here be death.

What can the human rights movement do for you?

Barton Hollow, after a storm, was even more muddy and sticky than normal. But rain meant mud was cleaned off plants and made it easier to distinguish them, especially in the woods. So, Nicolas grabbed a bag and began hunting. He grimaced to himself as he gingerly picked his way through tall trees and underbrush, looking for the telltale blue-black berries of the elderberry plant, reminding himself how good elderberry jam would taste and helpful the plant would be for burns. 

Emile was nursing a coffee that was a little more black than he had ordered. Whoever had made it was very stingy on the syrups. In any case, coffee was coffee, and he needed it. The time change had his sleep schedule completely thrown off at this point and caffeine was much needed to get through the day.

Emile shrugged a shoulder, one corner of his mouth turning up in a smirk. "Not the absolute last thing I need. Don't sweat it." Each time Emile had found himself able to speak, someone pointed out it was upsetting that he couldn't typically speak. It was part of his everyday mantra at this point. He really didn't need it pointed out, but he didn't mind that it was being pointed out again.

Evangeline wasn’t a thoughtless person at all, yet the first thing that she found escaping her mouth after Emile’s long, rather heartfelt story was, “Wow, that’s really fucking sad.” It wasn’t sarcasm - just the brunette being terribly blunt. Stuffing her hands in her pockets and blushing, she added quickly, “Sorry, that was rude. I just - how can you live like that? God, I wanna give you a hug, and I don’t even like hugs.” Eyeing him nervously, Evangeline shifted from one leg to another, finishing sincerely, “That’s really awful. I - I’m so sorry.”

Emile pursed his lips. "Yeah, it's--it sucks ass. But you know, I'm used to it. It's still awful and I'm really tired of seeing dead people, but--but what else is there? It's who I am now."

     ”N-no, really! Y-y’don’t hafta worry about it…I-I just uh, overreacted. Really, it’s-it’s fine. Not yer fault at all” The reference to his status in Barton only managed to fly over her head, as Emilie was largely unaware of whom the man in front of her was. Keeping up with news in this town had always been a luxury that she could never afford, though often times she was grateful for that. To her, he was just a strange man with a strange raspy voice walking home and minding his own business. 

"If you're sure you're alright," Emile said, nodding. He cocked his head slightly to the side, appraising her silently. This woman was definitely tense and afraid, but it wasn't specifically tense around Emile or afraid of Emile. It was something more than that, and that's why he didn't hesitate to nod when asked if they could walk together.

"If you’re not comfortable telling it, then don’t tell me," Evangeline replied simply, her dark eyes resting on his. "It’s fine, really."

"No, it's," Emile released a breath, trying to find a decent starting place. He sucked in another breath and spoke again.

"I don’t mind long stories. What, is it a secret?" she questioned skeptically, her hazel irises meeting his as she bit back a sigh. "Or did you just have strep throat or something terribly ordinary like that?"

"Not so much a secret as more of a . . . confusing thing. I'm not entirely sure myself, really." Emile took a deep breath and sighed. "I'm still not so sure you want to hear the story in any case."

     She was grateful for the space he made between them, but seeing the fear in his eyes caused her arm to waver. Having no real intention of spraying the man, or causing him distress, she quickly lowered the can back into her bag. He seemed…odd…but that had never been a good reason to mace someone, especially in Barton. If she went around dousing everyone who gave her a weird vibe, half the town would be rolling on the floor in agony. 

Emile relaxed as soon as the mace was put away. "I'm sorry I scared you," he rasped, nodding toward where the mace had just disappeared into her bag. "Didn't mean to." He scratched the back of his neck, uncomfortable with the current situation. "I do that sometimes and I never mean to, but it's unavoidable, I suppose.

The woman stared at the male for a few seconds, as if searching for some sort of failure in his expression, something that would give her an idea of how he truly felt. It didn’t take her too long to notice that there was still a slight bit of shock in his expression. Instead of speaking once more, Sabine simply nodded and took another look at the man, looking him over and noticing the amount of dirt under his nails. That was enough to bring her curiosity back to life. “May I ask why you happen to have dirt underneath your nails?”

