NINah ask/rp blog

Small sticky notes were left around the building in slightly poor Russian— most likely Bee’s doing, but he did include small translations at the bottom from German, to broken French, and to English.

“A “Goodbye World” party is happening! Bring drinks, food, and whoever you want! Quitters are visitors.”

The large room had already been decorated— thanks to Host and Bee. There were at least three stacks of nine vinyl records beside a vinyl player, one song already playing.

Drinks— going from soda to alcohol (there was some juice.. just to be safe) neatly arranged on different tables, cups stacked on said tables, and there was a snack table pressed against the wall near a window.

There were chairs at a couple of empty tables, a couch that somehow got in, and four packs of poker cards on one of the tables.

Bee was already pouring himself a drink, pausing a bit before turning around, he simply waved at everyone and gestured for them to come over.

“C’mon! Party’s gonna be boring if you don’t join..”

The room was filled with banderoles and colorful balloons, but the star of the show was the rock music playing in the background : good stuff. Some american music... Wich was kind of rebellious for Russia.

They correctes some of the sticky notes in passive agressive red pen, like a teacher would do.*

- Everyone welcomed. Let's have fun. Chill visitors allowed. Or not. LoL.

*But for good measure, they tried to recruit some other people more directly, either by voice or by sliding them notes, like in school.

Those lucky few were :

<he really can’t make distinctions between faces, and therefore identify the partygoers, especially with all the movement, but with host’s vibrant appearance… they were bound to catch his eye. He comes to them, like a dog summoned, roughly as stiff as a board, some intrigued grin playing across his lips.>

Say, you put this all together? ‘S a goddamn feat for the apocalypse! Aha… I don’t think I’ve seen you before, ‘s your name?

*Host turned when they realised they were spoken to, and they answered as if they knew Arthur all their life. They gave her a nod of knowledge and appreciation, before reaching for another glass. They looked quite... Not-Thirsty-Anymore-If-You-Know-What-I-Mean.*

- Glad you came, mistery patient... Call me Host.

*It's not a name at all. It's just a job title ! But much like "The Hermit" or "The Vigilante", Host wanted a title of their own... Something to make them a legend.*

- I was helped by the dude with the wild red hair. Bee. You know him ? A nice block, helped me with the music...

<he offers them a wide smile, stupid-looking, though it’s got a little charm to it, should they take the time to observe more closely.>

Oh, sure I know bee. ‘S good music. He knows ‘bout good music.

<obviously. Or else he wouldn’t have been recruited to help put the party together. He chuckles awkwardly, shifting so that the entirety of his weight is rested on the better of his feet.>

I ah… like your eyes. How’d you get ‘em done?

*They mocked, like a parrot. Of course they already knew her name. They did their own little research, after all, and could not forget such a squeeshable face ! They smiled with little pointy teeth... Shark like.*

- I know you know him. "Roomates", riiight ?

*Who the hell was this newcomer ?! And what were they implying ? Black sclera made their eyes harder to read...

As they accepted the compliment on it with a surprised look on their face, Host answered quite simply, moving their shoulders up in the air as if this was a very stupid question. But heh. Poor little thing looked all shy and anwkard ! It was cute, tho, and Host felt like being a little mischivious.*

- Ink.

*They smacked their forehead as if they suddenly remembered something important, clearly playing dumb.*

- Wait ! No ! Sorry, I meant... I ate a virgin's heart at midnight during a satanic ritual in an ancestral forest with my cult bros and we managed to summon a demon from the 4th circle of hell, who pluckered my eyes out, ate them, and when I woke up I had eyes again but they were like this. Cool, no ?

<he smiles still- really, he hadn’t stopped smiling, since beginning their conversation- but there’s little joke in the way he says it. Palate of a twelve year old.>

Yeah- w- uhh.. <he hadn’t caught the sarcasm in their voice initially, the quiet implication, though the moment he does, his face flushes pink, nose scrunched at one corner in either confusion or some diluted form of disgust. Had they really figured him out that quickly?? Or… maybe bee had told them. He resettles his ruffled feathers, relaxed again.>

Well, obviously, I jus’ meant…. <he trails off as they begin recalling their epic tale, amusement scrawled across his narrow face.>

Right. You’ll have t’ take me some time. Hhaha..

<he crosses his arms over his midsection, still slightly nervous in his demeanor. Probably anybody would be a little nervous speaking to Host.>

Sso, d’you keep tabs on all your partygoers, or am I jus’ interestin’ an’ beautiful an’ funny enough t’ get stalked?

*No mockery, no teasing, no "cooome ooon it's a party !" Nor "are you sure ? There is enough for everyone dont be shy !" Or not even a "Real men start the night with vodka." That some others in the school could say... Host was not like that.

And they looked happy with it. More alcohol for them ! Huzzah !

... And oh such a party made them extroverted and LOUD.*

- BWAHAHAHAHA look at your faace ! Don't blush like thaaat it's alright ! Pffftt... poor little thing. All flusthered over nothing !

*Big arms gestures, almost theatrical, kicking their glass away... The vodka stained their pants and they did not even seem to notice. They laughed a bit more. If usually they were stern, serious and even grumpy, turning people away, this was the perfect moment to break the ice around them.*

- Yeeeah I'll ask my demon pal if he can do something for your leg...

*All eyes on it. Their pointy little nose all up Artie's business. Host smiled like the devil itself, offering a glass of water to their victim of the night. A glass they should be drinking themselves, if they didnt want to pass out a bit too soon in the evening...*

- That must be a nice story... Maybe even better than my eyes...

*Their voice, all honeyed, silently prayed "tell it to me". They leaned their bony body forward...*

- Snrk, arent you the jester ! Option two, obviously. I just couldnt let such a cute face anoymous ! And Bee was my first friend here... So it helped quite a lot. Lots of stories around here... You know what I mean.

<their commentary only eases his face into a further shade of rouge. He tucks the lower half of his face behind one hand, with a quiet exclamation of embarrassment, maybe an “oh my god”, or “fuck’s sake”, whispered and muffled to such a degree that it’s nearly indecipherable. Bashful animal around them, too shy to say anything louder. Or maybe only bashful to be so easily read, and so easily outed.>

<he drops his hand back to his side, with a sigh that’s been held in for a moment too long, released at long last. The pink in his face subsides, as they retrieve the glass, basking in the sound of their laughter, scratchy and loud against their throat, surely..>

Much appreciated.. <whether this is in appreciation towards the glass or their efforts with the demon is difficult to decipher. He offers them a courteous little nod as he receives the glass, too formal, but clearly intentionally that way, like a princess’s curtsy to a prince.>

<he sucks his teeth, almost thoughtfully..> ..twisted my ankle one time, so they jus’ had t’ take the whole thing off…

<he shakes his head, almost sadly, though his false demeanor only holds for a few seconds, before his grin inevitably returns, amused, once again, by himself. He seems satisfied enough by his response, failing to add more to his clearly inaccurate story, and rather taking a sip of the water they’d just given him.>

<he preens beneath their attention, some small silly bird with its feathers puffed out proudly, brightly coloured and hopping around to keep their engagement.>

*They mocked and teased with a smile, bitting into the bait. Playful joking around, no need to pry further for explanations. Host would find out soon enough. Nothing escaped those onix eyes.

They laughed some more, a bit more quietly, but still making some head turns, when the poor Artie acted so shy and charmed. So even in this rural, boring city, someone like Host could have a little fun ?*

- Flattering is not in my habits. Blame it on the alcohol. Or blame it on your pretty face.

*"Pretty". Not "handsome", not even "cute". Pretty, like a girl. It was just so... Obvious for Host. The way Artie moved and spoke softly, those outgrown hair, the manerism in the face, the princess salute, blushing so easily, the way she hide her face under her hand, even the nickname, "Artie", not "Art" or keeping what they assumed was "Arthur". The odd fashion style, so outdated, how queer...

Host met dozens of people just like her. Aware or unaware yet. But when they saw them again, after some months, some years, oh, how magnificent those blooming flowers were !

A little time and encouragement could help this shy button to grow and, one day, grace the world with it's true colors.

But that was getting a bit too abstract for a drunk they at the end of the world.*

- So we kiss or what ?

*It could be a joke. In some parts of Europe, such idioms mean "what are we doing now with this conversation", rather crudely, but used a lot inbetween friends. Hell, it could even be cruder ! In France, and surely other countries, "Shall we go or shall we fuck in the ass ?" Was an everyday saying. Yes. Even with coworkers or family. Yes. But here in Russia, the humor was... Dry. And sometimes even ... Just dead.

<he continues to giggle his shrill, loud giggle, infinitely amused by everything around him. An easy audience, if there ever was one. Best of luck, to Host, in pinpointing the real cause of his injury. He’d still yet to tell a soul anything even bordering the truth, Pink and Pearl would never tell a human something like that, and he doesn’t intend to spill his secret to a soul any time soon. Maybe a good thing he avoided drinking, lest he get even chattier and make a mistake…>

On m- on- <he stutters very awkwardly, giggling like a school girl, but also cowering so avidly that he looks nearly ready to flee and hide himself beneath the nearest bed. He hadn’t been to enough parties as a teen to know how to react in these situations. He’s usually the one flirting (or trying to, anyways), but very rarely is it reciprocated, and when it is, well… usually it’s a man, so he’s got a little more confidence in the matter. Lasha he hadn’t really flirted with, they were more friends, and then… whatever. This is entirely new territory to him. He stares at them dumbly, like an animal caught in a snare.>

<pretty, too.. he’s a sucker for compliments, most especially feminine-leaning ones, though he’d never admit it. Far too embarrassing…>

P- ‘s probably the alcohol.. hhaha.. <they seem…. A liiiittle out of his league… he pauses to take a sip of his water again, an attempt at calming his nerves. He feels incredibly foolish, stood there, tall and dry, like a tree with.. water. Flustered over nothing, like some terrible, awful romcom movie girl-protagonist, oh fuck, it’s really quite worthy of his shame.>

*The tattooed woman immediatly got up on wobbly legs, and then stumbled toward Artie, a bit too drunk to really stay on their feet. Poor girl was chocking because of their little joke ! Accidental murder attempt ! Woopsie !

Host began patting Artie's back, helping her get the water out entierly. But to be fair, Host was also mostly leaning on her, not very sure of their feet, and trying not to fall... Truly, it looked like a hug, or some anwkard dance, something a bit strange and esoteric !*

- Didnt mean to kill you, sweetheart ! It was just a saying, come on stay alive, the party just started.

*They grined, making it easy to read their expression. It was genuine, and they laughed again, sensing Artie so flusthered and... Ankward ? Oh.*

- Sorry, sorry, letting you go, poor thing.

*They sayed, noticing how tense and bad Artie could be feeling, and not wanting to make it worse. Consent queen. They gave a pat on her shoulder and departed. And dying laughing, as, taking a step back to go back to the table where they once sat, Host... Fell on the ground. And stayed there, laughing their heart out !*

- BWAHAHA ! Whao !

*They gave... Fingerguns ? How old was this weirdo ? Wher planet did they come from ?*

- Guess you are to fall for !

Pff, you’re one t’ speak, you’re ’bout drunk enough t- <a self-fulfilling prophecy. He tenses as they hit the floor, moving quickly to check that they’re okay. Upon hearing their sustained laughter, however, he relaxes, grinning wide.>

- We both saved each other from a certain death and from a fate far worse : humilation. Now our souls are kindred and we shall never forget it.

*Letting go of Artie's hand, Host reached for another drink... Water. Hooray !!! A smart decision ! This woman was definitly a huge brain...*

- I think I need that... Heh. Alcohol gives me the courage to speak to people but whao do I make a fool of myself !!!

*The curious eyes of Lucie drafted toward the loud voices and some others stared a little but quickly found the conversation boring... oh, not for long before Host jump on a table Bar Guy style but that's for another time !*

- Funny how we sometimes have to self sabotage to actually make some progress. I think we should never be afraid to get worse as a person if it's to find ourselves.

Yeah, an eye for an eye, or.. whatever. You seem like a pretty decent soul t’ be kindred with, so I guess we all win.

<he watches their next move with a gravely approving nod. For the best, probably.>

Sure, but the ones who stick around’ll stay your friends an’ the ones who think you’d made a fool of yourself’ll get forgotten. <he shrugs.> then once you’ve got enough friends from gettin’ drunk off your ass an’ fallin’ off tables an’ all, you won’t have t’ keep drinkin’ t’ get confidence.

<simple logic, truly. He doesn’t fully realize that this may egg them on. He glances vaguely at the source of most of the noise, watching either uncertain eyes. It’s odd to him how easily everyone manages to tolerate the volume. Isn’t loud supposed to be scary? The yelp of a predator, or the scream of a comrade warning of a predator? So then why isn’t anybody else ever nervous about it? Maybe that’s the point, actually. Nervousness can make you confident, too. Adrenaline runs rampant, and then you make a bold, or perhaps stupid decision. Overzealous decision. One you wouldn’t usually make. Maybe that’s why people like parties. He’s not very sure.>

<he refocuses his gaze on them. What were they saying? Something about… self sabotage? Get worse, to find yourself?>

Ah… sure. I guess. Well, actually if you have t’ get worse t’ find yourself doesn’t that jus’ make you a fundamentally shitty person? Like if you start kicking babies, or whatever, an’ go ‘wow, I feel like myself right now!’ Aren’t you jus’ like…. An asshole at heart?

*Tattooed, ears stretched, sickly thin, a smoker, a drinker, a crazy person with opinions and a loud mouth. A person with dark eyes that sparkled with secrets and curiosity. Surely someone who delt in drugs and underground thugeries at some point in their life. A hacker. A radio-host. A woman of a bad life.

Or not. That was a judgement based on appareances. Wasnt the whole point of this Apocalypse to learn how to go past that, in all truth ? To seek something deeper ? Wasnt it all a test from God ? From Her ?*

- But you sound like you know weirder people. You hide your cards pretty well, Artie. I might have to do some digging on you. Find out all the little secrets of my kindred soul. Just joking !

*They stuck their tongue out with a wink. It looked rehearded, like a music album cover.

As Artie continued to miss the point, Host giggled in answer. Awww, she was sooo silly !*

<how loud, sure, but how impulsive, how mean, how ridiculously vain, how undecided and sad, too. A mixed-bowl of unsavory traits, ones they don’t really even need to get to know him to see. Old scars littered over the surface of his skin, a nose ever-so-slightly crooked, implications of past fights that he probably hadn’t won. And in his posture, even nervous as he is, trying to navigate his way into some favorable position in their mind, he stands tall, hips jutted forward, chin high, far too proud for the scruffy, thin thing that he is. He looks as though he’s attempting to occupy more space than his scrawny body will allow, and it comes across very oddly. It might be difficult to imagine him in a setting, or scenario where he really fit right. Some performance of confidence, so obviously an act, it’s nearly surreal to witness. That’s what surrealism is, isn’t it? Something so blatantly, strangely contrasting with its environment, that you’re to believe it’s hardly really at all?>

D’you think? I’ve been told the opposite before.

<people seem about as uncertain about him, as he is about himself.>

Well, if you’re so eager t’ getta know me better, I wouldn’t be opposed to talkin’ again after this.

<he smiles wide, blackened eyes beady and shining eagerly, perhaps almost mischievously, depending on interpretation. He settles back as they begin speaking again.> <At their word choice, particularly ‘pretty thing’, his confidence crumbles in slightly, and he droops forward, an under watered plant, too lank and awkward for its own good. His organs churn in their respective places behind the walls of his abdomen, and he shifts his posture again, listening closely. By how quiet he is, he finds genuine interest in their words.>

Oh. So we’re philosophers, now, are we? <he grins, before shifting forward with his two bits on the topic.> Well…. Sometimes, I guess. But sometimes people settle in that stage, instead of moving forward, y’know? Jus’ keep hurting, without growing or learning from it, or whatever. An’ then that starts fucking with other people, ‘cause it sucks t’ see someone you care about keep hurtin’ themself over and over and over. I don’t know. This stuff’s always complicated.

