Inevitable Darkness

DEAD WOLVES || Atlas + Roy || Ruina Rex

[They walk in pace together, her steps heavy, his light. The hall seems longer than it had before, the walls closing in. She can almost hear Miles now, humor rounding his syllables. Calm down, he’s just a kid, Lany. What? You think he’s going to eat you in a single bite? She wanted to laugh it off, to pretend her breakdown was the only thing stopping her from being friendly. Atlantis isn’t capable of such rational thought without Miles guiding her to it first. It feels impossible, not for the first time that week, to exist without him.

Her grief swarms her thoughts like hornets, relentless in its pursuit to cause her harm. She feels so heavy, so full of lead and concrete. Atlas so badly wants to lay down on the floor, press her cheek against the cool tile and let the universe crush her body into dust. It would be so easy, so simple, to just quit. She’s fully lost in her train of thought, she barely notices the boy is no longer by her side. He’s an echo in the hall, miles away from being audible until a single word slices through the fog and misery; riot. She misses the rest of what he says, his sentences scrambling around her like white noise on a television. She stops in her tracks, one second passes, two, before she turns back towards the boy.] Why would there be a riot? [The silver shifts around him like crushed metal. He looks visibly uncomfortable by her question. Good.]

Is this about the person who died? [She thinks back to the people in the hall during her interview, the hushed whispers they spoke in as she walked past them.] Was it some reformist? [She needed to know what she just walked into. The point of her transfer was to move her somewhere less dangerous than colony 1, so far that is beginning to come across as a lie. If this colony was on legs as shaky as MIT, what was the point of her transfer? Why was she actually here? Her stomach twisted itself in knots as she peered up at the boy.] Tell me.

[He was prepared for her to continue away from him. He was ready to just go back on with his day, maybe go get a shower, at least change his wet clothes. But she starts talking to him again. Something about her words cut at him in a strange way. Startling him, surprised she still wants to talk to him. His brow furrows.

How to explain why... But no, she asks questions, which makes it easier. Easier to explain when he had a starting point. When he could approach it with facts rather than accidentally going into personal details and his own feelings on it. Or lack thereof at times, which was still upsetting. He’s still trying to figure out if its because he knows Kaiser wasn’t really a good person and they weren’t actually close or if its because he’s becoming more and more desensitized to it. To death in general. And those he’s likely caused. He remembers how calm he felt that day. How everything felt lighter before he even knew what happened. He remembers his dream. The yell he heard echoing in his mind.

He tries to stop thinking about all of this. She was clearly uncomfortable around him. Maybe she was an Empath or something and she could sense something off about him.] 

make me an island | roy + orson

[Proud of the blood on his hands. Well… definitely not a cute look, that’s for sure. Which, it strikes Orson briefly, sounds like an expression he definitely got from Kip, and he’s grateful for the thought because it distracts him from the images of blood on his own hands from the nightmares, the blood spray from his visions, the blood he can smell in the air, both awake and dreaming. 

Kaiser trying to recruit Roy into the radicals is mildly surprising, but nothing earth shattering, but the information about him maybe wanting to use Roy to quote, unquote, ‘take people out’… Orson frowns deeply.] Excuse me? Use you? As in… as in use your Infection? Doesn’t that sound a lot like the NWRF wanting to use the Infected as weapons? Isn’t that super hypocritical for a radical? 

[To be fair, the Reformists wanting to use the Infections as weapons isn’t exactly proven. It’s mostly hearsay, he supposes, or… theory. But he’s pretty sure most people are of the position that it’s justified theory.]

He shakes his head—almost like a habit now—as Roy starts to apologize.] No you didn’t. Not your fault. Someone just died, Roy. And this is the apocalypse. There’s just a lot of depressing stuff to talk about on the regular. You really can’t take the blame for that. [He cracks a small, reassuring grin.] 

Anyway, I know what you mean. The Radical thing is… [he feels guilty for wanting to say ‘tempting’. And maybe he’s not been tempted for the same reasons as Roy but he’s felt drawn to it nonetheless. At least, drawn to the picture Draco’s painted for him. A picture of confidence and self worth and fighting for what’s right.] I don’t know, I guess it just seems like there’s more to it than I thought. The…. radicals are supposedly the ones who are responsible for the decoy raid and… [and for everything that happened to Orson during it, for the death he witnessed more than once,] and the kidnappings. But I don’t know, I’m starting to think that even if I don’t agree with everything they apparently stand for, that maybe the NWRF are like, intentionally painting them as worse than they are. It’s not like that would be surprising. That’s sort of their M.O.