Emile felt more than a little uncomfortable with the way he was being scrutinized, but he didn't say anything against it. At the mention of the dirt beneath his nails, he looked down, spreading out his fingers and examining it himself. "Observant, aren't you?" he said, looking back up at the woman with a genuine smile. "T'would be because I was digging graves just now. I, erm, work in a cemetery."

Despite how desperately she wanted to be a paragon of kindness and love, Evangeline couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow disbelievingly. “Oh, why not?” she questioned, her tone more curious than accusatory.

"Er, it's a long, uh, story," Emile stammered, not exactly knowing how to explain it in simple terms. It wasn't every day you had to explain that you hadn't talked in months because your voice was potentially being saved to announce the deaths of people around you. He licked his lips and pursed them, nodding more to himself than the woman before him.

"How long has it been since you last spoke? Does it feel weird?" Ariel felt as if she was asking too many questions, but without a notebook in between it felt somewhat different. He had a nice voice, she found herself liking it quite a bit. Hearing people voices was something she often did after all. "You should be smiling, that would be like the cherry in top of the pie." Ariel felt like she was being too pushy, specially when he didn’t smile that much. She, herself, was inexpressive some times. "What do you work in?"

"'bout seven months," Emile said after a brief pause for thought. "I can't do it often. Before that it was maybe two years." He licked his lips and nodded with a shrug. "It's something I just got used to not doing, so the feeling is strange." He raised an eyebrow. Why would he be smiling any more than any other day? Talking didn't change the fact he would end up screaming in what was probably just a few hours. Even so, he forced a smile. "Would it now? That's probably one of the nicest things anyone has said to me." He chuckled, more to himself than her, looking down at his shoes briefly. "I, er, dig graves and work with the funeral home. That kinda thing."

As much as the woman tried to believe what he was saying, Sabine couldn’t bring herself to trust the words, at least not in such a raspy, gruff voice. It was odd but still, perhaps it would be best for her not to say a word. As he stepped back, she knew there was something going on. “Or are you?” She asked once again, arching an eyebrow at the younger man.

Emile licked his lips, rocking onto the balls of his feet and back. "Yeah, I'm fine," he repeated, attempting to clear his throat. "Really. Just--yeah, fine." He scratched at his jaw, trying to look as okay as he said he was, but there was still a bit of fading shock left in his expression.

     Even if walking around Barton at night still gave Emilie and reason to fear for her safety, she’d at least come to appreciate the mysterious serenity of the town. There weren’t any cars around, save for the odd teenagers out joy-riding, and the usual hustle and bustle of the crowd had disappeared with the dying of the light. She would’ve been foolish to think that she was alone- especially when one considered the fact that they never quite knew what was around the corner, lurking in the alleyways- but there was enough room to breathe, which was something she had to be thankful for. She’d almost come to enjoy the nights where she had to go to the forest to fetch ingredients, and she cherished the time that she could spend outside of her apartment. 

"You, er--you alright?" Emile asked, stepping back with caution at the sight of the mace. He knew he had a certain reputation, but mace? That was a little much in any circumstance. He swallowed audibly, pulling his eyes away from the mace and looking up at the girl's face. He supposed that nowadays, even in Barton Hollow, a woman could never be careful enough.

Ariel’s doe-eyes widened in surprise “You’re talking” she said a big smile slowly growing in her face, if Emile had been someone she was used to be around she’d probably hug him, but she decided it wasn’t appropriate and so she would limit herself to dedicate him a smile, yes, that would do it. He was also covered in dirt, for some reason, she thought maybe he wouldn’t mind helping with Nikolai’s causes, who often needed volunteers. “Don’t worry about it, seriously.” she finally said, silently wondering if it was okay to start some small talk as she hadn’t talked to him since the coffee encounter. “How are you?”

Emile nodded, attempting a smile. "Guess I am," he said softly, nodding and laughing a little, shaking his head. He scratched the back of his head, licking his lips and looking up at Ariel. He hadn't really spoken to her since the coffee shop, but he enjoyed her presence to say the least. He was almost eager to talk to her. In those rare instances when he could talk, he wanted nothing more than to say everything he couldn't before, and he supposed it didn't really matter who he was talking to. "I'm good," he responded, a little hint of a smile teasing at his lips. "Just got off work."