‘S actually very good. I ate one earlier, t’ test that they weren’t shit. Definitely not only ‘cause I like orange juice, or anythin’…

<he grins, though it’s quite short lived. He hopes that they’ll take the bait. They hadn’t been eating particularly well, and this may not necessarily fill their stomach, but it’s relatively vitamin-rich, and it’ll hydrate them surely… plus, if he could tempt them into eating just a little bit now, maybe they’d realize that wow, they actually are hungry, and then he could feed them something of greater value. He’s gotta play the long game to feed them. His sixty-step plan.>

—🪙 ( @carrying-coins) //nothingburger rp starter but I wanted them to play a lil bit and I couldn’t think of anything else parce que im a chud 🌅🌅🫂

[Lasha looked over at Artie through their hair and blankets. They don’t move much outside of their eyes flicking over to Artie and a slight adjustment of their posture. They hardly ever get out of bed, they haven’t showered— hell when was the last time they went to the bathroom?

They don’t know why they’re like this right now. Being so difficult and worrisome and ruining everything. They’re ruining everything. They’ve ruined everything. Their hand chords through Data’s soft fur. They entrust Data to Lucie when she needs to go outside and play.]

‘M not hungry…

[Thats a lie. They are extremely hungry, they haven’t eaten in 38 hours. They’re thirsty, they haven’t drank anything in 14. They don’t want resources to go to waste on someone so difficult to be around. Seriously, why doesn’t anyone drag them out of bed and force them outside already? Instead of trying to coax them out of their episode gently. It’d be easier to just accept that they’re making love to one already dead.

Data sneezes in her slumber, stretching her legs and pushing them against Lasha stomach, causing them to change position more for the sake of her comfortability. They’re much more lenient in their stubbornness for Data.

To take the popsicle would mean admitting that there have a problem, they feel. It would be admitting that they need help— which they want so badly to believe they don’t, even if they know they do. Even if they know that their stubbornness causes a burden. They can’t.

Their stomach cramps painfully in hunger, growling low and loud, they try not to let the hunger phase them. They want to sleep. The body is a machine, huh? So then why not let the defective machine go and turn it into spare parts? Why keep it around?

Is it because they can provide money for food through their body? Is that all they’re good for? A temporary release and then what?

<at data’s nudging and nosing he absentmindedly pats her head, a silent acknowledgement of her existence. Poor puppy, born into all this hot. She might not ever know anything but the heat of a world on fire. It’ll make her resilient surely, but miserable too.>

Look, jus’ one bite. It’ll melt all over my hands.

<he jams it directly against their mouth, cold and sweet, and surely enticing. He watches them for a reaction.>

I can airplane it, if you’d like.

<he puts it in their unburned hand, wrapping their fingers around the stick. He understands their avoidance. He knows their misery down to his gut, memorized, an etching inscribed into his very soul. It took him a solid two weeks to get back to eating semi-normally. Now the roles are reversed. He bites his lip in thought.>

I could baby-bird it t’ you.

<he’s chock-full of solutions. He smiles wide, sitting back beside them, petting their hair away from their face. They’re cocooned all up like a little butterfly, hidden unhappily beneath their blankets, ready to blossom into something better any minute. He grabs their hand and nudges the popsicle towards their mouth again, persistent in his endeavor.>

[Lasha sighed, opening their mouth and allowing the cold sweetness of the orange treat onto their tastebuds. They suckled at it like an infant to a mother’s teat, it was the path of least resistance. Lasha usually would’ve made a joke about it being baby birded to them. But they can’t think of anything funny to say.

Either way, Artie: 1, Lasha: 0. He’d gotten some amount of sugar into their system, it staved off some of the hunger pangs and shakiness by raising their blood sugar levels and giving them back some of the hydration they’d been desperately needing.

The cold on their teeth hurts a little, but they keep the treat within their mouth. It reminds them of childhood and their neighbor who’d let them use her pool in the summertime. She had kids their age. They were friends outside of school, but not in school. She’d make homemade popsicles too, out of fruit and fruit juice and a little bit of sugar. Her husband worked out of state. Lasha only met him once. He was named Daryl, and he was a trucker.

That’s all Lasha really remembers about them. The pool and a trucker and three other kids. Two boys, one girl.

They don’t remember faces. And they don’t remember their hair in the right way. They don’t remember conversations or anything of the sort. They just remember swimming to the bottom of the pool one day, and feeling like they could disappear.

Juice trickles down their chin, Data licks it up happily when she notices it. Their eyes drift closed, to get well they must be almost like an infant, allow others to care for them. But it’s so hard. And they can’t remember the last time it had gotten so bad.]

‘M sorry.

[Their voice is muffled from the obstruction in their mouth. Artie doesn’t need this. He doesn’t need them. He deserves better, they think. He deserves someone who doesn’t cower, who doesn’t isolate and self destruct. He deserves someone better.

Lasha doesn’t really interpret this as returning the favor, when Lasha had sat by his bed and taken care of him each and every day and night despite the difficulties and anxieties that came with it. That was just them earning their place. That wasn’t a favor— that was needed. Artie was in pain and needed someone.

Why can’t they apply the same logic to themself? Are they not also in pain? Terrified and regretful and collapsing like a neutron star?

The physical can be fixed so much easier than the mental. The physical can be pointed to. “Here, it’s here that hurts.” And there are medicines and doctors to help you, and there are people that believe you, and say that you’re brave for continuing on despite the hurt.

There’s no such fanfare for someone trapped in their own head. There’s nobody to say “I see you, I see your hurt, I love you regardless.” There’s no calm in this storm. Lasha needs to either get it together, or disappear entirely. A priest from their past life comes to tell them that their borrowed time is run out. Lasha runs from the shadow of their past, only to trip on their old banjo, right where they started.

They chose to close their eyes. They chose to leave everything behind. They chose to slit their own throat just to see if anyone would mourn.

They can’t prove that nobodies out to get them. They can’t prove that anyone really does this because they think they’re worth saving.

It’s more than a little self pitying, poor them, caged and misunderstood. Lasha wants help but doesn’t want to get better. They like it here, in their own misery, it’s familiar, it’s where they’re meant to be, they don’t want to change.

They know they have to. The longer they remain like this, the more damage it causes. Not just to them, but to innocent bystanders. They watch a ballerina dance behind their eyes. The light above slowly fades, casting them in shadow, the music stops, the crowd departs.

<he waits patiently while they finish it off, licking the cold until only the sweetness of the wood greets their tongue. He will remember their reaction to this one. This tactic, this food, this entrance, jotted down at the back of his head, so he can replicate it with excruciating accuracy. It’s the only way he knows how. Familiarity is most desirable. A memory, a remnant of something that felt… better. A routine, that’s what people like. Except for when they don’t. Except for once they start feeling trapped, smothered by the monotone repetition that is life. Then they don’t like it so much. He’ll remember it either way. If they don’t like it next time, he’ll tweak his experiment. That’s how you get progress.>

<he isn’t personally fond of popsicles. Too cold, they scare him. He’ll freeze, won’t he? From the inside out. But he does like orange juice. Enough to tempt him drinking it frozen. They’d tried popsicles on him at some point during his own depressive recovery period, he’s sure. He can’t remember it very well. Blocked out for good reason.>

<he looks down at them with fond eyes, analytical eyes, ones they’ve looked at probably a thousand times by now. Boring eyes by now, certainly. Familiarity also harbors boredom.>

Sorry for what, even? You didn’t do anythin’ wrong. Jus’ eat your popsicle.

<he means it very literally. Just eat your popsicle. Stop letting your mind spin itself in circles with misery, and eat your popsicle. It’s a very good popsicle. He had one earlier, so he would know. It’s wonderfully cold, a nice contrast with the sweltering madness rotting everything outside of the window. Mercy in the flavour of an orange.>

<the thing is, is that like-minded people tend to fall into one another’s social circles. For every flaw they’ve got, he’s got one to mirror it. He’ll tear himself down if it means he earns a second of attention from any living soul. He’ll also run as quick as he can, a terrified rabbit into its familiar burrow, the moment he believes you dislike him. And the worst part is that he likes it best here. Stuck in this broken mindset, because he’s not go the energy nor the bravery to change, to be any better. This is comfortable. He matches them in infallible resonance, a pair of frequencies so perfectly aligned that their amplitudes and troughs fall into one another, and get louder all the while, building eachother up. Of course they deserve each other. He doesn’t deserve any better than them, because any better than them would make him profoundly uncomfortable. Two matching halves, if you try to fit them with anything else, pieces will just break off. Neither of them deserve that. Nobody else deserves that either. They wouldn’t fit anywhere else.>

<he presses his lips to their forehead again, then their mouth, absorbing the sickly sweet off of the thin, minute hairs above their mouth.>

You ready for a shower? It’ll be real good, swear. I pinky promise, actually. Best damn shower you’ve had in all your life.

It’s not that simple, Art.

[Lasha sighed, pushing themselves up into a sitting position. Seems Data and Artie had conspired with each other, she laid on their pillow, making it impossible for them to lay back down without moving her.

Well, sittings a start.]

I mean— my leg.. you get it.

[They sighed gestured to the hole in their leg, beginning to heal but would never be the same. Ilya was nice enough to stitch it up when they’d been shot. The stitches could come out soon.

They looked at their arm.]

And I can’t. Move my arm very much.

[The last time they moved their arm like they used to before the burn was when Data almost got outside during the daytime. The door was open, Data had heard something while Lasha slept. They’d woken up in a tizzy hearing whining and yelps.

They might as well have broken the sound barrier with how fast they ran, snatching Data’s collar before she could venture further outside, only small burns on her paw pads from the heat of the porch, the sun had been setting, the heat hadn’t dispersed.

<he simply shrugs. He can’t force them to do much of anything, but he could certainly attempt to persuade them. He’s off to a pretty good start, with them sitting up and all. He grins at Data, a mutual attempt at getting their loved one in a better position.>

’s what I’m here for, anyway.

<he’s here to help, for the most part to the best of his abilities. He stands from the edge of their bed with a strained groan, stretching his arms skyward, so that a little of his pasty midsection flashes beneath his shirt, before he resettles. He stands above them, expectant but not demanding. His legs and core are far stronger now, and he’s bordering a healthy weight, standing on his own fine, and walking almost naturally. A beacon of hope, surely. If he could recover for the most part, so could they, right?>

Plus, surely you’ve gotta pee? ‘S been like.. forever.

<well…. He’d found them. He’d found them, so what now? He hadn’t really thought about what to say. This makes him nervous, which is an odd thing to be, for him, because he isn’t nervous nearly… ever. He tries to think very quickly, because surely they can smell him now, which means that if he doesn’t come to them, they’ll only come to him. He hesitates, before moving towards them, resumed in his mission.>

Pink, hi- er- hey… <bad start. He inhales shallowly, hardly taking in enough oxygen to resettle himself.> Look, will you come with me? I really need t’ get your help with somethin’, ‘cause-…. Well, it’d be better if I jus’ show you, I think…. Ah… please??

<he talks very quickly, a certain stiffness to his tone. He looks distinctly… tired. Worn down, almost. He also reeks of something softer, and something acidic, adjacent to the scents of shampoo and vomit, only slightly off. Nothing that he’d smell of typically, worn like an awful cologne, to such a degree that his usual scent becomes more of an undertone than anything.>

<the delivery of his request came across more poorly than he’d hoped for, and he pulls at the strap of his bag, not dissimilarly to the way he had upon meeting them at the therapist’s house. He looks nearly ready to sink to his knees and either sleep or cry for some time, however, he does not. He only looks at them tiredly, and anxiously, waiting for some signal that they will not scold him for whatever he desires them for.>

—🪙 ( @carrying-coins )

[Pink had smelled Artie before they were saw him, his signature smell of coins still easily picked up by their nose despite the rancid smell of vomit accompanying him. Worried as that smell made them for his wellbeing, they had figured if he was sick enough for it to be his own vomit, he wouldn’t have the strength to be wandering around the wastelands… but that begged the question, whose was it? They approached with little hesitation as they picked out his silhouette in the darkness, getting something to eat could wait.]

Hey kiddo!!!!!! I was jusssssst about to visit, what…… uh…… you look rrrrrrough……

[Death’s sake, he looked like he’d just survived a tornado. As they approached, they almost felt the need to pick him up and carry him back to the school, given the way his body trembled with exhaustion. For now, they look him over for injuries… he wasn’t visibly bleeding at least, he probably didn’t get attacked. Was he actually sick, and just forcing himself to venture out? They would hope not, but given how they knew his survival instincts were, they would not be surprised if that were the case.]

Okay, if it’ssssss important……

[As Artie turned, they followed close behind him, sniffing him, trying to discern whatever the issue was that had him in such a worn down shape… they could pick up the smell of someone new to them all over him, the smell of old milk and… baby formula. Their eye went wide at the implication, could it be??]

<At their agreement, he offers up a silent, rather strained grin, before turning and leading them back the way he’d initially come. He’s far slower now, his walking speed drastically reduced from where it had been prior to his injury. He struggles greatly to run, and he’s got no weapon, nor a will to fight- he shouldn’t be out at all, but he’s quite a determined thing, so that all becomes an afterthought. He’d made it out here fine, anyways, hadn’t he?>

<it takes them all of twenty or so minutes to reach the chain link fence bordering the school, most of which he’d spent in absolute silence. He trails along the exterior of the barrier, until he reaches a small hole, just wide enough to fit his body, which he tucks himself through with a small series of grunts. He could potentially go through the gate instead, but he’s not sure who’s meant to be guarding it today, and he’d rather not show up with Pink and risk catastrophe. He figures they can climb the fence, though with how thin they are, they may be able to squeeze through the way he’d just done. He moves out of the way, in any case, allowing them to make their way past the border between school grounds and the expanse of deteriorated landscape, prior to moving forward again.>

<he clings to the innermost section of the fence, hesitant to pass windows and raise alarm, though luckily many of such windows have their curtains drawn, to shield from the light of when daytime comes around. He only begins moving closer to the school, once he’s certain he’s approaching the right window. He may be able to bring them inside, if the window is unlocked, only he can’t remember if he’d left the latch down or not…>

<finally, he stands before the window of his room, leaning his face forward against the glass. The smell of whoever he’d been around is far stronger now, along with the scent of somebody else entirely. Upon viewing, the sight of a teenager, perhaps sixteen, or seventeen, cradling an infant no older than six months greets the pair. Both are asleep, which comes as a shock to Artie, though a relief, considering how violent of a tantrum she’d thrown when he passed her off on Nemoy. He turns to pink anxiously, attempting to gauge their reaction before speaking.>

That’s- ah… she’s my-…. I don’t know. I call her a “her”, y’know, but I’ve not really got any idea what she is, actually.. an’ she’s not really my “daughter”, or anythin’, but—….. anyway, that’s Ettie— ah.. Amorette.

[They laughed, but Death’s name, they’d have their work cut out for him later… his hair looked matted all over again, not to mention the state of his clothes. He could borrow a coat while they washed them and stitched up some of those holes, they decided, it’d more than keep him covered at least.

Fortunately for now, Pink serves as a good enough deterrent for anyone who may want to threaten Artie, the scary dog that permits him to walk alone and unarmed through the dangerous night. No visitor would touch a visibly injured human being followed by a thing like Pink, few humans would dare approach something like them in the first place, let alone challenge them, and all that leaves is FEMA… which they were certainly hungry enough to have a solution for anyways.

They followed behind him at a somewhat consistent two metre distance, their clawed hands folded in the signature neurodivergent T.rex pose, though they unfurled at a glimpse of Ilya guarding the front gate in the distance. They shot a glare their way, but they did not leave to look for some sort of rematch, one they were certainly going to win at this rate. No, all they did was follow Artie past the fence, not daring to try fitting through the gap after him when climbing was an option. They had gotten very familiar with climbing since becoming a visitor, both out of necessity and because of their claws making the process far easier. Even now, their claws allowed them to grip the links of the fence with ease, allowing them to scale the fence with leopardlike speed. Just like a big cat as well, they landed on their feet next to him with a heavy thud, the muffled jingle of jewelry ringing out from their many pockets.

As the two of them finally approach the window of Artie’s room, their breathing grows rapid, as they try to figure out by scent if their theory about who this new person is might be true, and though they did not want to get their hopes up, no other explanation would make sense. As much as they tried to keep themselves from fixating too hard on their idea of what might await them, their excitement was tangible in the flexing of their claws and rushed pace.

Only for their theory to be proven exactly right. Artie’s a father, and they’re a… grandfather? Grandmother? …Grandparent, they suppose. They immediately drop to their knees, pressing the beak of the mask against the glass, eye locked onto Amorette, all in an attempt to get a better look at her without opening the window. No, they would hate for the teenager, and especially for her, to wake up to a sight like them.