[Roy shrugs, looking from his drink to Orson. It did sound a lot like that. Two sides of the same coin, right? But if it was the radicals, they’d make him feel like it was his choice, right? Was it ever his choice? He didn’t choose to have the abilities he did. He didn’t choose to be a vessel for Death, he didn’t want to be the reason people died. That this blight had spread across the world. If he could choose, he wouldn’t kill people. He wouldn’t be the reason they died. But Kaiser wanted him to choose the opposite. To embrace it. To wield it. It’s scary to think, but if he had met Kaiser in the wastes, if he was given that opportunity in order to survive, he might have listened. But not here. Not anymore.]

Isn’t that what happens with opposite extremes? In the end, the only way to match each other is to match the extremes. I guess with the Radicals, they’re telling you that you’re choosing to use your powers. The Reformists will just force you. The illusion of choice, I think, can really change things. 

[Orson is right, can’t blame him for things being depressing all the time. Well, you could, but Roy appreciates that Orson doesn’t. He returns the grin.

But it fades again as Orson continues. Roy thinks about it. What they’re supposedly capable of. What they’ve supposedly done. He holds his drink a little tighter.] It wouldn’t surprise me, honestly. Propaganda is powerful. Scare tactics are sometimes the strongest ones. If I had to pick a side, I’m definitely more inclined toward the Radicals, but I... don’t really want to. I don’t agree with the NWRF, I don’t... [He looks at the counter, thinking about when they changed their tattoos. Remembering the aftermath of that.] I wouldn’t ever side with them. I just don’t think... [he shakes his head, taking a sip of his drink.] It’s a war neither side will win, and whether people pick a side or not, they’ll still be caught in the crossfire. I don’t know if I want to join in on the fight. Not yet. That’s... It just sounds like a great way for me to cause more problems than I want to. 

[He wishes he could be better at small talk. He wishes he could think of something to change the subject to something lighter, but he can’t. He’s stuck there, in his head. Hearing static rolling in the back of his mind, feeling the cold climbing up his back. Thinking about it, about the deaths he could cause by being involved in a revolution. Because that’s what they wanted, right? That’s what Kaiser wanted, at least. He feels that creeping calmness, that heavy blanket that lets him know Death is lurking over his shoulder. Ready to lash out. Ready to reap whatever souls Roy led it to. 

He finishes his drink. He looks over to the bartender for a moment, signaling he wants another. But for the time being he’s left with nothing to occupy his hands. To keep him from fidgeting too much. He twists the empty glass, looking at Orson’s, then up to his friend’s face. Say something, you’re making it awkward. Roy wants to kick himself for just sitting quietly. For being so bad at conversation. For feeling content just sitting with Orson, looking at him, even in silence. He looks back at the bar top. Because that’s weird, isn’t it? Other people think that’s weird. But Roy is only so good at talking. He just continues to hope that Orson isn’t one of those people that think he’s weird. Or at the very least, not too weird.]

the untasked | roy + teilo

[Teilo lets out a surprised, but pleasant chuckle at the hit of sarcasm from Roy—and his eyes dart over to the Calyset because there it is—that feels like one of the first tastes of something real from Roy, a piece of a real person, that he hides away under this shell of… whatever he’s erected around himself, in the time and space of the apocalypse and the New Wave, or whatever it may be.]

Oh, I’ve noticed, not to worry, [Teilo plays along, amused.] Cool as a cucumber. [Having already hung his shirt up on a hook outside the door, Teilo wraps the towel around his waist and loses his shorts from underneath it, which he folds neatly and rests on the bench before sitting down. The other towel—the one he’d brought in for Roy—he sets on the bench nearby as well. He doesn’t want to hand it directly to the other, in case it implies a necessity to follow suit—which it certainly doesn’t. He happens to be more comfortable in a steam room just in a towel, but there’s no reason Roy should have to do the same. 

He tries to make it casual so as not to put Roy on the spot, and strikes up a conversation.] So—if it’s not too cliché, tell me about life before the Falling, for you. Who exactly was Roy Walters?

