╳ ᴄʀᴏᴡɴ ᴍᴇ.

          ❛ wow, that means so much to me. ❜ smile grows, pace increasing. every now and then, it was nice to pretend that things were okay; to act as if death wasn’t constantly within reach. head turns back towards the other, dark locks covering pale features. ❛ i say, when you get back, and we close up that fucker, we should have a feast. ❜

         aim fixed, she never once considers relenting. no matter what he said or what he intended to do, his hand is still around her neck & naz can’t reconcile PEACE with the pressure that builds there. there’s a panic that sets in, a panic that doesn’t quite show – threat notwithstanding she stands her ground, hold tightening around the pistol’s grip. her responding tone is dangerously low & dry, eyes trained precisely where she aims, “i’ve made it this far, i’m not about to die ‘cuz SOMEBODY couldn’t take his hands OFF of me,” elbow knocks the inside of his, shoulders tense, “let GO, & then i’ll put the gun down.”

DENIAL IS A DEFENSE MECHANISM QUITE FREQUENTED in a world plundered by death & sanctioned by obscenity, his mentality is fortified with steel & built up on dense security. eliott rarely allows himself the trivial luxury of thinking of his past in fear of quickly being overwhelmed by his still - there affection for his family. thus explains the reasoning toward his adamant rejection of certain others’ existence. 

take for example, OSKAR, a boy bred with malignancy caked to his lungs. lindon & many others have mentioned his cancer before, to which eli vaguely acknowledges. he gives little more than a nod & a few sparse words. let some time pass & he will completely deny even having met the boy. his mother had cancer, & was often hospitalized for her poor health. to allow himself ANY sort of connection to this matter would render himself weak, & weakness does not belong in a battlefield for survival.

another viable stance of evidence would have to be KAT, whose presence is even less so noticeable, resulting in eli’s COMPLETE REJECTION of her character. his sister was named katherine, though kat or kitty - kat was often used as a nickname. with her mention comes a visible wince or a total redaction. his brain has been tailored to neglect any mention of these familiar names & protect him from the consequences of feeling anything.

meme. not accepting.

HE THINKS IF HE WERE TO DIE by anyone’s side, it would be nazarely’s. that if there were one pair of sun - speckled, war - torn, smut - ridden eyes he’s left to see on the earth, they’d be her’s. the olive crest of her cheeks & the flax spindle of her hair, encrusted with MIDNIGHT BLOOM, a liminal girl. fleeting   ;   beside him one moment, presence sundered the next. he knows her to return, but cannot, can never, shun the realities of existence. THAT TO LIVE IS TO DIE, & in a world thronged with turmoil, even she cannot always revolve to him. it’s an incriminating thought, if any. & he is not one to think. DO. FIGHT. BURN. his mentality fortified with steel & sweat.

but   ;   even warriors have their repose, times in which they are able to sheathe weapons & unbuckle armor. this is now, as he sits beside NAZ, fingertip touching while they gaze to the high arc of the twilight above. he breathes a hollow sigh, points out the CONSTELLATIONS that he does not know, but calls forth anyway. 

 ❝       IT’S ALMOST MIDNIGHT.       ❞      a dim remark. candor low & stilted. he is not one for emotions, for the capacity of affection. & yet, he lifts his arm & brings her close with a sense of URGENCY. soft cheek pressed to the concave of his throat. intonation quieted still, he speaks into the brambled mess of her hair, crude mouth brushing against her forehead every so often.       ❝       ISN’T IT FUCKING WEIRD how we’re still alive, naz?       ❞      he hates this. he hates it. he hates it. the intimacy, the luxury, because he knows, intrinsically, with COMFORT comes the removal of it. there was no world that could exist in which they might sit on a log, gazing at the lachrymose umbra for eternity. that within a few spared moments, they’d have to be pulled apart   -------   bone by bone, sinew by sinew, back to the slaughter of man & beast.

so he does as he does   ;   as he always has. crudely, boorishly. in his CHEAP, BOYISH demeanor. all clumsy & crass, all lewd passion burrowed in savage necessity. he grasps her chin, thumb grazing over threadbare tier, lifting her into a vulgar kiss. TENDER SENTIMENTS pushed away for the agony of need. & it’s gone. done & over with as fast as it was proposed. he scathes a palms against her cheek for a moment, gaze lingering, before rising ( no immediate destination procured, his limbs aching to escape the want of it all ), & circumventing the area. only allowing the gentle wisp of his melancholy tone to leave any trace of his hungering.

meme. not accepting.