They remember now from their human life that they had always loved kids and always wanted children of their own, they remember vaguely the baby dolls they played with as a child, visiting adoption agencies, fantasizing about having a family, their own blood or otherwise… all of those memories came flooding back to them at the sight of her, the first baby they had seen since their death, since the cataclysm.

Her little face, her tiny eyelashes, her soft little head of hair, her itty bitty fingers and toes, Death’s name, she was adorable, she was perfect. Amorette, little love, that’s exactly what Pink saw when they looked at her, their granddaughter. They wouldn’t have named her any differently.]

Amorrrrrrette…… why didn’t you tell me about my granddaughter ssssssooner??????

Well, ‘cause I couldn’t leave her alone, for one, an’ bringin’ her out here sounded like a shit idea…. Ah.. I wasn’t sure I was keepin’ her, anyway, so there wasn’t any point in tellin’ you if I was jus’ gonna get rid of her a week later..

<except now he’s afraid he’s too attached to hand her off… and unfortunately for him, vice versa. She’d practically imprinted on him, far too dependent to let him leave for more than a few hours. It was hell to give her to Nemoy. She has his jacket, in the hopes that a familiar object would help her calm down, and signify that he’d be back eventually. Though, of course, babies aren’t clever enough to really comprehend the notion of leaving and returning.>

<he runs one clammy-cold hand over his face, wiping it of exhaustion to the best of his abilities, before continuing on.>

I think I will keep her, now… I don’t know. I go back an’ forth.

If it matters, I’d rather you keep her…… I can help you with her, you know…… I’m the one who raises most of the “baby” vissssssitors that we find, I think I’m ussssssed enough to parenting for it……

[While none of their true visitor colleagues officially gave them the job of making sure “baby” visitors, that is newly risen visitors, don’t get themselves killed while they figure out how to function… they hardly do their primary job in comparison to every last one of their coworkers, and when they aren’t spending all that time not working and getting attached to random humans, they may as well do something else productive. So, they parent newly “born” visitors instead, and though they hardly remember anything about their human life, they figure it can’t be THAT different from raising human babies. Feed them, clean them, keep them uninjured, and love them, that’s all it really takes, if Artie and their countless visitor “children” are anything to go off.

Wait… Artie said he wasn’t so sure what she was, neither a girl or boy, and knowing she was certainly abandoned by whoever her parents must have been… their instincts may be right. She might be a monster too. Death’s sake, even within a family lacking any blood relation, they couldn’t help but end up with something as deformed as them as their granddaughter, they couldn’t help but curse another child to end up wrong by their wholly awful presence, in the same way they’d crippled Artie as a result of their horrible nature alone. Especially now that Orlov wasn’t around to fix either of them, surely he was too old now to still be around, if he had managed to survive the cataclysm at that.

They looked to Amorette again with a poorly masked self hatred in their expression… sorry, little love, for how they ruined you.]

I was.. Ah…. I was.. walkin’, an’ I saw this heap- figured it was bodies, so I came over- jus’ tryin’ t’ see if they dropped anythin’ I could take, without diggin’ too much, y’know… anyway, it was this er- couple. I don’t know what got ‘em, maybe a visitor? Coulda also jus’ been regular people though, with how things are goin’. Somethin’ fucked up- their heads— w-……

<he shakes his head, a small gagging noise following the gesture. Even thinking about it now makes him sick.>

……Ah.. Amor- Amorette wasn’t too far off. She wasn’t even cryin’.. jus’ reached for me like I was her mama all along?? …I’m not really sure what sadistic fuck’d do.. that t’ the parents an’ then jus’ leave her, but I couldn’t… I mean, she was gonna burn up…..

<he trails off, hands splayed out on either side of him, helpless in both expression and in body language. What was he meant to do? He turns to them, now that his story’s concluded, as if in search of an answer, something to make sense of and justify the whole situation. Or advice… anything. He’d take anything he could get his hands on. He wonders momentarily if Pink ate the corpses of her parents, if the headless couple were familiar to the insides of their mouths. Some morbidly symbolic cycle, an odd ritual. Maybe they’ve got her genetics stuck to their teeth. He shakes his head out, dismissing the thoughts quickly.>

I… I jus’ don’t know that I’m cut out t’ be a m- dad. I’m gonna fuck her up, an’ she’s gonna piss me off- why- why do it if nobody’s happy? I can barely get myself around, how the hell am I meant t’ get another needier person around??

<he touches his face again, overhearing as an odd contrast to his typical internal temperature. Fuck, maybe she passed her fever on. This is wildly inconvenient. He exhales tiredly, chin mounting the knee of his better leg as he considers his options for the hundredth time.>

..I guess I’ll keep her. ‘S not like anybody else’ll take her, anyway.. I jus’ need… help. I don’t think either of us’ll make it if I don’t have somebody else watchin’ her a few times a week- even once a week!

<he chuckles, but there is a very serious undertone to his voice. He really won’t survive without an occasional break, which he can’t have unless somebody else is caring for her. Even once a week sounds like bliss.>

Would you? Would Pearl mind that, or…?

<he sighs, relieved. Thank god for pink. He only worries about what their partner may do, should she discover Amorette in the arms of Pink.>

<he watches them for a response, only just barely capable to catch the pained expression beneath their mask. Had he said something wrong? Are they lying, for the sake of not hurting his feelings- should he have left her out there, all alone? Did he make another imbecilic decision? He holds the fabric of his shirt very tightly in one hand, worried, analyzing their face for further explanation.>

[They laughed, though seeing Artie suddenly looking not so amused quiets them quickly… they follow him down to the burnt grass as he sinks, letting out a groan in the process. They had been remarkably healthy for their age as a human, eating well and exercising regularly, but their age was not as invisible now that they weren’t feeding themselves much at all, despite what strength their new body gave them. They listened silently, sympathy in their widened eye, as Artie recounted the state in which he’d found Amorette and her parents.]

Merde, I…… I have no idea what could have done that…… there’s not really many of ussssss that go for the head, and I don’t think any of them would kill a couple, not eat them, and leave their kid to die…… and FEMA usually goes for gunssssss over anything more disfiguring……

[They tried to recount too if they’d come across the scene themselves, if they in fact might have eaten her parents’ remains. They could be certain that they weren’t responsible for their deaths, they would never have intentionally killed two individuals, certainly not a couple with a baby, and they would never kill without the intention to eat… but they also couldn’t recall coming across two nearly headless bodies either. Some other visitor must have eaten them first, they figured.

They paused for a moment as Artie went over his struggles with parenting, considering what to say for a moment before speaking. They knew the struggles of parenting well, especially since they functionally adopted him, but it wasn’t an easy thing to explain why they were still trying their best, despite being terrible enough to permanently disable him… they don’t think they’ll ever forgive themselves for that, even if they’ve managed to otherwise be good enough to earn forgiveness from Artie.]

Well, I don’t know how helpful this might be to you, but I know well by now that I’m not cut out to be a visitor. My one job is to eat people, and the consequence is slow, horrible sssssstarvation if I don’t, and yet I sssssspend my time teaching you how to make jewelry instead, because the guilt of what I have to do is overwhelming…… but, y’know, if I just gave up day one, I’d have never met you, or Pearl, or the Therapisssssst, anyone who’s important to me now……

[As they spoke, they slowly curled one arm around Artie’s shoulders, encouraging him to put his weight against their side, or bury his face in the fur of their jackets, as he often liked to do. With their other hand, they rummaged around in one of their pockets briefly, before presenting his now soldered first ring, ever so carefully slipping it onto his index finger. They paused to look down at his work once more with pride.]

Sssssso, you might figure things out, and she might turn out as fine as anyone can be in times like these, but even if you end up the worst father in the world, like how I’m certainly the single worst visitor out there…… it’ll still be worthwhile to keep trying.…… You’ll get ssssssomething out of it eventually……

[As for covering Artie when it comes to taking care of Amorette… really nothing sounds better to them than spending time with her, assuming she can tolerate looking at a thing like them. They would imagine she would get used to them, as her father had before, but only time would tell. They would have to do something about those claws of theirs too, in order to not risk hurting her, despite how careful they are, babies don’t have the same instincts that Artie might when it comes to not touching the sharp points. Death’s name, they weren’t looking forward to that.]

I can definitely do a few times a week, I don’t think she’ll mind as long as I keep my mouth shut about it…… she’ssssss not a fan of babies, for good reason, but she’s not been inclined to come here ssssssince the whole Ilya incident, sssssso I’m not sure she’ll even care……

[Well, she had been wanting to come back to the school, but for the sole purpose of ripping Ilya limb from limb for what they’d done… something Pink has been trying, and slowly failing, to keep her from doing… they can’t say they feel much more kindly towards that pond scum in yellow, or nor can they say they wouldn’t find any joy in pulling their teeth out one by one, but they knew killing them would only get them in more trouble. They’ve probably learned their lesson fine enough from the burns Pink had given them, too, but the trouble is convincing Pearl of any of that.]

Oh, no I’m okay…… just worried about whatever happened to her parents…… whoever’d do that……

<he considers what they’d told him. If not a visitor, or FEMA, then who?? He hasn’t suspected FEMA to begin with, but maybe some extraordinarily cruel visitor….? Even then, he hasn’t met any willing, or capable, to go to such an extreme. It’s a very odd thing, and it puts him on edge. Perhaps Amorette was a good thing, if she makes him stay inside…>

<he returns his attention to them, as they continue speaking, though his static-filled head makes it something of a nuisance to do.>

Yeah, I don’t know… I guess.. I jus’-… even if I get somethin’ out of it in the end, I still might fuck her over, an’ I don’t wanna do that, but y’know my mouth gets ahead of my mind sometimes an’ then I ssay-… an’ then she’ll be stuck thinkin’ she was the problem all the time, or she’ll hate me, an’ I-.. <he sighs.> I dont wanna be like-.. <like his own parents. He didn’t even really know what a parents was meant to be like, up until he met pink. He’s afraid that he doesn’t have it in him to be any better. He worries that he’ll leave amorette hurt, or abandoned, that he’ll fail to care for her properly, regardless of his kind intentions. He has a way of messing things up, and he would really rather not this series of unfortunate blunders apply to Amorette as well.>

Whatever. I probably will figure things out, I’m jus’ a little worried ‘s all. Feels shitty to bring a kid into all this bullshit, y’know?

<he closes his eyes, conscious worry receding to the back of his head, though the general anxiety remains intact. He crosses his arms over his stomach, the ring they’d just adorned him with glinting dimly beneath the radiance of the moon. He wishes very much that he could sleep now, though he keeps himself as awake as he can, knowing he’ll have to return to take amorette from Nemoy once pink leaves again. He exhales relievedly at their agreement to watch his daughter, so glad that tears sting his eyes at the prospect of not having to keep an eye on her.>

Thank you sso much… ohh, you’re a godsend, mama… er- pink— I meant… nevermind. I’m jus’ tired.

<he peeps open one eye at his slip up, reviewing their face with some worry. He doubts they’ll mind much, though some whisper at the base of his skull argues otherwise, very convincing in its argument. He changes the topic quickly, in the hopes that they won’t notice.>

..Oh. Yeah, me too. I’ve never seen anythin’ like it. ‘S some rancid shit, but I guess it makes sense, with everythin’ goin’ on..

They had to wonder how he tolerated it, how he tolerated them, how he could forgive them for how impossible they make it to love them… they were a thing, a thing with a monstrous face and decomposing body, a thing which had tried to eat him twice somewhat successfully, a thing that their own mother had not held love for… and yet, they’d tried hard enough that Artie still did. Almost reflexively by now, they moved to gently pet his hair as they spoke.]

Well, we’re not even the same sssssspecies, and the first thing I did when I met you was try to eat you, but there’ssssss no question in my mind right now about if I care about you, or if you care about me…… I can’t imagine words you could say on accident could put more of a divide between you and her than the boundaries we’re trampling this ssssssecond……

[They did their best to hold back on pointing out his language usage as he spilled his worries about parenting, vulgar as it was, they could wait to lecture him about it later. Still, they’d looked briefly irritated following each curse and swear, their face scrunching up with each instance like they were being repeatedly presented with some truly horrendous smell, attentive as they were to his other words.

Particularly, his little slip up.

Their wild pink eye went wide and dilated, like a cat about to pounce on prey or a toy alike, though they did not leap just yet, staring for a moment as they processed what they’d heard, like they had assumed they’d misheard it initially. Mama. Two syllables, easy enough to let slip out of your mouth on accident… but accident on not, it meant the world to them. Of course, they’d known for a while that them and Artie were more than just friends, no regular friendship would go to the lengths that they had for each other, lengths that only family, blood or not, ever would… but to hear confirmation of it still warmed their soft little heart. Their currently single mouth of needlish teeth slowly opened, hesitantly, into a smile, before they snatched him in an unintentionally tight hug, enough to lift him a few inches up, head bent down over his shoulder.]

You called me mama!!!!!!

[Their chest twitched and shook with the excited shuffling of their hidden wings, and from their laughter… well, they were either crying or laughing, Artie couldn’t quite tell, but it was out of pure joy either way.]

<he enjoys their presence, despite their “shortcomings”, which aren’t really in their control, because they’ve cared for him more attentively than any other person he can recall coming into contact with, aside from perhaps Lasha. They actively seek his presence, which is something not many others are willing to do. At the end of the day, they really are his mama.>

<he only sighs at their counter argument. He could come up with a plethora of things that would contradict their reasoning, but only time would tell how adequately he could raise a child. Playing an endless game of what-ifs will get neither of them anywhere. He flinches at the touch of their palms atop his head, slightly more on-edge than normal. His hair is abysmally coarse presently, tangled with such masterful detail that you’d think he tied the knots himself.>

<their disgust at his word choice slips him by entirely. He’d been doing quite well at monitoring his language for some time around pink, but in the perhaps week or less since he’d seen them, his attention towards his mouth had regressed a great deal. He also doesn’t notice the dilation of their pupils, nor the smile preceding their swift move to bring him to their arms. The pressure they force on his ribs makes him wheeze into the furs over their shoulder, pinned to their chest like a taxidermy butterfly, its wings splayed out to its sides. The jouncing of their wings beneath their skin makes him squeal, a noise akin to a piglet’s shrill whine, tickled in his abdomen.>

Well- jus’ ‘cause I got— you! I meant-

Even if he never once said they were his mama, never verbally expressed his love for them, never thought to gift them back for the ring they gave him, never would debate suicide at the thought of their relationship being irreversibly damaged, they can’t imagine they wouldn’t love him the exact same way regardless. They can’t imagine a work where they didn’t love him, impulses and rude language and all, with the unconditional affection of a mother. As hard as it was for either of them to fathom it, they were irreparably bonded together, two messed up individuals too comfortable around each other for their own good, never to abandon each other under any circumstance.]

Calm down kid, it’s okay, I’m not mad!!!!!!

[They were overjoyed, excited, overwhelmed, anything but mad, really. Im fact, his particular slip up got them thinking as well… “mama”… they supposed there wasn’t a gender neutral version of the term, maybe it was an easier default than “papa”, but… still, did this mean Artie saw them as a woman? Did this mean they WERE a woman? They weren’t sure how they felt about that, how correct that exactly was to admit. Women were beautiful, naturally ethereal, beings as innately and effortlessly beautiful as the cosmos, they were something so viscerally disgusting that shooting them on sight wasn’t a wholly unreasonable reaction… and besides that, it felt wrong, in a way they couldn’t fully articulate. No, they couldn’t be a woman.]

I love you, kid, I don’t think I ssssssay it enough……

<the soft noise issuing out from his throat wavers and dies. Ilya’s words echo pink’s and he shifts uncomfortably in their lap. Artie, you make it very hard to love you. Two insults in one, truly. “You’re difficult”- preceding “to love”. Not only is he a burden, but also one who is undeserving of affection, let alone love. Are “undeserving of love” and “incapable of giving and receiving love” synonymous? He doesn’t know. Mostly he knows that things go poorly when he returns the words. He’d come to the conclusion that were he not to say “I love you” back to pink, when they came to visit after the accident, they would have fled into the night. He would’ve saved Ilya a bullet and their voice, pink getting scorched, and himself swimming through mountains of gore to separate the two halves of his life, so they didn’t kill one another. He’s terribly aware how irrational his thought process is, but with his track record it’s not entirely unreasonable either. He picks apart the blood-and-surely-other-bodily-fluids-crusted bits of fur on their coats, fingers working tirelessly behind their head. He could pretend he didn’t hear them? No, his ear is quite literally pressed against their throat, and the other is only his head’s width away from the origin of their voice. The silence spans on, like a walk of shame, straining in the darkness. Surely they could smell the insecurity seeping out from beneath his ribs, like some truly rancid secretion? Anxiousness and shame potent enough to make them gag. A change of topic might be good.>

…..you’re not really my “mama” though, are you?- er- I mean-… Are you even a woman?