[He smiles gently, pushing some loose curls away from his already-damp forehead.]  

[There’s the ghost of a grin that passes across Roy’s face as Teilo plays along. Almost like a normal conversation. It is a normal conversation, Roy reminds himself. He’s the only one that thinks it isn’t. 

Roy almost hesitates when, out of the corner of his eye, he catches Teilo folding his shorts on the bench. He knows it’s not a pressure thing for him to be in just a towel, but is that proper etiquette for a steam room? Probably? Or maybe there was none and he was just over thinking it for no reason. Probably that. He’s not sure what would make him more uncomfortable, being in there in just a towel, or in his shorts when he knew Teilo was just in a towel. He needs to stop. He had this kind of problem back in high school, whenever there was gym class and they had to change or shower and he always felt uncomfortable in front of everyone else. He used to be embarrassed about how scrawny and pale he was compared to all the other guys. Now he’s even more embarrassed about that because he’s even more skinny and even more pale. Plus he has some faint scars that he doesn’t think anyone else would notice at first glance, but he doesn’t like them. Mostly because he doesn’t remember how he got them. 

Roy doesn’t think about any of that anymore and grabs his towel, wrapping it around his waist and carefully sliding his shorts off, folding them not nearly as neatly as Teilo had, and sets them on the bench as he sits down.]

DEAD WOLVES || Atlas + Roy || Ruina Rex

[She panics when she hears his footsteps close behind, she even flinches when he steps ahead of her. Atlantis doesn’t have the best experience’s with men coming up behind her. Much less in the rain. When he’s within eyesight again she comes to a stop. He seems to be offering his help despite his flat tone. Atlas glances at his aura, the way it warps and twists around him like liquid mercury. Sometimes she had trouble deciphering what each person’s aura meant but this seemed easy enough.

Stay away.] I uh—. [Fuck. She walks inside the building, smile thin and nervous as she passes by him. He smelled like rain and something else—something cold and metallic. Like science class during a thunderstorm.] You know what, kid? I think I’ve embarrassed myself enough today. I’ll just ask some reformist asshole to walk me to my dorm.

[It’s the last thing she wants to do. Especially now that she’s soaking wet, clothes sticking to her small frame uncomfortably. But he’s making her nervous and sticking around seems like the wrong choice. His face although young and gentle had a steely after effect. Like something roared beneath, fingers black and full of rot. She swallows once. If he was trying to appear helpful he was failing miserably.]

[It’s strange how she looks at him. Almost like she’s looking around him. He knows he makes people uncomfortable, but usually it takes them knowing a little bit more about him for them to be visibly upset by his presence. 

His brow scrunches a bit as he watches her walk past him. She’d rather ask a Reformist? He can’t imagine that that’d be better for her or her pride. Had he done something to upset her? I mean, he upsets a lot of people, and if more people knew what he could do, he imagines almost everyone would hate him.] I think they’re busy, [he says, walking in the same direction as her. Not following her, not on purpose. His only other option is to go back out into the rain, and he doesn’t want to do that.] I think they’re probably preoccupied making sure nobody starts a riot.

[She seems more visibly uncomfortable around him the longer he stays around. He shoves his hands into his pockets, not sure what he could do to fix that. He could leave her alone. That would fix it. He stops walking, standing off to the side of the hall, deciding to let her finish walking through it and get wherever she needed to before he went anywhere. She was already having a shitty day, it seemed, and there was a part of him that felt bad for making it worse.]

DEAD WOLVES || Atlas + Roy || Ruina Rex

[She doesn’t train her face the way she should, frustration furrowing the thick line of her brows. ‘You can probably get a new one.’ She bites back a ‘No shit, Sherlock!’ It’s hard work, she would much rather snap at him. Atlas wasn’t very fond of the idea of returning to the main building, soaked and directionless. She could practically feel the guard’s leering gaze. ‘Lost already?’ She felt a little like crying, mostly she felt a little violent. 

She digs her nails into the softest part of her palm, zeroing in on the shooting pain as she watches the stranger rush after her map. She lets the rain soak her, imbed it’s cold inside of her. How could she be freezing and still feel so hot? How could something so insignificant make her feel so small? So full of grief? 

