of the truck.

Bariyan swore when the thing jumped them, but it was on Martin's side and the window was intact, at least. He pulled the truck way over, and all but slammed it up against the mountainside to get the soldier off them. There was an awful noise of metal screeching against rock. But Bariyan kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead and didn't see if it'd knocked the thing off, or if it'd just crawled into the back and out of the way.

And there was another one. Ahead of them, right in the middle of the road. Bariyan nearly hit the brakes out of instinct before realizing exactly what it was. No, no stopping. He narrowed his eyes and went straight for it.

Martin buried his head against the seat, clutching it with both hands, his lame show of readiness long forgotten in the bedlam of screaming metal and cracking mirrors. He let out another shout as the truck took the impact of the body rolling up from the hood and across the windshield. He could hear it scrambling for grip on the roof – a dozen and more scrapes and thuds.

He shrank, petrified. Too fast and too loud and too shaky to allow him any bearing, he barely understood how the rear window was suddenly roaring noise and air and watched an arm sliding in. Once he saw it and Bariyan in the corner of his eye, he unfroze and mindlessly scrambled to grab at the arm and pull it away from its course, hardly helping keep the truck straight by moving so much.

Bariyan somehow hadn't really expected to hit it. He thought it'd at least try to get out of the way-- no time. He was wondering where the next one would show up when he finally noticed Martin's struggle.

He let off a whole string of curses and briefly let go of the wheel, snatching his knife up and slashing back. Then he saw the road turn up ahead, and had to return both hands to the wheel in order to follow the curve.

They just needed the damn things off them, for a minute -- then what? If the things had come back for him, he'd give himself up. There wasn't much they could do to him. The question was whether they would go after Martin while they were at it.

"Can you get it out of the car?" Bariyan asked, yelling to make himself heard over the wind.

He said nothing in reply, still grappling to pull the arm away from the driver. There wasn't a whole lot of room to maneuver, especially with the risk of hurting Bariyan somehow. Well...Well maybe not hurt, but Martin couldn't not think that way.

Once he saw a body slide down into view, though, he made a sound, reaching toward it in turn. With the hand grabbing at his collar jerking him toward the broken window, he at least didn't have to reach very far. The force of the lance exploding into form and launching itself out threw Martin against the dash, giving the truck another reason to swerve and rattle, while the Mask went sailing, caught by others at a distance well after the weapon disintegrated.

Martin didn't see that; he knocked himself out cold for those seconds and was struggling to get back to his senses, hunched down against the floor with his feet pressed against the seat.

Bariyan saw something go flying in the rearview mirror, but he missed most of the action as he concentrated on maintaining control of the truck in spite of the chaos inside and and out. He did notice when the truck had been emptied out, though, and sped up.

The road took a turn. Bariyan spun into it, and hissed at what he saw. Collapsed tunnel. He checked the mirrors. The Masked were back up on their feet already. And Martin didn't look good.

Bariyan's thoughts flew fast. Could he barrel through and run them over? Well, there wasn't much of a choice now, was there? He started to slow for the turn--

And as soon as he placed pressure on the brakes, something black and fluid dropped in through his window. Bariyan didn't have time to go for his knife again. He settled for slamming his left elbow into it as hard as he could.

"Nuh..."

Martin's head swam; he felt a dull pain on the back of it, but there was no time to wonder about the hows or whys. He was jostled by the sharp turn, shaken a little more coherent, with adrenaline rushing anew. Whatever was happening wasn't over; he hadn't missed much at all.

It was suddenly a whole lot brighter, causing him to recoil. The door, flung open, was filled with a shape that blotted out daylight. The Mask got hold of Martin's arm, causing the boy to flinch and scramble to pry it off. He swung his leg into its face, free arm flailing to find something to latch onto. It bumped the electric shift stick by the wheel inadvertently, gear dropping from drive to neutral.

"No, I--!" Both feet kicked and pushed against the Mask's shoulder, feeling as though his arm was going to get pulled right off. At least it was held straight. If he could aim at its middle--

Bariyan didn't see the gear shift, but he felt the change in response as the engine disengaged itself. That only registered as a strange anomaly at the edge of his mind, as he stomped down on the brakes. The rest of him was too busy dealing with both of the Masked.

The one that had tried to get in through his window had vanished, but was coming back running and almost on them again. Bariyan grabbed the handle of the door and swung it open, knocking right into the soldier. As soon as contact was made he let go of the door, and turned to try and get the other one off Martin--

Hands closed around his arm and shoulder. Bariyan didn't even have time to wonder if it was the same one he'd just hit before it yanked him clean out of the truck.