Though, they did decide to let it go, as Artie changed the topic, their expression reverting to their more regular smile]

I don’t…… I don’t know, really……

[Honestly, Artie knew about as much as they did regarding their own gender, hard as they’d tried to remember what they may have been as a human, and hard as they tried to find out otherwise. Even under their extensive coverings, hard as they looked… all indications of what they should have been have been distorted beyond identification. Their face, even held together to be as close as they can manage to human-looking, is not identifiably male or female in construction. Their voice too is, at best, slightly feminine in sound, though the echoing of their choir of a voice made any comparison to existing gender roles difficult. Similar is their chest, nippleless and with one side at least a full cup size larger than the other. That isn’t to even address the space between their legs, occupied by a massive perpetually weeping scar no prettier than their face, jagged and long enough to reach the lower edge of their navel. Like their face too, they knew well it widened further when they lost focus on keeping themselves from splitting, eventually joining together with their chest scar to form one long gorey line down their entire front half. Likely it was that whatever killed them had created it in their final moments, since wounds after death usually heal, but… why? Why not rip them in two after killing them first?]

I don’t care that much what you call me, though…… if you sssssay I’m not a woman, guess I’m not…… it’sssss not like I remember my name either……

What d’you mean you don’t know?? How could you not know?

<how could they not know? What does this imply? He assumes their response means any typical indicator of what sex they may be, has either vanished with the appearance of their visitorhood, or is entirely unrecognizable, too difficult to label as one or the other.>

Does… like, Pearl, or any other visitor have-? Are they men or women?

<his frown deepens at their next response. His hands had already worked through all of the tangled fur he could reach, without bending himself further down their back. His work is finished then, he supposes. He allows his palms to lie flush against the backside of their ribs, warming up quickly with the insulation their coats provide.>

Well… ‘s in the middle between mama, an’ papa then? Pink, you’re not very helpful, I’m afraid.

[As they calmed down from the excitement of him calling them mama, they slowly folded their wings back into something more proper for human anatomy, and something that better protected their largely useless but incredibly delicate internal organs, in the process giving Artie an easier shape to wrap his arms around.]

Kid, you know how my face and my chest look, you think the resssssst of me’s any prettier??????

[Not to mention their often filthy and horribly overgrown claws, the wrinkled mold-grey surface of their skin, sometimes putrefied to the point of wholly dissolving into rotten sludge, their usually abhorrent smell, and their tendency to be found bent over meat that a vulture wouldn’t touch, they were anything but a pretty thing. Really it would be remarkable if there was anything physically normal someone could find on them. A horrible decaying shell to held their soft little heart.]

Death’ssssss name kid, why’s that matter to you??????

[They spoke with amusement in their echoing voice, shooting him a toothy smile, knowing well he didn’t mean for it to come across as the perverted question it came out as, but more than happy to take the opportunity to tease him about it anyway. Then, as quickly as they’d jokingly scolded him for asking, they switched their tone, an unspoken “just kidding” preceding their answer… avoiding referencing the exact anatomy of their fiance, of course.]

I don’t know about what other visitors have between their legssssss, I haven’t checked too many myself, but I haven’t met another one who wasn’t sure about their gender……

[Despite their joke, they spoke honestly, knowledgable as they are about their kind’s biology, no one they knew had exactly tried to reestablish gender roles in their species, nor had any of them seriously tried to reproduce in times like these. They strained trying to recall another visitor like them, one who similarly had no idea and one whose body was distorted as horribly as theirs… they had a feeling they must have met one even more hideous than themselves, some truly hideous thing with a trio of faces not unlike their own infinity, but… the memory is hazy, almost like recalling a dream. It certainly felt like one.

They weren’t quite sure if they were still human when they had come across this visitor, assuming they were any more than a figment of their own imagination… but their recollection was as hazy as all of their remaining memories of humanity were, so surely they were still alive then, right? Either way, they remember the feeling of cold, clotted blood on their body, on what must have been naked skin… why were they naked again? Maybe they just forgot what they were wearing, or maybe this was just some nonsense from their imagination . But… they remembered how their face ached, the taste of their own brain collapsing into their mouth, how stiff their body felt against the sharp black grass. They remember they felt good, like everything was okay in the world… surely a dream, then, it was the apocalypse after all. They shook their head as they refocused on Artie’s words, the memory fading back into the fog of their mind.]

I really don’t know kid, you can just call me one of them if you want, like I ssssssaid, it doesn’t bother me what you call me……

[They smile, failing to notice his jealousy at their nonchalance about their own gender and its expression, given they didn’t exactly envy their own situation, being free in a way they never sook to be, at the cost of becoming monstrous beyond any recognition through an agonizing and nonconsensual process. Why in the world would Artie be jealous of them?]

<he shifts against them, as they recoil their outstretched wings, resettled into the cavity of their chest. He huffs into the plume of fur bordering their neck, caught somewhere between indignant and embarrassed. Was it a stupid question? He feels scolded in a way that makes him feel it was a stupid question. He is also far too prideful to let himself get embarrassed that easily.>

I- No, no- I didn’t mean- ‘s jus’ like— I-I-…

<his nose drags along the space over their collarbone, the steady decline of muscle beneath their furs, until his nose rests at the ledge of their shoulder. Heat crawls up his neck settling into the pale flesh of his face, spanning over his bones, shocking his nerves, burning him from the inside out. Well now he’s embarrassed. He doesn’t catch the play in their tone, only the subtle cry of protest in their words at his curiosity.>

Sorry. <the lonesome word emerges with no more volume than the footstep of a mouse, awkward but entirely sincere. He is very cocky, but not quite enough so that he finds it below himself to apologize- mostly because he fears it would hurt their feelings if he didn’t. Though, the shame for his internal outburst of jealousy, and his unintentionally perverted question is certainly a strong motivator as well.>

<in the very least, he’s glad they answered his question. The information wasn’t important to him in any means past satiating curiosity, but he found it interesting nonetheless. Pink is a relatively unique case then, it seems. He considers vaguely what this meant for their human life. Were they always neutral in this way, even as a human, or did it come with their visitoring? He wonders if they had any children of their own, or if the potential oddity in their gender as a human made it impossible. Guilt takes him by surprise, at the notion. Is he taking the place of some more deserving person, or people? Ones who are wondering where their parent had gone, ones worrying themselves sick? Children of their own, who had been raised by pink, only for them to vanish? If the hypothetical children discovered an imposter in their place, how would they feel? They’d hate him probably. For good reason, too. He hardly deserves a place at their side, he hadn’t done anything to earn their care, other than displaying his obnoxiously persistent desire for connection. He retracts his arms from down their back, sliding delicately out of their lap with a frown. Do they only like him for fulfilling the subconscious space of some missing child? A puzzle piece that doesn’t fit quite right, but is just good enough to slot into the hole where their real child should be? He’s not their kid. He only sort of thinks he is, but that doesn’t count for much in the face of their real offspring. He’s probably only a placeholder. He turns the ring they gave him around his index, gut churning, pinkened in his bout of upset.>

What? <he forgot to pay attention. His mind catches up to what they’d been saying, letting silence settle between the two for only a moment, before he responds.>

Oh. Okay. Well…. How’s.. I don’t know. ‘S real hard t’ think of somethin’ that doesn’t sound stupid. Ah…. My name’s stupid anyways, so I guess we can be matching, right? <he giggles lightly, watching his hands, rather than holding their gaze. He figures that he doesn’t really have to keep eye contact to be polite anymore, right? Now they’re too deeply attached to leave him for his minor flaws. They can’t leave, like they could before, so it’s okay to drop his facade!>

…I don’t know. D’you like baba? I think ‘s not as bad as like… yaya or somethin’. Might be the best you’re gonna get.

///OOC

TW FOR BLOOD AND GUN BUT HERES SOME RECENT ART OF HIM :3

<well…. He’d found them. He’d found them, so what now? He hadn’t really thought about what to say. This makes him nervous, which is an odd thing to be, for him, because he isn’t nervous nearly… ever. He tries to think very quickly, because surely they can smell him now, which means that if he doesn’t come to them, they’ll only come to him. He hesitates, before moving towards them, resumed in his mission.>

Pink, hi- er- hey… <bad start. He inhales shallowly, hardly taking in enough oxygen to resettle himself.> Look, will you come with me? I really need t’ get your help with somethin’, ‘cause-…. Well, it’d be better if I jus’ show you, I think…. Ah… please??

<he talks very quickly, a certain stiffness to his tone. He looks distinctly… tired. Worn down, almost. He also reeks of something softer, and something acidic, adjacent to the scents of shampoo and vomit, only slightly off. Nothing that he’d smell of typically, worn like an awful cologne, to such a degree that his usual scent becomes more of an undertone than anything.>

<the delivery of his request came across more poorly than he’d hoped for, and he pulls at the strap of his bag, not dissimilarly to the way he had upon meeting them at the therapist’s house. He looks nearly ready to sink to his knees and either sleep or cry for some time, however, he does not. He only looks at them tiredly, and anxiously, waiting for some signal that they will not scold him for whatever he desires them for.>

—🪙 ( @carrying-coins )

[Pink had smelled Artie before they were saw him, his signature smell of coins still easily picked up by their nose despite the rancid smell of vomit accompanying him. Worried as that smell made them for his wellbeing, they had figured if he was sick enough for it to be his own vomit, he wouldn’t have the strength to be wandering around the wastelands… but that begged the question, whose was it? They approached with little hesitation as they picked out his silhouette in the darkness, getting something to eat could wait.]

Hey kiddo!!!!!! I was jusssssst about to visit, what…… uh…… you look rrrrrrough……

[Death’s sake, he looked like he’d just survived a tornado. As they approached, they almost felt the need to pick him up and carry him back to the school, given the way his body trembled with exhaustion. For now, they look him over for injuries… he wasn’t visibly bleeding at least, he probably didn’t get attacked. Was he actually sick, and just forcing himself to venture out? They would hope not, but given how they knew his survival instincts were, they would not be surprised if that were the case.]

Okay, if it’ssssss important……

[As Artie turned, they followed close behind him, sniffing him, trying to discern whatever the issue was that had him in such a worn down shape… they could pick up the smell of someone new to them all over him, the smell of old milk and… baby formula. Their eye went wide at the implication, could it be??]

<At their agreement, he offers up a silent, rather strained grin, before turning and leading them back the way he’d initially come. He’s far slower now, his walking speed drastically reduced from where it had been prior to his injury. He struggles greatly to run, and he’s got no weapon, nor a will to fight- he shouldn’t be out at all, but he’s quite a determined thing, so that all becomes an afterthought. He’d made it out here fine, anyways, hadn’t he?>

<it takes them all of twenty or so minutes to reach the chain link fence bordering the school, most of which he’d spent in absolute silence. He trails along the exterior of the barrier, until he reaches a small hole, just wide enough to fit his body, which he tucks himself through with a small series of grunts. He could potentially go through the gate instead, but he’s not sure who’s meant to be guarding it today, and he’d rather not show up with Pink and risk catastrophe. He figures they can climb the fence, though with how thin they are, they may be able to squeeze through the way he’d just done. He moves out of the way, in any case, allowing them to make their way past the border between school grounds and the expanse of deteriorated landscape, prior to moving forward again.>

<he clings to the innermost section of the fence, hesitant to pass windows and raise alarm, though luckily many of such windows have their curtains drawn, to shield from the light of when daytime comes around. He only begins moving closer to the school, once he’s certain he’s approaching the right window. He may be able to bring them inside, if the window is unlocked, only he can’t remember if he’d left the latch down or not…>

<finally, he stands before the window of his room, leaning his face forward against the glass. The smell of whoever he’d been around is far stronger now, along with the scent of somebody else entirely. Upon viewing, the sight of a teenager, perhaps sixteen, or seventeen, cradling an infant no older than six months greets the pair. Both are asleep, which comes as a shock to Artie, though a relief, considering how violent of a tantrum she’d thrown when he passed her off on Nemoy. He turns to pink anxiously, attempting to gauge their reaction before speaking.>

That’s- ah… she’s my-…. I don’t know. I call her a “her”, y’know, but I’ve not really got any idea what she is, actually.. an’ she’s not really my “daughter”, or anythin’, but—….. anyway, that’s Ettie— ah.. Amorette.

[They laughed, but Death’s name, they’d have their work cut out for him later… his hair looked matted all over again, not to mention the state of his clothes. He could borrow a coat while they washed them and stitched up some of those holes, they decided, it’d more than keep him covered at least.

Fortunately for now, Pink serves as a good enough deterrent for anyone who may want to threaten Artie, the scary dog that permits him to walk alone and unarmed through the dangerous night. No visitor would touch a visibly injured human being followed by a thing like Pink, few humans would dare approach something like them in the first place, let alone challenge them, and all that leaves is FEMA… which they were certainly hungry enough to have a solution for anyways.

They followed behind him at a somewhat consistent two metre distance, their clawed hands folded in the signature neurodivergent T.rex pose, though they unfurled at a glimpse of Ilya guarding the front gate in the distance. They shot a glare their way, but they did not leave to look for some sort of rematch, one they were certainly going to win at this rate. No, all they did was follow Artie past the fence, not daring to try fitting through the gap after him when climbing was an option. They had gotten very familiar with climbing since becoming a visitor, both out of necessity and because of their claws making the process far easier. Even now, their claws allowed them to grip the links of the fence with ease, allowing them to scale the fence with leopardlike speed. Just like a big cat as well, they landed on their feet next to him with a heavy thud, the muffled jingle of jewelry ringing out from their many pockets.

As the two of them finally approach the window of Artie’s room, their breathing grows rapid, as they try to figure out by scent if their theory about who this new person is might be true, and though they did not want to get their hopes up, no other explanation would make sense. As much as they tried to keep themselves from fixating too hard on their idea of what might await them, their excitement was tangible in the flexing of their claws and rushed pace.

Only for their theory to be proven exactly right. Artie’s a father, and they’re a… grandfather? Grandmother? …Grandparent, they suppose. They immediately drop to their knees, pressing the beak of the mask against the glass, eye locked onto Amorette, all in an attempt to get a better look at her without opening the window. No, they would hate for the teenager, and especially for her, to wake up to a sight like them.

They remember now from their human life that they had always loved kids and always wanted children of their own, they remember vaguely the baby dolls they played with as a child, visiting adoption agencies, fantasizing about having a family, their own blood or otherwise… all of those memories came flooding back to them at the sight of her, the first baby they had seen since their death, since the cataclysm.

Her little face, her tiny eyelashes, her soft little head of hair, her itty bitty fingers and toes, Death’s name, she was adorable, she was perfect. Amorette, little love, that’s exactly what Pink saw when they looked at her, their granddaughter. They wouldn’t have named her any differently.]

Amorrrrrrette…… why didn’t you tell me about my granddaughter ssssssooner??????

Well, ‘cause I couldn’t leave her alone, for one, an’ bringin’ her out here sounded like a shit idea…. Ah.. I wasn’t sure I was keepin’ her, anyway, so there wasn’t any point in tellin’ you if I was jus’ gonna get rid of her a week later..

<except now he’s afraid he’s too attached to hand her off… and unfortunately for him, vice versa. She’d practically imprinted on him, far too dependent to let him leave for more than a few hours. It was hell to give her to Nemoy. She has his jacket, in the hopes that a familiar object would help her calm down, and signify that he’d be back eventually. Though, of course, babies aren’t clever enough to really comprehend the notion of leaving and returning.>

<he runs one clammy-cold hand over his face, wiping it of exhaustion to the best of his abilities, before continuing on.>

I think I will keep her, now… I don’t know. I go back an’ forth.

If it matters, I’d rather you keep her…… I can help you with her, you know…… I’m the one who raises most of the “baby” vissssssitors that we find, I think I’m ussssssed enough to parenting for it……

[While none of their true visitor colleagues officially gave them the job of making sure “baby” visitors, that is newly risen visitors, don’t get themselves killed while they figure out how to function… they hardly do their primary job in comparison to every last one of their coworkers, and when they aren’t spending all that time not working and getting attached to random humans, they may as well do something else productive. So, they parent newly “born” visitors instead, and though they hardly remember anything about their human life, they figure it can’t be THAT different from raising human babies. Feed them, clean them, keep them uninjured, and love them, that’s all it really takes, if Artie and their countless visitor “children” are anything to go off.