DOESN’T UNDERSTAND WHY people couldn’t give him a single moment’s rest. why the FUCK he’s got his gun pointed at some girl’s forehead in the middle of a GODDAMN HOLIDAY, the prospective off - days that he allows himself to be an actual HUMAN BEING.   rifle still trained, he glances up toward the moon, cascading through umbra ( he’d somehow grown advanced at reading the time through the sky ). minutes to midnight, perhaps seconds, perhaps the new year had already been unveiled. his mouth twists into a scowl, fangs bared.

She shook her head, as if his words disappointed her. They did, but she didn’t expect any less. Though they both lived in the same world, that didn’t make their views the same. Sure, they all wanted it to be over, but the Rats didn’t do a thing about it. That was what she disliked about them. Selfish wasn’t the word she’d choose for him or any of his group members. They were just waiting for someone else to solve the problem.

     “ Everyone cares, everyone’s lost people. That’s the key word there, waiting. Waiting for someone else to do the dirty work. If you care, then do something about it. “

             ❝ you’ve always been PRACTICAL, haven’t you? must’ve been so much fun at parties. ❞

            with a small sigh, sel found herself glancing at the mediocre weapon in her acquaintance’s hand. aside from being used to swat down pieces of JUNGLE in movies, she’d never really seen one be used before. how interesting it was, to feel a sense of curiosity once more– she hadn’t felt the SENSATION since she used a kit kat bar in one of her snares. as luck would have it, sel caught a rabbit from that experiment. 

            ❝ you know this AREA better than i do. which way is best? ❞

   ‘ TALKATIVE today? no? well if you’re not going to talk, i will. ‘ the walk is quiet, his mouth, alas, is NOT. to the annoyance of many and his own splendor, he continues to speak when others would bear themselves ready to hide from such a man. ‘ you want to tell me about your day? your girlfriend? i have a harem too, ratboy. or at least, i should. i mean, come on, take a look at THIS and tell me you wouldn’t want a piece. ‘ yes, he’s paused to inevitably point at his ass.

      california sun batters olive complexion, sets sombre moods to boiling, has the angelino ready to jump at the slightest provocation. to make matters worse she’s far from home, having left behind landslides & long abandoned high rises in the basin for rolling waves & sandy shores further south, & the strain of being somewhere new has her on edge. still, she presses forward; survival & necessity hagriding every one of her senses. she thinks she’ll make it clear to the border without incident if she goes on like this … until she finds herself face to face with HIM. 

      with absolutely no hesitation, she aims the barrel of her gun square between his eyes. it isn’t until her nerves settle that she realizes he’s got a hold of her too. “your move FUCKER; what’re you gunna do?”

TOLD HER HE’D BE GONE A MINUTE, MAYBE TWO. just long enough to pillage the area   ;   forage berries, scavenge abandoned camps, get lucky, kill an animal. with fran presiding watch over RAT CAMP, he’s able to leave with ease   ------   that is until he stumbles into her. ACTING FAST, with a steady grip on her throat before she’s able to realize it ( a FATAL MISTAKE, if he were anyone else ), he sneers, fangs bared. the inquest of whether the gun is truly loaded scathes his mind, causes him to be incredulous, fingers tightening for several intervals. in the end, HE’S A WOLF with a faint sense of HUMANITY. a hollow sigh, eyes slitted, he growls.

wavering uncertainty, permanently stained teeth nibble on chapped lips and she steadies her breathing, crouched behind thickets that claw at the clothing that covers her  skin. eventually, she stands and lets her hand rest on the knife tucked into her fanny pack. the cold hilt is relaxing and alycia hates that. hates that a weapon of hurt and destruction causes such comfort. “what’re you doing in here? you don’t belong here.”

meme. accepting.

meme. accepting.