The lance hit nothing and went soaring through the air for a distance unknown, forgotten. There were more pressing matters right back where the truck had come to a stop and its passengers assailed, dragged out by numerous hands.

Martin clung to the bottom of the truck body until another hand yanked him by the hair to his feet, unsteady and given little time to fix that. He was pushed and smashed against the side of the truck and held there, head and wrists. Something pressed up just under his shoulder blade, and -- "Naugh-!" -- stung. Whatever else there was to the commotion was...was really not his to say.

And then he was staring up at a dingy sky, flat on his back, not very certain of how or when or why. There was dust still wafting around, a few foul smells...but his hearing was tinny and head dizzy.

Bariyan had hit the ground rolling and been blinded by dirt and dust. When he shook the daze off and got his vision back, he had just enough time to look up and see two of the soldiers standing over him before one of them stomped down on his hand and the other one pulled out its gun.

And they were gone before Bariyan had a chance to get back at them. He didn't bother wondering if he'd been chipped again. His first course of action was instead to sprint back to the truck, which had come to a halt with the back end crushed against the rails. The Masked were nowhere to be seen. Bariyan slowed as he approached, and bit back more curses.

He only allowed himself a single "shit" when he saw the boy on the ground.

"Martin?" Bariyan knelt down next to him and looked him over. He was battered, but there didn't seem to be any sign of serious injury. Still. The Masked had obviously gotten ahold of him, in the end.

"Uhn," he replied, one eye opened and squinting at the shape poking into his view. The first impulse was not again, saddled with a fresh wave of wearied dread. If he was going to have to get up and try to fight again, he was in a bad spot to start.

But no one was grabbing or yanking him around like a rag doll, which was cause to refrain from wild flailing. He didn't need to really see who it was, either, once the smell wafted in. Oh--

"B-Baryian," he breathed, bringing a hand up to shade his eyes. "What's..." Are we dead, or--?

Bariyan waited a moment before answering, eyes scouring the area one more time. Nothing. It was like they'd just melted away.

He sighed in defeat. "Looks like they got you. Are you hurt?" And there: the first threads of guilt started to settle in.

That was interrupted when he realized that the engine was still running. Bariyan disappeared briefly to cut it off. He also checked the damage to the truck as he walked back around. It certainly didn't look pretty, but it could at least get them back down the mountain. Provided they weren't attacked again.

'Got me?' he thought, face scrunching up with confusion. What does that... It clicked. Oh.

Then that means...

He swallowed dry, stilling his breath and taking stock of himself. His head, his arms...and, yes, a stinging spot on his back. That was probably what it was. Same as what happened to Bariyan the first time they were ambushed together.

And there were no real answers as to why, what it was for...anything. Martin's stomach did another nervous flip as he thought on it more. The sounds of the truck engine died down, filling his ears with a great deal of nothing. Enough of that prompted him to move at last, rolling onto his side slowly, rubbing the back of his head and finding a fresh bump there from his meeting with the dash.

He sat up, looking around until he spied Bariyan again.

"Are they gone?" he croaked, grimacing and swallowing again. "After all that, I mean..."

Mirror check showed nothing. Then he actually turned around, just to be sure.

"Looks like it," Bariyan said. "Seems like they're just chipping people, for now."

He couldn't wrap his head around why. What was the use? Why not just kill them? They were capable enough, and if they were the enemies then it didn't make sense to leave such a low death toll. But in the end, it was obviously a good thing that they hadn't killed Martin. Yes, thank the gods for their mercy, since Bariyan obviously could not be trusted to protect Martin himself.

He rooted around in the car until he located a bottle of water. It was surprisingly difficult to pick up and he paused to look at his right hand in bewilderment, finally taking notice of how his middle and ring finger were bent at odd angles.

Bariyan shook his head, and picked the bottle up with his left hand. Then held it out through the open door to Martin. "Here."

Martin reached from where he sat, leaning back on a palm with the bottle in the other.

"Thank you," he mumbled, looking down at it. It remained idle in-hand for a length of time as Martin stared, his thoughts drifting back to what had just occurred. What he could make of it, anyway. What any of it meant, though...

He was too dazed to be overwhelmed just then. It was too early, too freshly happened to think about any more than Oh, I have a bump on my head, or I guess they're done bothering me now. There was no need to cause a scene.

Carefully, he rolled to his knees, using the side of the truck for balance as he got to his feet, letting out his breath slowly. Leaning, he opened the bottle, one task at a time, no interruptions, before saying anything.

"What do we do now...?"

slip of the tongue

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omg NO MARTIN BABY DONT CRY

DOESN'T FIT INTO THE BIG BOY PANTS YET

GOD HES SUCH A CUTE BABY, PUTS HIM IN A STROLLER