Wait… Artie said he wasn’t so sure what she was, neither a girl or boy, and knowing she was certainly abandoned by whoever her parents must have been… their instincts may be right. She might be a monster too. Death’s sake, even within a family lacking any blood relation, they couldn’t help but end up with something as deformed as them as their granddaughter, they couldn’t help but curse another child to end up wrong by their wholly awful presence, in the same way they’d crippled Artie as a result of their horrible nature alone. Especially now that Orlov wasn’t around to fix either of them, surely he was too old now to still be around, if he had managed to survive the cataclysm at that.

They looked to Amorette again with a poorly masked self hatred in their expression… sorry, little love, for how they ruined you.]

I was.. Ah…. I was.. walkin’, an’ I saw this heap- figured it was bodies, so I came over- jus’ tryin’ t’ see if they dropped anythin’ I could take, without diggin’ too much, y’know… anyway, it was this er- couple. I don’t know what got ‘em, maybe a visitor? Coulda also jus’ been regular people though, with how things are goin’. Somethin’ fucked up- their heads— w-……

<he shakes his head, a small gagging noise following the gesture. Even thinking about it now makes him sick.>

……Ah.. Amor- Amorette wasn’t too far off. She wasn’t even cryin’.. jus’ reached for me like I was her mama all along?? …I’m not really sure what sadistic fuck’d do.. that t’ the parents an’ then jus’ leave her, but I couldn’t… I mean, she was gonna burn up…..

<he trails off, hands splayed out on either side of him, helpless in both expression and in body language. What was he meant to do? He turns to them, now that his story’s concluded, as if in search of an answer, something to make sense of and justify the whole situation. Or advice… anything. He’d take anything he could get his hands on. He wonders momentarily if Pink ate the corpses of her parents, if the headless couple were familiar to the insides of their mouths. Some morbidly symbolic cycle, an odd ritual. Maybe they’ve got her genetics stuck to their teeth. He shakes his head out, dismissing the thoughts quickly.>

I… I jus’ don’t know that I’m cut out t’ be a m- dad. I’m gonna fuck her up, an’ she’s gonna piss me off- why- why do it if nobody’s happy? I can barely get myself around, how the hell am I meant t’ get another needier person around??

<he touches his face again, overhearing as an odd contrast to his typical internal temperature. Fuck, maybe she passed her fever on. This is wildly inconvenient. He exhales tiredly, chin mounting the knee of his better leg as he considers his options for the hundredth time.>

..I guess I’ll keep her. ‘S not like anybody else’ll take her, anyway.. I jus’ need… help. I don’t think either of us’ll make it if I don’t have somebody else watchin’ her a few times a week- even once a week!

<he chuckles, but there is a very serious undertone to his voice. He really won’t survive without an occasional break, which he can’t have unless somebody else is caring for her. Even once a week sounds like bliss.>

Would you? Would Pearl mind that, or…?

<he sighs, relieved. Thank god for pink. He only worries about what their partner may do, should she discover Amorette in the arms of Pink.>

<he watches them for a response, only just barely capable to catch the pained expression beneath their mask. Had he said something wrong? Are they lying, for the sake of not hurting his feelings- should he have left her out there, all alone? Did he make another imbecilic decision? He holds the fabric of his shirt very tightly in one hand, worried, analyzing their face for further explanation.>

[They laughed, though seeing Artie suddenly looking not so amused quiets them quickly… they follow him down to the burnt grass as he sinks, letting out a groan in the process. They had been remarkably healthy for their age as a human, eating well and exercising regularly, but their age was not as invisible now that they weren’t feeding themselves much at all, despite what strength their new body gave them. They listened silently, sympathy in their widened eye, as Artie recounted the state in which he’d found Amorette and her parents.]

Merde, I…… I have no idea what could have done that…… there’s not really many of ussssss that go for the head, and I don’t think any of them would kill a couple, not eat them, and leave their kid to die…… and FEMA usually goes for gunssssss over anything more disfiguring……

[They tried to recount too if they’d come across the scene themselves, if they in fact might have eaten her parents’ remains. They could be certain that they weren’t responsible for their deaths, they would never have intentionally killed two individuals, certainly not a couple with a baby, and they would never kill without the intention to eat… but they also couldn’t recall coming across two nearly headless bodies either. Some other visitor must have eaten them first, they figured.

They paused for a moment as Artie went over his struggles with parenting, considering what to say for a moment before speaking. They knew the struggles of parenting well, especially since they functionally adopted him, but it wasn’t an easy thing to explain why they were still trying their best, despite being terrible enough to permanently disable him… they don’t think they’ll ever forgive themselves for that, even if they’ve managed to otherwise be good enough to earn forgiveness from Artie.]

Well, I don’t know how helpful this might be to you, but I know well by now that I’m not cut out to be a visitor. My one job is to eat people, and the consequence is slow, horrible sssssstarvation if I don’t, and yet I sssssspend my time teaching you how to make jewelry instead, because the guilt of what I have to do is overwhelming…… but, y’know, if I just gave up day one, I’d have never met you, or Pearl, or the Therapisssssst, anyone who’s important to me now……

[As they spoke, they slowly curled one arm around Artie’s shoulders, encouraging him to put his weight against their side, or bury his face in the fur of their jackets, as he often liked to do. With their other hand, they rummaged around in one of their pockets briefly, before presenting his now soldered first ring, ever so carefully slipping it onto his index finger. They paused to look down at his work once more with pride.]

Sssssso, you might figure things out, and she might turn out as fine as anyone can be in times like these, but even if you end up the worst father in the world, like how I’m certainly the single worst visitor out there…… it’ll still be worthwhile to keep trying.…… You’ll get ssssssomething out of it eventually……

[As for covering Artie when it comes to taking care of Amorette… really nothing sounds better to them than spending time with her, assuming she can tolerate looking at a thing like them. They would imagine she would get used to them, as her father had before, but only time would tell. They would have to do something about those claws of theirs too, in order to not risk hurting her, despite how careful they are, babies don’t have the same instincts that Artie might when it comes to not touching the sharp points. Death’s name, they weren’t looking forward to that.]

I can definitely do a few times a week, I don’t think she’ll mind as long as I keep my mouth shut about it…… she’ssssss not a fan of babies, for good reason, but she’s not been inclined to come here ssssssince the whole Ilya incident, sssssso I’m not sure she’ll even care……

[Well, she had been wanting to come back to the school, but for the sole purpose of ripping Ilya limb from limb for what they’d done… something Pink has been trying, and slowly failing, to keep her from doing… they can’t say they feel much more kindly towards that pond scum in yellow, or nor can they say they wouldn’t find any joy in pulling their teeth out one by one, but they knew killing them would only get them in more trouble. They’ve probably learned their lesson fine enough from the burns Pink had given them, too, but the trouble is convincing Pearl of any of that.]

Oh, no I’m okay…… just worried about whatever happened to her parents…… whoever’d do that……

<he considers what they’d told him. If not a visitor, or FEMA, then who?? He hasn’t suspected FEMA to begin with, but maybe some extraordinarily cruel visitor….? Even then, he hasn’t met any willing, or capable, to go to such an extreme. It’s a very odd thing, and it puts him on edge. Perhaps Amorette was a good thing, if she makes him stay inside…>

<he returns his attention to them, as they continue speaking, though his static-filled head makes it something of a nuisance to do.>

Yeah, I don’t know… I guess.. I jus’-… even if I get somethin’ out of it in the end, I still might fuck her over, an’ I don’t wanna do that, but y’know my mouth gets ahead of my mind sometimes an’ then I ssay-… an’ then she’ll be stuck thinkin’ she was the problem all the time, or she’ll hate me, an’ I-.. <he sighs.> I dont wanna be like-.. <like his own parents. He didn’t even really know what a parents was meant to be like, up until he met pink. He’s afraid that he doesn’t have it in him to be any better. He worries that he’ll leave amorette hurt, or abandoned, that he’ll fail to care for her properly, regardless of his kind intentions. He has a way of messing things up, and he would really rather not this series of unfortunate blunders apply to Amorette as well.>

Whatever. I probably will figure things out, I’m jus’ a little worried ‘s all. Feels shitty to bring a kid into all this bullshit, y’know?

<he closes his eyes, conscious worry receding to the back of his head, though the general anxiety remains intact. He crosses his arms over his stomach, the ring they’d just adorned him with glinting dimly beneath the radiance of the moon. He wishes very much that he could sleep now, though he keeps himself as awake as he can, knowing he’ll have to return to take amorette from Nemoy once pink leaves again. He exhales relievedly at their agreement to watch his daughter, so glad that tears sting his eyes at the prospect of not having to keep an eye on her.>

Thank you sso much… ohh, you’re a godsend, mama… er- pink— I meant… nevermind. I’m jus’ tired.

<he peeps open one eye at his slip up, reviewing their face with some worry. He doubts they’ll mind much, though some whisper at the base of his skull argues otherwise, very convincing in its argument. He changes the topic quickly, in the hopes that they won’t notice.>

..Oh. Yeah, me too. I’ve never seen anythin’ like it. ‘S some rancid shit, but I guess it makes sense, with everythin’ goin’ on..

They had to wonder how he tolerated it, how he tolerated them, how he could forgive them for how impossible they make it to love them… they were a thing, a thing with a monstrous face and decomposing body, a thing which had tried to eat him twice somewhat successfully, a thing that their own mother had not held love for… and yet, they’d tried hard enough that Artie still did. Almost reflexively by now, they moved to gently pet his hair as they spoke.]

Well, we’re not even the same sssssspecies, and the first thing I did when I met you was try to eat you, but there’ssssss no question in my mind right now about if I care about you, or if you care about me…… I can’t imagine words you could say on accident could put more of a divide between you and her than the boundaries we’re trampling this ssssssecond……

[They did their best to hold back on pointing out his language usage as he spilled his worries about parenting, vulgar as it was, they could wait to lecture him about it later. Still, they’d looked briefly irritated following each curse and swear, their face scrunching up with each instance like they were being repeatedly presented with some truly horrendous smell, attentive as they were to his other words.

Particularly, his little slip up.

Their wild pink eye went wide and dilated, like a cat about to pounce on prey or a toy alike, though they did not leap just yet, staring for a moment as they processed what they’d heard, like they had assumed they’d misheard it initially. Mama. Two syllables, easy enough to let slip out of your mouth on accident… but accident on not, it meant the world to them. Of course, they’d known for a while that them and Artie were more than just friends, no regular friendship would go to the lengths that they had for each other, lengths that only family, blood or not, ever would… but to hear confirmation of it still warmed their soft little heart. Their currently single mouth of needlish teeth slowly opened, hesitantly, into a smile, before they snatched him in an unintentionally tight hug, enough to lift him a few inches up, head bent down over his shoulder.]

You called me mama!!!!!!

[Their chest twitched and shook with the excited shuffling of their hidden wings, and from their laughter… well, they were either crying or laughing, Artie couldn’t quite tell, but it was out of pure joy either way.]

<he enjoys their presence, despite their “shortcomings”, which aren’t really in their control, because they’ve cared for him more attentively than any other person he can recall coming into contact with, aside from perhaps Lasha. They actively seek his presence, which is something not many others are willing to do. At the end of the day, they really are his mama.>

<he only sighs at their counter argument. He could come up with a plethora of things that would contradict their reasoning, but only time would tell how adequately he could raise a child. Playing an endless game of what-ifs will get neither of them anywhere. He flinches at the touch of their palms atop his head, slightly more on-edge than normal. His hair is abysmally coarse presently, tangled with such masterful detail that you’d think he tied the knots himself.>

<their disgust at his word choice slips him by entirely. He’d been doing quite well at monitoring his language for some time around pink, but in the perhaps week or less since he’d seen them, his attention towards his mouth had regressed a great deal. He also doesn’t notice the dilation of their pupils, nor the smile preceding their swift move to bring him to their arms. The pressure they force on his ribs makes him wheeze into the furs over their shoulder, pinned to their chest like a taxidermy butterfly, its wings splayed out to its sides. The jouncing of their wings beneath their skin makes him squeal, a noise akin to a piglet’s shrill whine, tickled in his abdomen.>

Well- jus’ ‘cause I got— you! I meant-

Even if he never once said they were his mama, never verbally expressed his love for them, never thought to gift them back for the ring they gave him, never would debate suicide at the thought of their relationship being irreversibly damaged, they can’t imagine they wouldn’t love him the exact same way regardless. They can’t imagine a work where they didn’t love him, impulses and rude language and all, with the unconditional affection of a mother. As hard as it was for either of them to fathom it, they were irreparably bonded together, two messed up individuals too comfortable around each other for their own good, never to abandon each other under any circumstance.]

Calm down kid, it’s okay, I’m not mad!!!!!!

[They were overjoyed, excited, overwhelmed, anything but mad, really. Im fact, his particular slip up got them thinking as well… “mama”… they supposed there wasn’t a gender neutral version of the term, maybe it was an easier default than “papa”, but… still, did this mean Artie saw them as a woman? Did this mean they WERE a woman? They weren’t sure how they felt about that, how correct that exactly was to admit. Women were beautiful, naturally ethereal, beings as innately and effortlessly beautiful as the cosmos, they were something so viscerally disgusting that shooting them on sight wasn’t a wholly unreasonable reaction… and besides that, it felt wrong, in a way they couldn’t fully articulate. No, they couldn’t be a woman.]

I love you, kid, I don’t think I ssssssay it enough……

<the soft noise issuing out from his throat wavers and dies. Ilya’s words echo pink’s and he shifts uncomfortably in their lap. Artie, you make it very hard to love you. Two insults in one, truly. “You’re difficult”- preceding “to love”. Not only is he a burden, but also one who is undeserving of affection, let alone love. Are “undeserving of love” and “incapable of giving and receiving love” synonymous? He doesn’t know. Mostly he knows that things go poorly when he returns the words. He’d come to the conclusion that were he not to say “I love you” back to pink, when they came to visit after the accident, they would have fled into the night. He would’ve saved Ilya a bullet and their voice, pink getting scorched, and himself swimming through mountains of gore to separate the two halves of his life, so they didn’t kill one another. He’s terribly aware how irrational his thought process is, but with his track record it’s not entirely unreasonable either. He picks apart the blood-and-surely-other-bodily-fluids-crusted bits of fur on their coats, fingers working tirelessly behind their head. He could pretend he didn’t hear them? No, his ear is quite literally pressed against their throat, and the other is only his head’s width away from the origin of their voice. The silence spans on, like a walk of shame, straining in the darkness. Surely they could smell the insecurity seeping out from beneath his ribs, like some truly rancid secretion? Anxiousness and shame potent enough to make them gag. A change of topic might be good.>

…..you’re not really my “mama” though, are you?- er- I mean-… Are you even a woman?

Though, they did decide to let it go, as Artie changed the topic, their expression reverting to their more regular smile]

I don’t…… I don’t know, really……

[Honestly, Artie knew about as much as they did regarding their own gender, hard as they’d tried to remember what they may have been as a human, and hard as they tried to find out otherwise. Even under their extensive coverings, hard as they looked… all indications of what they should have been have been distorted beyond identification. Their face, even held together to be as close as they can manage to human-looking, is not identifiably male or female in construction. Their voice too is, at best, slightly feminine in sound, though the echoing of their choir of a voice made any comparison to existing gender roles difficult. Similar is their chest, nippleless and with one side at least a full cup size larger than the other. That isn’t to even address the space between their legs, occupied by a massive perpetually weeping scar no prettier than their face, jagged and long enough to reach the lower edge of their navel. Like their face too, they knew well it widened further when they lost focus on keeping themselves from splitting, eventually joining together with their chest scar to form one long gorey line down their entire front half. Likely it was that whatever killed them had created it in their final moments, since wounds after death usually heal, but… why? Why not rip them in two after killing them first?]

I don’t care that much what you call me, though…… if you sssssay I’m not a woman, guess I’m not…… it’sssss not like I remember my name either……

What d’you mean you don’t know?? How could you not know?

<how could they not know? What does this imply? He assumes their response means any typical indicator of what sex they may be, has either vanished with the appearance of their visitorhood, or is entirely unrecognizable, too difficult to label as one or the other.>

Does… like, Pearl, or any other visitor have-? Are they men or women?

