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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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...?"

Bariyan was busy trying to set his fingers straight when the question came. He looked up then.

I don't know, was what he almost said, before he stopped himself and thought their options over. So they'd probably both been chipped, and it sounded like the new one would have to be ripped straight out of Bariyan's spine. They were not going to touch them, this time around. But could they go back now? Would it matter?

Maybe. No more chances.

"We wait until the city clears out," Bariyan said, looking away. "You need to get to the clinic. And get someone to take that chip out of you."

And then, still looking away: "I'm sorry."

He was only starting to wonder if taking anything out of anyone was a good idea, considering what had just happened, when there was an apology spouted from someone who wasn't him. Martin's head turned quickly to stare at the source, at Bariyan, with a surprise and growing worry that left him blind to the odd trouble with his fingers. Why was he sorry? Given all the trouble, the only thing he ought to have been sorry about was trying to find him in the first place, but that didn't seem to be the point. Unless it was, and Martin just didn't grasp it. Either way, it was an alarming thing. It wasn't the right way for things to go. His brain scrambled for things to counteract it, make it null.

"Th...They came because I broke it," he blurted, only half-sure it was true. "Right? That's...that's how it works. Right? So..." So it's my fault, and I have to be sorry, not you!

Bariyan's eyes flickered back. "No. It didn't look broken to me," he said. "I shouldn't have asked in the first place."

Gods, what use was Bariyan out here? He'd come to keep Martin away from the things, but instead brought them down upon the boy. For no good reason. He'd been warned about the chips and what would happen if they were damaged and went ahead anyway. Centuries ago he would have been careful, would have paid greater attention to the risks and come to the right decision. Now he was blinded by his own brand of immortality. No longer able to take others into care or consideration.

Useless. This, and all else.

He shook his head, cleared his thoughts. What use would it be to confess his guilt and ineptitude to Martin? The latter was already on display. And Martin already seemed to shoulder enough guilt of his own. He needed less of that, not more.

So Bariyan only added, "It's not your fault."

In Martin's head, it wasn't right that he wasn't wrong. If anything, Bariyan ought to have been furious about all of it, having to put up with dragging him around, taking up time to find food, water...Things he didn't need for himself. Especially given the fact they hardly knew each other, that he wasn't even family...it didn't make much sense to want to apologize to him, the source of trouble.

I'm supposed to help people, he thought. I guess...even people who aren't alive? I don't know. But it seemed a right thing to think – that he ought to have been the one helping Bariyan out, not the other way around.

It was heavy stuff. Martin felt a weight in his chest; it made him overly warm and dizzy, tingling at the arms. He slid back down to sit, drawing his knees up and settling his head down. Just for a minute. I'm sorry. He grimaced, drawing an arm around his head and curling his hand at the back of his neck. I don't want to do any of this anymore. I want to go home.

Bariyan watched Martin fold up and felt a twinge of anxiety. He stepped back out of the car and walked around until he was in front of Martin. The height difference was too much, so he knelt down in the dust, right arm crossed over a knee, and looked at Martin through lidded eyes.

He didn't know what to say. His apologies were already made, short as they were, and the damage was done. And he couldn't lie and say that it was all going to turn out all right. Couldn't even say that it wouldn't turn out bad. In the end, there was not much to say at all.

So Bariyan simply tilted his head to the side and spoke a single, quiet word. "Hey."

Martin's shoulders lifted and dropped slowly with a heavily-drawn, steadying breath before he lifted his head to look. His forehead was knitted with the effort it was taking to keep it together, red lining the rims of his eyes. Weak.

He swallowed, staring back at Bariyan with a look that steadily became more questioning than worrying, and his frown receded to something softer, less pronounced.

"Why--" He stopped to clear his throat and draw another breath. "Why'd you come to find me?"

That was a question that had been asked of him time and time again. He could no longer count how many times he had answered it, or all the various iterations that he'd heard. But the answer always remained the same.

"Because someone had to," Bariyan said.

Because I had to. Because he always had to, that was what he did, who he was. Bariyan e Kodhi had been called guardian in one lifetime, sentinel in another, but it all came down to the same idea: that he had no purpose in life but to save those whom could not save themselves. Always had been, always would be. Alive or dead.

No they didn't, Martin thought, swallowing again, eyes welling. No one had to. So...

"Yes, sir," he murmured, giving up on fighting it before he'd even started. There'd been enough trouble and things to worry about as it was. He scrubbed at his eyes with his sleeve and gave a small nod.

"Th...thank you."

Bariyan looked away when Martin went to dry his eyes, out of politeness. He only gave a small nod to acknowledge the thanks.

That done, Bariyan stood up and looked back down the road. The way ahead was blocked. So their only option was to head back down.

"You ready to go?" He offered a hand to Martin.

"Yes, sir," he replied. Impulse. He let out his breath heavily before starting to move. Shifted to his knees, he gave a double-take at the hand, having not seen it right away. After a hesitation, he reached out and took it, shoulders lifting against the shudder that shot down his spine at the act. He's not bad, he insisted, as if that would make it stop.

"Let's go, then." Bariyan pulled Martin up to his feet in one quick, fluid motion, and gently nudged him back towards the truck.

Bariyan paused on the walk back to his side to observe the damage they'd done to the road here. And to examine his broken fingers again. Driving was going to be more difficult, but if they kept to relatively easy terrain he thought he could manage.

He sighed and set his mouth into a hard line. If they were going to be in this world for long, he'd have to do a better job than this.

The frown had disappeared from his face by the time he swung back into the driver's seat. Time to leave this place behind.

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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