<his frown deepens at their next response. His hands had already worked through all of the tangled fur he could reach, without bending himself further down their back. His work is finished then, he supposes. He allows his palms to lie flush against the backside of their ribs, warming up quickly with the insulation their coats provide.>

Well… ‘s in the middle between mama, an’ papa then? Pink, you’re not very helpful, I’m afraid.

‘S actually very good. I ate one earlier, t’ test that they weren’t shit. Definitely not only ‘cause I like orange juice, or anythin’…

<he grins, though it’s quite short lived. He hopes that they’ll take the bait. They hadn’t been eating particularly well, and this may not necessarily fill their stomach, but it’s relatively vitamin-rich, and it’ll hydrate them surely… plus, if he could tempt them into eating just a little bit now, maybe they’d realize that wow, they actually are hungry, and then he could feed them something of greater value. He’s gotta play the long game to feed them. His sixty-step plan.>

—🪙 ( @carrying-coins) //nothingburger rp starter but I wanted them to play a lil bit and I couldn’t think of anything else parce que im a chud 🌅🌅🫂

[Lasha looked over at Artie through their hair and blankets. They don’t move much outside of their eyes flicking over to Artie and a slight adjustment of their posture. They hardly ever get out of bed, they haven’t showered— hell when was the last time they went to the bathroom?

They don’t know why they’re like this right now. Being so difficult and worrisome and ruining everything. They’re ruining everything. They’ve ruined everything. Their hand chords through Data’s soft fur. They entrust Data to Lucie when she needs to go outside and play.]

‘M not hungry…

[Thats a lie. They are extremely hungry, they haven’t eaten in 38 hours. They’re thirsty, they haven’t drank anything in 14. They don’t want resources to go to waste on someone so difficult to be around. Seriously, why doesn’t anyone drag them out of bed and force them outside already? Instead of trying to coax them out of their episode gently. It’d be easier to just accept that they’re making love to one already dead.

Data sneezes in her slumber, stretching her legs and pushing them against Lasha stomach, causing them to change position more for the sake of her comfortability. They’re much more lenient in their stubbornness for Data.

To take the popsicle would mean admitting that there have a problem, they feel. It would be admitting that they need help— which they want so badly to believe they don’t, even if they know they do. Even if they know that their stubbornness causes a burden. They can’t.

Their stomach cramps painfully in hunger, growling low and loud, they try not to let the hunger phase them. They want to sleep. The body is a machine, huh? So then why not let the defective machine go and turn it into spare parts? Why keep it around?

Is it because they can provide money for food through their body? Is that all they’re good for? A temporary release and then what?

<at data’s nudging and nosing he absentmindedly pats her head, a silent acknowledgement of her existence. Poor puppy, born into all this hot. She might not ever know anything but the heat of a world on fire. It’ll make her resilient surely, but miserable too.>

Look, jus’ one bite. It’ll melt all over my hands.

<he jams it directly against their mouth, cold and sweet, and surely enticing. He watches them for a reaction.>

I can airplane it, if you’d like.

<he puts it in their unburned hand, wrapping their fingers around the stick. He understands their avoidance. He knows their misery down to his gut, memorized, an etching inscribed into his very soul. It took him a solid two weeks to get back to eating semi-normally. Now the roles are reversed. He bites his lip in thought.>

I could baby-bird it t’ you.

<he’s chock-full of solutions. He smiles wide, sitting back beside them, petting their hair away from their face. They’re cocooned all up like a little butterfly, hidden unhappily beneath their blankets, ready to blossom into something better any minute. He grabs their hand and nudges the popsicle towards their mouth again, persistent in his endeavor.>

[Lasha sighed, opening their mouth and allowing the cold sweetness of the orange treat onto their tastebuds. They suckled at it like an infant to a mother’s teat, it was the path of least resistance. Lasha usually would’ve made a joke about it being baby birded to them. But they can’t think of anything funny to say.

Either way, Artie: 1, Lasha: 0. He’d gotten some amount of sugar into their system, it staved off some of the hunger pangs and shakiness by raising their blood sugar levels and giving them back some of the hydration they’d been desperately needing.

The cold on their teeth hurts a little, but they keep the treat within their mouth. It reminds them of childhood and their neighbor who’d let them use her pool in the summertime. She had kids their age. They were friends outside of school, but not in school. She’d make homemade popsicles too, out of fruit and fruit juice and a little bit of sugar. Her husband worked out of state. Lasha only met him once. He was named Daryl, and he was a trucker.

That’s all Lasha really remembers about them. The pool and a trucker and three other kids. Two boys, one girl.

They don’t remember faces. And they don’t remember their hair in the right way. They don’t remember conversations or anything of the sort. They just remember swimming to the bottom of the pool one day, and feeling like they could disappear.

Juice trickles down their chin, Data licks it up happily when she notices it. Their eyes drift closed, to get well they must be almost like an infant, allow others to care for them. But it’s so hard. And they can’t remember the last time it had gotten so bad.]

‘M sorry.

[Their voice is muffled from the obstruction in their mouth. Artie doesn’t need this. He doesn’t need them. He deserves better, they think. He deserves someone who doesn’t cower, who doesn’t isolate and self destruct. He deserves someone better.

Lasha doesn’t really interpret this as returning the favor, when Lasha had sat by his bed and taken care of him each and every day and night despite the difficulties and anxieties that came with it. That was just them earning their place. That wasn’t a favor— that was needed. Artie was in pain and needed someone.

Why can’t they apply the same logic to themself? Are they not also in pain? Terrified and regretful and collapsing like a neutron star?

The physical can be fixed so much easier than the mental. The physical can be pointed to. “Here, it’s here that hurts.” And there are medicines and doctors to help you, and there are people that believe you, and say that you’re brave for continuing on despite the hurt.

There’s no such fanfare for someone trapped in their own head. There’s nobody to say “I see you, I see your hurt, I love you regardless.” There’s no calm in this storm. Lasha needs to either get it together, or disappear entirely. A priest from their past life comes to tell them that their borrowed time is run out. Lasha runs from the shadow of their past, only to trip on their old banjo, right where they started.

They chose to close their eyes. They chose to leave everything behind. They chose to slit their own throat just to see if anyone would mourn.

They can’t prove that nobodies out to get them. They can’t prove that anyone really does this because they think they’re worth saving.

It’s more than a little self pitying, poor them, caged and misunderstood. Lasha wants help but doesn’t want to get better. They like it here, in their own misery, it’s familiar, it’s where they’re meant to be, they don’t want to change.

They know they have to. The longer they remain like this, the more damage it causes. Not just to them, but to innocent bystanders. They watch a ballerina dance behind their eyes. The light above slowly fades, casting them in shadow, the music stops, the crowd departs.

<he waits patiently while they finish it off, licking the cold until only the sweetness of the wood greets their tongue. He will remember their reaction to this one. This tactic, this food, this entrance, jotted down at the back of his head, so he can replicate it with excruciating accuracy. It’s the only way he knows how. Familiarity is most desirable. A memory, a remnant of something that felt… better. A routine, that’s what people like. Except for when they don’t. Except for once they start feeling trapped, smothered by the monotone repetition that is life. Then they don’t like it so much. He’ll remember it either way. If they don’t like it next time, he’ll tweak his experiment. That’s how you get progress.>

<he isn’t personally fond of popsicles. Too cold, they scare him. He’ll freeze, won’t he? From the inside out. But he does like orange juice. Enough to tempt him drinking it frozen. They’d tried popsicles on him at some point during his own depressive recovery period, he’s sure. He can’t remember it very well. Blocked out for good reason.>

<he looks down at them with fond eyes, analytical eyes, ones they’ve looked at probably a thousand times by now. Boring eyes by now, certainly. Familiarity also harbors boredom.>

Sorry for what, even? You didn’t do anythin’ wrong. Jus’ eat your popsicle.

<he means it very literally. Just eat your popsicle. Stop letting your mind spin itself in circles with misery, and eat your popsicle. It’s a very good popsicle. He had one earlier, so he would know. It’s wonderfully cold, a nice contrast with the sweltering madness rotting everything outside of the window. Mercy in the flavour of an orange.>

<the thing is, is that like-minded people tend to fall into one another’s social circles. For every flaw they’ve got, he’s got one to mirror it. He’ll tear himself down if it means he earns a second of attention from any living soul. He’ll also run as quick as he can, a terrified rabbit into its familiar burrow, the moment he believes you dislike him. And the worst part is that he likes it best here. Stuck in this broken mindset, because he’s not go the energy nor the bravery to change, to be any better. This is comfortable. He matches them in infallible resonance, a pair of frequencies so perfectly aligned that their amplitudes and troughs fall into one another, and get louder all the while, building eachother up. Of course they deserve each other. He doesn’t deserve any better than them, because any better than them would make him profoundly uncomfortable. Two matching halves, if you try to fit them with anything else, pieces will just break off. Neither of them deserve that. Nobody else deserves that either. They wouldn’t fit anywhere else.>

<he presses his lips to their forehead again, then their mouth, absorbing the sickly sweet off of the thin, minute hairs above their mouth.>

You ready for a shower? It’ll be real good, swear. I pinky promise, actually. Best damn shower you’ve had in all your life.

Who the hell’s out there?

—🪙 ( @carrying-coins) //sorry this took forever & ever to send my motivation was terrible 💔

[Footsteps could be heard, soon, a figure came from behind a tree.]

[It was… Bee? Or at least someone that was eerily similar to him. The face, the build, even the hair was identical. Just how it was styled and what he was wearing was different. “Bee” frowned, immediately rushing over.]

“Oh.. oh my, are you okay? You’re bleeding! C’mon, sit, sit..”

<they flinch back rather violently, nearly stumbling to the floor as he emerges, only caught by the elbow of a tree. They stare at him, nose scrunched uncertainly, clearly shocked by the appearance of this man.>

Wh- Bee..??? Ha- who the hell’re you??

<they can tell by his distinctly calm nature and the absence of his signature alcohol-hairspray-citrus smell that this isn’t bee… or they don’t think so? They don’t object very lordly as he guides them down to the base of the tree’s roots, only cringing back like a frightened cat, still startled by his abrupt entrance.>

W- I’m fine. Happens all the time- Why’re you jus’ out in the middle of the forest? ‘S creepy as fuck- Jesus..

[Wasp said with a soft smile, immediately rummaging through his tote bag with a huff.]

“..I live here! I have a camper van and everything! Much better than living out in society.. much more safer too.. breathe, yeah? Pretty sure I have something that can help you..”

[Wasp murmured sweetly, pulling out a couple of things such as a clean rag, bottle of water, some containers.. Wasp opened the water and began to dampen the rag with it.]

M- uhh.. Right. I don’t need h- whatever.

<they survey his face from their position a few inches below, relaxing ever-so-slowly. I too quick to trust, easy to convince. They shift their gaze down towards his hands, glancing briefly at the new objects, before deeming them safe enough to not mind.>

…My name’s Arthur- Artie. My name is Artie. I think I’ve got it, thanks. ‘S jus’ a bunch of trees an’ shit, I’m sure I can figure it out.. aha…

[Wasp instructed, gently wiping the blood off of Artie’s mouth, humming some song under his breath— probably something from The Beatles. It was unclear.]

“Hm! Sit, sit..”

[Wasp insisted, sitting Artie down on the small couch. Wasp took off his bag and placed it on a counter.]

Ah…. Huh?.. Oh- no, I’m fine- ‘s a lot of colour isn’t there? Aha…

“Sorry! Should’ve warned you.. at least it’s night, yeah? Won’t mess with you that much.”

[Wasp shrugged, pausing before quickly grabbing a small bottle of water and placed it on Artie’s lap.]

<they take the bottle gratefully, unscrewing the cap and taking a small sip to pass the silence in less awkwardness. If you’re doing something, instead of speaking, then that’s okay… if you sit in complete silence with no task, then it gets awkward.>

[Wasp simply said, he grabbed Artie’s arm.]

“…Calm down, he’s fine, okay? If I was the one bandaging him up, he’s quite alright. I made sure of it.”

[Wasp explained, rubbing Artie’s knuckles with his thumb.]

I know that, I jus’ wanna see him. Whatever. Sure. Thanks for your… for lettin’ me stay.

“Of course, of course.. it’s the bare minimum for me to do. Would you like anything to eat? I do believe I have food left.. or would you like a blanket? Really, I’m the host, I want to make sure my guest is comfortable.”

…Yeah, sure. Thanks. <he sighs, resting his head on the palm of his hand, elbow jammed into his thigh.>

[Wasp teased, chuckling as he stood up and went over to the mini fridge; he crouched down and opened it, grabbing a bowl. Wasp went back over to Artie and placed it in his lap.]

[Wasp said, leaning in and lightly sniffing Artie, clearly unbothered by how Artie smelled.]

Well, sure I’ve been around bee…. Ah… About… me?? I don’t know. I like coins. My mama’s a visitor, but I sure as hell ain’t.. My cat’s gonna be needin’ t’ be fed around now, but I’m not there t’ feed her, so I hope bee remembers…

<they frown, shifting awkwardly about the couch, an animal weary of a potential predator.>

into the Forrest? Pfff- for what? Like nuts an’ berries? Hasn’t most of that stuff all burned up?

<he shifts nervously. Is wasp crazy, playing with him, or something else entirely?? Pink mentioned that visitors could go outside during the day… could that be it? His face reddens in his increased anxiety. Well… he hasn’t done anything so far? No need to agitate him, then… He settles himself back, still a little stiff in posture.>

“Calm down, Artie.. you’re fine, I can tell you’re a little anxious.”

“…Breathe, relax if you can.”

<relax? Why? So he can eat them? To get their guard down, and strike when they’re not paying attention? So that their flesh is softer, less lean? Something that will melt in his mouth, easy to chew, and delicious? They search the floor with eyes that waver in their gaze, hardly still for longer than two seconds. Their eyelashes brush his shoulder at their every twitch of the eyelid, every move in gaze as their eyes roll in their head.>

I am breathing. I’m fine. ‘S normal, an’ I am being normal. I don’t need to. Relax. Or anythin’.

[Wasp murmured softly, resting his chin on top of Artie’s head as he closed his eyes.]

Who the hell’s out there?

—🪙 ( @carrying-coins) //sorry this took forever & ever to send my motivation was terrible 💔

[Footsteps could be heard, soon, a figure came from behind a tree.]

[It was… Bee? Or at least someone that was eerily similar to him. The face, the build, even the hair was identical. Just how it was styled and what he was wearing was different. “Bee” frowned, immediately rushing over.]

“Oh.. oh my, are you okay? You’re bleeding! C’mon, sit, sit..”

<they flinch back rather violently, nearly stumbling to the floor as he emerges, only caught by the elbow of a tree. They stare at him, nose scrunched uncertainly, clearly shocked by the appearance of this man.>

Wh- Bee..??? Ha- who the hell’re you??

<they can tell by his distinctly calm nature and the absence of his signature alcohol-hairspray-citrus smell that this isn’t bee… or they don’t think so? They don’t object very lordly as he guides them down to the base of the tree’s roots, only cringing back like a frightened cat, still startled by his abrupt entrance.>

W- I’m fine. Happens all the time- Why’re you jus’ out in the middle of the forest? ‘S creepy as fuck- Jesus..

[Wasp said with a soft smile, immediately rummaging through his tote bag with a huff.]

“..I live here! I have a camper van and everything! Much better than living out in society.. much more safer too.. breathe, yeah? Pretty sure I have something that can help you..”

[Wasp murmured sweetly, pulling out a couple of things such as a clean rag, bottle of water, some containers.. Wasp opened the water and began to dampen the rag with it.]

M- uhh.. Right. I don’t need h- whatever.

<they survey his face from their position a few inches below, relaxing ever-so-slowly. I too quick to trust, easy to convince. They shift their gaze down towards his hands, glancing briefly at the new objects, before deeming them safe enough to not mind.>

…My name’s Arthur- Artie. My name is Artie. I think I’ve got it, thanks. ‘S jus’ a bunch of trees an’ shit, I’m sure I can figure it out.. aha…

[Wasp instructed, gently wiping the blood off of Artie’s mouth, humming some song under his breath— probably something from The Beatles. It was unclear.]

“Hm! Sit, sit..”

[Wasp insisted, sitting Artie down on the small couch. Wasp took off his bag and placed it on a counter.]

Ah…. Huh?.. Oh- no, I’m fine- ‘s a lot of colour isn’t there? Aha…

“Sorry! Should’ve warned you.. at least it’s night, yeah? Won’t mess with you that much.”

[Wasp shrugged, pausing before quickly grabbing a small bottle of water and placed it on Artie’s lap.]

<they take the bottle gratefully, unscrewing the cap and taking a small sip to pass the silence in less awkwardness. If you’re doing something, instead of speaking, then that’s okay… if you sit in complete silence with no task, then it gets awkward.>

[Wasp simply said, he grabbed Artie’s arm.]

“…Calm down, he’s fine, okay? If I was the one bandaging him up, he’s quite alright. I made sure of it.”

[Wasp explained, rubbing Artie’s knuckles with his thumb.]

I know that, I jus’ wanna see him. Whatever. Sure. Thanks for your… for lettin’ me stay.

“Of course, of course.. it’s the bare minimum for me to do. Would you like anything to eat? I do believe I have food left.. or would you like a blanket? Really, I’m the host, I want to make sure my guest is comfortable.”

…Yeah, sure. Thanks. <he sighs, resting his head on the palm of his hand, elbow jammed into his thigh.>

[Wasp teased, chuckling as he stood up and went over to the mini fridge; he crouched down and opened it, grabbing a bowl. Wasp went back over to Artie and placed it in his lap.]

[Wasp said, leaning in and lightly sniffing Artie, clearly unbothered by how Artie smelled.]

Well, sure I’ve been around bee…. Ah… About… me?? I don’t know. I like coins. My mama’s a visitor, but I sure as hell ain’t.. My cat’s gonna be needin’ t’ be fed around now, but I’m not there t’ feed her, so I hope bee remembers…

<they frown, shifting awkwardly about the couch, an animal weary of a potential predator.>

into the Forrest? Pfff- for what? Like nuts an’ berries? Hasn’t most of that stuff all burned up?

<he shifts nervously. Is wasp crazy, playing with him, or something else entirely?? Pink mentioned that visitors could go outside during the day… could that be it? His face reddens in his increased anxiety. Well… he hasn’t done anything so far? No need to agitate him, then… He settles himself back, still a little stiff in posture.>

“Calm down, Artie.. you’re fine, I can tell you’re a little anxious.”

“…Breathe, relax if you can.”

<relax? Why? So he can eat them? To get their guard down, and strike when they’re not paying attention? So that their flesh is softer, less lean? Something that will melt in his mouth, easy to chew, and delicious? They search the floor with eyes that waver in their gaze, hardly still for longer than two seconds. Their eyelashes brush his shoulder at their every twitch of the eyelid, every move in gaze as their eyes roll in their head.>

I am breathing. I’m fine. ‘S normal, an’ I am being normal. I don’t need to. Relax. Or anythin’.

Who the hell’s out there?

—🪙 ( @carrying-coins) //sorry this took forever & ever to send my motivation was terrible 💔

[Footsteps could be heard, soon, a figure came from behind a tree.]

[It was… Bee? Or at least someone that was eerily similar to him. The face, the build, even the hair was identical. Just how it was styled and what he was wearing was different. “Bee” frowned, immediately rushing over.]

“Oh.. oh my, are you okay? You’re bleeding! C’mon, sit, sit..”

<they flinch back rather violently, nearly stumbling to the floor as he emerges, only caught by the elbow of a tree. They stare at him, nose scrunched uncertainly, clearly shocked by the appearance of this man.>

Wh- Bee..??? Ha- who the hell’re you??

<they can tell by his distinctly calm nature and the absence of his signature alcohol-hairspray-citrus smell that this isn’t bee… or they don’t think so? They don’t object very lordly as he guides them down to the base of the tree’s roots, only cringing back like a frightened cat, still startled by his abrupt entrance.>

W- I’m fine. Happens all the time- Why’re you jus’ out in the middle of the forest? ‘S creepy as fuck- Jesus..

[Wasp said with a soft smile, immediately rummaging through his tote bag with a huff.]

“..I live here! I have a camper van and everything! Much better than living out in society.. much more safer too.. breathe, yeah? Pretty sure I have something that can help you..”

[Wasp murmured sweetly, pulling out a couple of things such as a clean rag, bottle of water, some containers.. Wasp opened the water and began to dampen the rag with it.]

M- uhh.. Right. I don’t need h- whatever.

<they survey his face from their position a few inches below, relaxing ever-so-slowly. I too quick to trust, easy to convince. They shift their gaze down towards his hands, glancing briefly at the new objects, before deeming them safe enough to not mind.>

…My name’s Arthur- Artie. My name is Artie. I think I’ve got it, thanks. ‘S jus’ a bunch of trees an’ shit, I’m sure I can figure it out.. aha…

[Wasp instructed, gently wiping the blood off of Artie’s mouth, humming some song under his breath— probably something from The Beatles. It was unclear.]

“Hm! Sit, sit..”

[Wasp insisted, sitting Artie down on the small couch. Wasp took off his bag and placed it on a counter.]

Ah…. Huh?.. Oh- no, I’m fine- ‘s a lot of colour isn’t there? Aha…

“Sorry! Should’ve warned you.. at least it’s night, yeah? Won’t mess with you that much.”

[Wasp shrugged, pausing before quickly grabbing a small bottle of water and placed it on Artie’s lap.]

<they take the bottle gratefully, unscrewing the cap and taking a small sip to pass the silence in less awkwardness. If you’re doing something, instead of speaking, then that’s okay… if you sit in complete silence with no task, then it gets awkward.>

[Wasp simply said, he grabbed Artie’s arm.]

“…Calm down, he’s fine, okay? If I was the one bandaging him up, he’s quite alright. I made sure of it.”

[Wasp explained, rubbing Artie’s knuckles with his thumb.]

I know that, I jus’ wanna see him. Whatever. Sure. Thanks for your… for lettin’ me stay.

“Of course, of course.. it’s the bare minimum for me to do. Would you like anything to eat? I do believe I have food left.. or would you like a blanket? Really, I’m the host, I want to make sure my guest is comfortable.”

…Yeah, sure. Thanks. <he sighs, resting his head on the palm of his hand, elbow jammed into his thigh.>

[Wasp teased, chuckling as he stood up and went over to the mini fridge; he crouched down and opened it, grabbing a bowl. Wasp went back over to Artie and placed it in his lap.]

[Wasp said, leaning in and lightly sniffing Artie, clearly unbothered by how Artie smelled.]

Well, sure I’ve been around bee…. Ah… About… me?? I don’t know. I like coins. My mama’s a visitor, but I sure as hell ain’t.. My cat’s gonna be needin’ t’ be fed around now, but I’m not there t’ feed her, so I hope bee remembers…

<they frown, shifting awkwardly about the couch, an animal weary of a potential predator.>

into the Forrest? Pfff- for what? Like nuts an’ berries? Hasn’t most of that stuff all burned up?

<he shifts nervously. Is wasp crazy, playing with him, or something else entirely?? Pink mentioned that visitors could go outside during the day… could that be it? His face reddens in his increased anxiety. Well… he hasn’t done anything so far? No need to agitate him, then… He settles himself back, still a little stiff in posture.>

“Calm down, Artie.. you’re fine, I can tell you’re a little anxious.”

Small sticky notes were left around the building in slightly poor Russian— most likely Bee’s doing, but he did include small translations at the bottom from German, to broken French, and to English.

“A “Goodbye World” party is happening! Bring drinks, food, and whoever you want! Quitters are visitors.”

The large room had already been decorated— thanks to Host and Bee. There were at least three stacks of nine vinyl records beside a vinyl player, one song already playing.

Drinks— going from soda to alcohol (there was some juice.. just to be safe) neatly arranged on different tables, cups stacked on said tables, and there was a snack table pressed against the wall near a window.

There were chairs at a couple of empty tables, a couch that somehow got in, and four packs of poker cards on one of the tables.

Bee was already pouring himself a drink, pausing a bit before turning around, he simply waved at everyone and gestured for them to come over.

“C’mon! Party’s gonna be boring if you don’t join..”

The room was filled with banderoles and colorful balloons, but the star of the show was the rock music playing in the background : good stuff. Some american music... Wich was kind of rebellious for Russia.

They correctes some of the sticky notes in passive agressive red pen, like a teacher would do.*

- Everyone welcomed. Let's have fun. Chill visitors allowed. Or not. LoL.

*But for good measure, they tried to recruit some other people more directly, either by voice or by sliding them notes, like in school.

Those lucky few were :

<he really can’t make distinctions between faces, and therefore identify the partygoers, especially with all the movement, but with host’s vibrant appearance… they were bound to catch his eye. He comes to them, like a dog summoned, roughly as stiff as a board, some intrigued grin playing across his lips.>

Say, you put this all together? ‘S a goddamn feat for the apocalypse! Aha… I don’t think I’ve seen you before, ‘s your name?

*Host turned when they realised they were spoken to, and they answered as if they knew Arthur all their life. They gave her a nod of knowledge and appreciation, before reaching for another glass. They looked quite... Not-Thirsty-Anymore-If-You-Know-What-I-Mean.*

- Glad you came, mistery patient... Call me Host.

*It's not a name at all. It's just a job title ! But much like "The Hermit" or "The Vigilante", Host wanted a title of their own... Something to make them a legend.*

- I was helped by the dude with the wild red hair. Bee. You know him ? A nice block, helped me with the music...

<he offers them a wide smile, stupid-looking, though it’s got a little charm to it, should they take the time to observe more closely.>

Oh, sure I know bee. ‘S good music. He knows ‘bout good music.

<obviously. Or else he wouldn’t have been recruited to help put the party together. He chuckles awkwardly, shifting so that the entirety of his weight is rested on the better of his feet.>

I ah… like your eyes. How’d you get ‘em done?

*They mocked, like a parrot. Of course they already knew her name. They did their own little research, after all, and could not forget such a squeeshable face ! They smiled with little pointy teeth... Shark like.*

- I know you know him. "Roomates", riiight ?

*Who the hell was this newcomer ?! And what were they implying ? Black sclera made their eyes harder to read...

As they accepted the compliment on it with a surprised look on their face, Host answered quite simply, moving their shoulders up in the air as if this was a very stupid question. But heh. Poor little thing looked all shy and anwkard ! It was cute, tho, and Host felt like being a little mischivious.*

- Ink.

*They smacked their forehead as if they suddenly remembered something important, clearly playing dumb.*

- Wait ! No ! Sorry, I meant... I ate a virgin's heart at midnight during a satanic ritual in an ancestral forest with my cult bros and we managed to summon a demon from the 4th circle of hell, who pluckered my eyes out, ate them, and when I woke up I had eyes again but they were like this. Cool, no ?

<he smiles still- really, he hadn’t stopped smiling, since beginning their conversation- but there’s little joke in the way he says it. Palate of a twelve year old.>

Yeah- w- uhh.. <he hadn’t caught the sarcasm in their voice initially, the quiet implication, though the moment he does, his face flushes pink, nose scrunched at one corner in either confusion or some diluted form of disgust. Had they really figured him out that quickly?? Or… maybe bee had told them. He resettles his ruffled feathers, relaxed again.>

Well, obviously, I jus’ meant…. <he trails off as they begin recalling their epic tale, amusement scrawled across his narrow face.>

Right. You’ll have t’ take me some time. Hhaha..

<he crosses his arms over his midsection, still slightly nervous in his demeanor. Probably anybody would be a little nervous speaking to Host.>

Sso, d’you keep tabs on all your partygoers, or am I jus’ interestin’ an’ beautiful an’ funny enough t’ get stalked?

*No mockery, no teasing, no "cooome ooon it's a party !" Nor "are you sure ? There is enough for everyone dont be shy !" Or not even a "Real men start the night with vodka." That some others in the school could say... Host was not like that.

And they looked happy with it. More alcohol for them ! Huzzah !

... And oh such a party made them extroverted and LOUD.*

- BWAHAHAHAHA look at your faace ! Don't blush like thaaat it's alright ! Pffftt... poor little thing. All flusthered over nothing !

*Big arms gestures, almost theatrical, kicking their glass away... The vodka stained their pants and they did not even seem to notice. They laughed a bit more. If usually they were stern, serious and even grumpy, turning people away, this was the perfect moment to break the ice around them.*

- Yeeeah I'll ask my demon pal if he can do something for your leg...

*All eyes on it. Their pointy little nose all up Artie's business. Host smiled like the devil itself, offering a glass of water to their victim of the night. A glass they should be drinking themselves, if they didnt want to pass out a bit too soon in the evening...*

- That must be a nice story... Maybe even better than my eyes...

*Their voice, all honeyed, silently prayed "tell it to me". They leaned their bony body forward...*

- Snrk, arent you the jester ! Option two, obviously. I just couldnt let such a cute face anoymous ! And Bee was my first friend here... So it helped quite a lot. Lots of stories around here... You know what I mean.

<their commentary only eases his face into a further shade of rouge. He tucks the lower half of his face behind one hand, with a quiet exclamation of embarrassment, maybe an “oh my god”, or “fuck’s sake”, whispered and muffled to such a degree that it’s nearly indecipherable. Bashful animal around them, too shy to say anything louder. Or maybe only bashful to be so easily read, and so easily outed.>

<he drops his hand back to his side, with a sigh that’s been held in for a moment too long, released at long last. The pink in his face subsides, as they retrieve the glass, basking in the sound of their laughter, scratchy and loud against their throat, surely..>

Much appreciated.. <whether this is in appreciation towards the glass or their efforts with the demon is difficult to decipher. He offers them a courteous little nod as he receives the glass, too formal, but clearly intentionally that way, like a princess’s curtsy to a prince.>

<he sucks his teeth, almost thoughtfully..> ..twisted my ankle one time, so they jus’ had t’ take the whole thing off…

<he shakes his head, almost sadly, though his false demeanor only holds for a few seconds, before his grin inevitably returns, amused, once again, by himself. He seems satisfied enough by his response, failing to add more to his clearly inaccurate story, and rather taking a sip of the water they’d just given him.>

<he preens beneath their attention, some small silly bird with its feathers puffed out proudly, brightly coloured and hopping around to keep their engagement.>

*They mocked and teased with a smile, bitting into the bait. Playful joking around, no need to pry further for explanations. Host would find out soon enough. Nothing escaped those onix eyes.

They laughed some more, a bit more quietly, but still making some head turns, when the poor Artie acted so shy and charmed. So even in this rural, boring city, someone like Host could have a little fun ?*

- Flattering is not in my habits. Blame it on the alcohol. Or blame it on your pretty face.

*"Pretty". Not "handsome", not even "cute". Pretty, like a girl. It was just so... Obvious for Host. The way Artie moved and spoke softly, those outgrown hair, the manerism in the face, the princess salute, blushing so easily, the way she hide her face under her hand, even the nickname, "Artie", not "Art" or keeping what they assumed was "Arthur". The odd fashion style, so outdated, how queer...

Host met dozens of people just like her. Aware or unaware yet. But when they saw them again, after some months, some years, oh, how magnificent those blooming flowers were !

A little time and encouragement could help this shy button to grow and, one day, grace the world with it's true colors.

But that was getting a bit too abstract for a drunk they at the end of the world.*

- So we kiss or what ?

*It could be a joke. In some parts of Europe, such idioms mean "what are we doing now with this conversation", rather crudely, but used a lot inbetween friends. Hell, it could even be cruder ! In France, and surely other countries, "Shall we go or shall we fuck in the ass ?" Was an everyday saying. Yes. Even with coworkers or family. Yes. But here in Russia, the humor was... Dry. And sometimes even ... Just dead.

<he continues to giggle his shrill, loud giggle, infinitely amused by everything around him. An easy audience, if there ever was one. Best of luck, to Host, in pinpointing the real cause of his injury. He’d still yet to tell a soul anything even bordering the truth, Pink and Pearl would never tell a human something like that, and he doesn’t intend to spill his secret to a soul any time soon. Maybe a good thing he avoided drinking, lest he get even chattier and make a mistake…>

On m- on- <he stutters very awkwardly, giggling like a school girl, but also cowering so avidly that he looks nearly ready to flee and hide himself beneath the nearest bed. He hadn’t been to enough parties as a teen to know how to react in these situations. He’s usually the one flirting (or trying to, anyways), but very rarely is it reciprocated, and when it is, well… usually it’s a man, so he’s got a little more confidence in the matter. Lasha he hadn’t really flirted with, they were more friends, and then… whatever. This is entirely new territory to him. He stares at them dumbly, like an animal caught in a snare.>

<pretty, too.. he’s a sucker for compliments, most especially feminine-leaning ones, though he’d never admit it. Far too embarrassing…>

P- ‘s probably the alcohol.. hhaha.. <they seem…. A liiiittle out of his league… he pauses to take a sip of his water again, an attempt at calming his nerves. He feels incredibly foolish, stood there, tall and dry, like a tree with.. water. Flustered over nothing, like some terrible, awful romcom movie girl-protagonist, oh fuck, it’s really quite worthy of his shame.>

*The tattooed woman immediatly got up on wobbly legs, and then stumbled toward Artie, a bit too drunk to really stay on their feet. Poor girl was chocking because of their little joke ! Accidental murder attempt ! Woopsie !

Host began patting Artie's back, helping her get the water out entierly. But to be fair, Host was also mostly leaning on her, not very sure of their feet, and trying not to fall... Truly, it looked like a hug, or some anwkard dance, something a bit strange and esoteric !*

- Didnt mean to kill you, sweetheart ! It was just a saying, come on stay alive, the party just started.

*They grined, making it easy to read their expression. It was genuine, and they laughed again, sensing Artie so flusthered and... Ankward ? Oh.*

- Sorry, sorry, letting you go, poor thing.

*They sayed, noticing how tense and bad Artie could be feeling, and not wanting to make it worse. Consent queen. They gave a pat on her shoulder and departed. And dying laughing, as, taking a step back to go back to the table where they once sat, Host... Fell on the ground. And stayed there, laughing their heart out !*

- BWAHAHA ! Whao !

*They gave... Fingerguns ? How old was this weirdo ? Wher planet did they come from ?*

- Guess you are to fall for !

Pff, you’re one t’ speak, you’re ’bout drunk enough t- <a self-fulfilling prophecy. He tenses as they hit the floor, moving quickly to check that they’re okay. Upon hearing their sustained laughter, however, he relaxes, grinning wide.>

- We both saved each other from a certain death and from a fate far worse : humilation. Now our souls are kindred and we shall never forget it.

*Letting go of Artie's hand, Host reached for another drink... Water. Hooray !!! A smart decision ! This woman was definitly a huge brain...*

- I think I need that... Heh. Alcohol gives me the courage to speak to people but whao do I make a fool of myself !!!

*The curious eyes of Lucie drafted toward the loud voices and some others stared a little but quickly found the conversation boring... oh, not for long before Host jump on a table Bar Guy style but that's for another time !*

- Funny how we sometimes have to self sabotage to actually make some progress. I think we should never be afraid to get worse as a person if it's to find ourselves.

Yeah, an eye for an eye, or.. whatever. You seem like a pretty decent soul t’ be kindred with, so I guess we all win.

<he watches their next move with a gravely approving nod. For the best, probably.>

Sure, but the ones who stick around’ll stay your friends an’ the ones who think you’d made a fool of yourself’ll get forgotten. <he shrugs.> then once you’ve got enough friends from gettin’ drunk off your ass an’ fallin’ off tables an’ all, you won’t have t’ keep drinkin’ t’ get confidence.

<simple logic, truly. He doesn’t fully realize that this may egg them on. He glances vaguely at the source of most of the noise, watching either uncertain eyes. It’s odd to him how easily everyone manages to tolerate the volume. Isn’t loud supposed to be scary? The yelp of a predator, or the scream of a comrade warning of a predator? So then why isn’t anybody else ever nervous about it? Maybe that’s the point, actually. Nervousness can make you confident, too. Adrenaline runs rampant, and then you make a bold, or perhaps stupid decision. Overzealous decision. One you wouldn’t usually make. Maybe that’s why people like parties. He’s not very sure.>

<he refocuses his gaze on them. What were they saying? Something about… self sabotage? Get worse, to find yourself?>

Ah… sure. I guess. Well, actually if you have t’ get worse t’ find yourself doesn’t that jus’ make you a fundamentally shitty person? Like if you start kicking babies, or whatever, an’ go ‘wow, I feel like myself right now!’ Aren’t you jus’ like…. An asshole at heart?

Who the hell’s out there?

—🪙 ( @carrying-coins) //sorry this took forever & ever to send my motivation was terrible 💔

[Footsteps could be heard, soon, a figure came from behind a tree.]

[It was… Bee? Or at least someone that was eerily similar to him. The face, the build, even the hair was identical. Just how it was styled and what he was wearing was different. “Bee” frowned, immediately rushing over.]

“Oh.. oh my, are you okay? You’re bleeding! C’mon, sit, sit..”

<they flinch back rather violently, nearly stumbling to the floor as he emerges, only caught by the elbow of a tree. They stare at him, nose scrunched uncertainly, clearly shocked by the appearance of this man.>

Wh- Bee..??? Ha- who the hell’re you??

<they can tell by his distinctly calm nature and the absence of his signature alcohol-hairspray-citrus smell that this isn’t bee… or they don’t think so? They don’t object very lordly as he guides them down to the base of the tree’s roots, only cringing back like a frightened cat, still startled by his abrupt entrance.>

W- I’m fine. Happens all the time- Why’re you jus’ out in the middle of the forest? ‘S creepy as fuck- Jesus..

[Wasp said with a soft smile, immediately rummaging through his tote bag with a huff.]

“..I live here! I have a camper van and everything! Much better than living out in society.. much more safer too.. breathe, yeah? Pretty sure I have something that can help you..”

[Wasp murmured sweetly, pulling out a couple of things such as a clean rag, bottle of water, some containers.. Wasp opened the water and began to dampen the rag with it.]

M- uhh.. Right. I don’t need h- whatever.

<they survey his face from their position a few inches below, relaxing ever-so-slowly. I too quick to trust, easy to convince. They shift their gaze down towards his hands, glancing briefly at the new objects, before deeming them safe enough to not mind.>

…My name’s Arthur- Artie. My name is Artie. I think I’ve got it, thanks. ‘S jus’ a bunch of trees an’ shit, I’m sure I can figure it out.. aha…

[Wasp instructed, gently wiping the blood off of Artie’s mouth, humming some song under his breath— probably something from The Beatles. It was unclear.]

“Hm! Sit, sit..”

[Wasp insisted, sitting Artie down on the small couch. Wasp took off his bag and placed it on a counter.]

Ah…. Huh?.. Oh- no, I’m fine- ‘s a lot of colour isn’t there? Aha…

“Sorry! Should’ve warned you.. at least it’s night, yeah? Won’t mess with you that much.”

[Wasp shrugged, pausing before quickly grabbing a small bottle of water and placed it on Artie’s lap.]

<they take the bottle gratefully, unscrewing the cap and taking a small sip to pass the silence in less awkwardness. If you’re doing something, instead of speaking, then that’s okay… if you sit in complete silence with no task, then it gets awkward.>

[Wasp simply said, he grabbed Artie’s arm.]

“…Calm down, he’s fine, okay? If I was the one bandaging him up, he’s quite alright. I made sure of it.”

[Wasp explained, rubbing Artie’s knuckles with his thumb.]

I know that, I jus’ wanna see him. Whatever. Sure. Thanks for your… for lettin’ me stay.

“Of course, of course.. it’s the bare minimum for me to do. Would you like anything to eat? I do believe I have food left.. or would you like a blanket? Really, I’m the host, I want to make sure my guest is comfortable.”

…Yeah, sure. Thanks. <he sighs, resting his head on the palm of his hand, elbow jammed into his thigh.>

[Wasp teased, chuckling as he stood up and went over to the mini fridge; he crouched down and opened it, grabbing a bowl. Wasp went back over to Artie and placed it in his lap.]

[Wasp said, leaning in and lightly sniffing Artie, clearly unbothered by how Artie smelled.]

Well, sure I’ve been around bee…. Ah… About… me?? I don’t know. I like coins. My mama’s a visitor, but I sure as hell ain’t.. My cat’s gonna be needin’ t’ be fed around now, but I’m not there t’ feed her, so I hope bee remembers…

<they frown, shifting awkwardly about the couch, an animal weary of a potential predator.>

into the Forrest? Pfff- for what? Like nuts an’ berries? Hasn’t most of that stuff all burned up?

<he shifts nervously. Is wasp crazy, playing with him, or something else entirely?? Pink mentioned that visitors could go outside during the day… could that be it? His face reddens in his increased anxiety. Well… he hasn’t done anything so far? No need to agitate him, then… He settles himself back, still a little stiff in posture.>

Who the hell’s out there?

—🪙 ( @carrying-coins) //sorry this took forever & ever to send my motivation was terrible 💔

[Footsteps could be heard, soon, a figure came from behind a tree.]

[It was… Bee? Or at least someone that was eerily similar to him. The face, the build, even the hair was identical. Just how it was styled and what he was wearing was different. “Bee” frowned, immediately rushing over.]

“Oh.. oh my, are you okay? You’re bleeding! C’mon, sit, sit..”

<they flinch back rather violently, nearly stumbling to the floor as he emerges, only caught by the elbow of a tree. They stare at him, nose scrunched uncertainly, clearly shocked by the appearance of this man.>

Wh- Bee..??? Ha- who the hell’re you??

<they can tell by his distinctly calm nature and the absence of his signature alcohol-hairspray-citrus smell that this isn’t bee… or they don’t think so? They don’t object very lordly as he guides them down to the base of the tree’s roots, only cringing back like a frightened cat, still startled by his abrupt entrance.>

W- I’m fine. Happens all the time- Why’re you jus’ out in the middle of the forest? ‘S creepy as fuck- Jesus..

[Wasp said with a soft smile, immediately rummaging through his tote bag with a huff.]

“..I live here! I have a camper van and everything! Much better than living out in society.. much more safer too.. breathe, yeah? Pretty sure I have something that can help you..”

[Wasp murmured sweetly, pulling out a couple of things such as a clean rag, bottle of water, some containers.. Wasp opened the water and began to dampen the rag with it.]

M- uhh.. Right. I don’t need h- whatever.

<they survey his face from their position a few inches below, relaxing ever-so-slowly. I too quick to trust, easy to convince. They shift their gaze down towards his hands, glancing briefly at the new objects, before deeming them safe enough to not mind.>

…My name’s Arthur- Artie. My name is Artie. I think I’ve got it, thanks. ‘S jus’ a bunch of trees an’ shit, I’m sure I can figure it out.. aha…

[Wasp instructed, gently wiping the blood off of Artie’s mouth, humming some song under his breath— probably something from The Beatles. It was unclear.]

“Hm! Sit, sit..”

[Wasp insisted, sitting Artie down on the small couch. Wasp took off his bag and placed it on a counter.]

Ah…. Huh?.. Oh- no, I’m fine- ‘s a lot of colour isn’t there? Aha…

“Sorry! Should’ve warned you.. at least it’s night, yeah? Won’t mess with you that much.”

[Wasp shrugged, pausing before quickly grabbing a small bottle of water and placed it on Artie’s lap.]

<they take the bottle gratefully, unscrewing the cap and taking a small sip to pass the silence in less awkwardness. If you’re doing something, instead of speaking, then that’s okay… if you sit in complete silence with no task, then it gets awkward.>

[Wasp simply said, he grabbed Artie’s arm.]

“…Calm down, he’s fine, okay? If I was the one bandaging him up, he’s quite alright. I made sure of it.”

[Wasp explained, rubbing Artie’s knuckles with his thumb.]

I know that, I jus’ wanna see him. Whatever. Sure. Thanks for your… for lettin’ me stay.

“Of course, of course.. it’s the bare minimum for me to do. Would you like anything to eat? I do believe I have food left.. or would you like a blanket? Really, I’m the host, I want to make sure my guest is comfortable.”

…Yeah, sure. Thanks. <he sighs, resting his head on the palm of his hand, elbow jammed into his thigh.>

[Wasp teased, chuckling as he stood up and went over to the mini fridge; he crouched down and opened it, grabbing a bowl. Wasp went back over to Artie and placed it in his lap.]

[Wasp said, leaning in and lightly sniffing Artie, clearly unbothered by how Artie smelled.]

Well, sure I’ve been around bee…. Ah… About… me?? I don’t know. I like coins. My mama’s a visitor, but I sure as hell ain’t.. My cat’s gonna be needin’ t’ be fed around now, but I’m not there t’ feed her, so I hope bee remembers…

<they frown, shifting awkwardly about the couch, an animal weary of a potential predator.>

into the Forrest? Pfff- for what? Like nuts an’ berries? Hasn’t most of that stuff all burned up?

Who the hell’s out there?

—🪙 ( @carrying-coins) //sorry this took forever & ever to send my motivation was terrible 💔

[Footsteps could be heard, soon, a figure came from behind a tree.]

[It was… Bee? Or at least someone that was eerily similar to him. The face, the build, even the hair was identical. Just how it was styled and what he was wearing was different. “Bee” frowned, immediately rushing over.]

“Oh.. oh my, are you okay? You’re bleeding! C’mon, sit, sit..”

<they flinch back rather violently, nearly stumbling to the floor as he emerges, only caught by the elbow of a tree. They stare at him, nose scrunched uncertainly, clearly shocked by the appearance of this man.>

Wh- Bee..??? Ha- who the hell’re you??

<they can tell by his distinctly calm nature and the absence of his signature alcohol-hairspray-citrus smell that this isn’t bee… or they don’t think so? They don’t object very lordly as he guides them down to the base of the tree’s roots, only cringing back like a frightened cat, still startled by his abrupt entrance.>

W- I’m fine. Happens all the time- Why’re you jus’ out in the middle of the forest? ‘S creepy as fuck- Jesus..

[Wasp said with a soft smile, immediately rummaging through his tote bag with a huff.]

“..I live here! I have a camper van and everything! Much better than living out in society.. much more safer too.. breathe, yeah? Pretty sure I have something that can help you..”

[Wasp murmured sweetly, pulling out a couple of things such as a clean rag, bottle of water, some containers.. Wasp opened the water and began to dampen the rag with it.]

M- uhh.. Right. I don’t need h- whatever.

<they survey his face from their position a few inches below, relaxing ever-so-slowly. I too quick to trust, easy to convince. They shift their gaze down towards his hands, glancing briefly at the new objects, before deeming them safe enough to not mind.>

…My name’s Arthur- Artie. My name is Artie. I think I’ve got it, thanks. ‘S jus’ a bunch of trees an’ shit, I’m sure I can figure it out.. aha…

[Wasp instructed, gently wiping the blood off of Artie’s mouth, humming some song under his breath— probably something from The Beatles. It was unclear.]

“Hm! Sit, sit..”

[Wasp insisted, sitting Artie down on the small couch. Wasp took off his bag and placed it on a counter.]

Ah…. Huh?.. Oh- no, I’m fine- ‘s a lot of colour isn’t there? Aha…

“Sorry! Should’ve warned you.. at least it’s night, yeah? Won’t mess with you that much.”

[Wasp shrugged, pausing before quickly grabbing a small bottle of water and placed it on Artie’s lap.]

<they take the bottle gratefully, unscrewing the cap and taking a small sip to pass the silence in less awkwardness. If you’re doing something, instead of speaking, then that’s okay… if you sit in complete silence with no task, then it gets awkward.>

[Wasp simply said, he grabbed Artie’s arm.]

“…Calm down, he’s fine, okay? If I was the one bandaging him up, he’s quite alright. I made sure of it.”

[Wasp explained, rubbing Artie’s knuckles with his thumb.]

I know that, I jus’ wanna see him. Whatever. Sure. Thanks for your… for lettin’ me stay.

“Of course, of course.. it’s the bare minimum for me to do. Would you like anything to eat? I do believe I have food left.. or would you like a blanket? Really, I’m the host, I want to make sure my guest is comfortable.”

…Yeah, sure. Thanks. <he sighs, resting his head on the palm of his hand, elbow jammed into his thigh.>

[Wasp teased, chuckling as he stood up and went over to the mini fridge; he crouched down and opened it, grabbing a bowl. Wasp went back over to Artie and placed it in his lap.]

[Wasp said, leaning in and lightly sniffing Artie, clearly unbothered by how Artie smelled.]

Well, sure I’ve been around bee…. Ah… About… me?? I don’t know. I like coins. My mama’s a visitor, but I sure as hell ain’t.. My cat’s gonna be needin’ t’ be fed around now, but I’m not there t’ feed her, so I hope bee remembers…

<they frown, shifting awkwardly about the couch, an animal weary of a potential predator.>

into the Forrest? Pfff- for what? Like nuts an’ berries? Hasn’t most of that stuff all burned up?