If Miles were here he would offer her his jacket, he’d kiss her forehead and tell her to come inside where it was warm, where it was safe. But he isn’t here. He’ll never be here or there or fucking anywhere because he’s dead. There’s a lot about life you can take the time to mend, death isn’t one of them.] Fuck it! Forget it. 

[She’s sobbing long before she realizes the stranger is looking at her, the man himself blurred by the tears in her eyes. Whatever she’d been holding in since the day she was informed Miles was dead finally resurfaced. Every mistake, every wrong move, every last second she wasted flashed through her mind like a slideshow. Tears mixed with rain and salty sea air.] Just–Forget it. [She wipes away tears as they fall, an act proved futile against the storm raging around them.] Fuck this stupid place. 

[Fuck you for being here, fuck you for getting in my way, fuck you for standing there like a gaping fish while I cry. She looks at the man again, his features dainty like a dolls’. He looked a little like how she felt on the inside but she wasn’t about to say that out loud. It’s the color that spreads around him that gives her pause. Silver. Silver? It bleeds into the space around him, almost indistinguishable from the gray sky above them. He looks like a knife, like a scythe. Atlas swallows, takes a step back before walking back towards the main building, feet stepping into mud and puddles of rain as she goes.] 

[He’s about to reach for the map where it’s landed in a murky puddle when she shouts. Roy turns on his heels and look and feels a little frozen when he sees her crying. No, she’s more than crying. She’s full on sobbing in the rain and Roy has no idea how to react. He glances away from her, figuring him staring isn’t helping, but that’s about it. When was the last time he was around someone who was sobbing like this? He doesn’t even handle his own feelings well, let alone a strangers. 

But she cries more and its when she continues that he feels something inside him that feels familiar. Feeling so lost and confused and scared and hurt and then on top of all that, you’re forced to figure out how to get around a new place. And the way she sobs is something that it seems a lot of people have been feeling lately. full of grief. He can feel it. But hers is for a different person than most of the Colony right now. A death that follows her--a death that ripped something away from her. There’s a twinge of guilt for this stranger, and though she’s told him to forget it and though he’s got a way out of this conversation as she turns to walk away, he feels obligated to follow. He wonders if that’s how Teilo felt when he saw Roy on the roof. Obligated to do something because otherwise whatever bad consequence was to follow, it was on you. 

Roy has to walk pretty fast to not only catch up to her but to pass her, making it to the door before she does.] I’m getting you a new map, [he says, holding the door open for her. He says it flatly, like most of what he’s said. Maybe he doesn’t sound the most genuine, but he’s determined. He doesn’t even acknowledge that she’s upset because what good would that do for either of them. She probably didn’t want to talk about it with anyone, let alone a stranger. So he wouldn’t mention it. He’d just pretend like she hadn’t sobbed in front of him over a piece of paper because he gets it. Life sucks and some days are just like that.] 

make me an island | roy + orson

[For a moment, Orson hears the conversation as if outside of himself; from a bird’s eye view, an out of body experience, and it sounds ridiculous. And nearly nonsensical. There’s so much repetition about boredom and being boring and losing sleep and getting sleep and it’s just… something worth chuckling at, to be honest. Orson isn’t sure if it’s the beer hitting him already (or Roy, for that matter) or if they’re just… really tired. Their constant, never-ending state of really fucking tired. Tired of life, tired of politics, tired of nightmares, tired of delusions, tired of telling people you’re not crazy but feeling pretty crazy, most of the time. 

And all at once, Orson is so grateful he has people like Roy and Annie in his life. Because as much as he loves Kip and Mouse and Elsa… he’s not convinced they can relate to him in the exact same way, much as they try. They’re supportive, of course, but sharing something like this with people who are actually like you in this way is just… different.] 

Yeah, I literally don’t think I’ve… ever spoken to Kaiser. He’s looked at me once or twice, and each time was terrifying, but… never talked to him or anything. Is he as scary as he looks? [If he’s being honest, he’s a little surprised Roy talked to Kaiser. Doesn’t seem like the kind of person Roy would seek out, unless he was being cornered. Then again, Orson admittedly wouldn’t know how to describe the kind of company Roy keeps, because apart from himself, he weirdly doesn’t know who Roy’s friends are. Roy makes a point of being pretty private, obviously.] 

[Roy shrugs because what is there to say at first.] He kinda is. Definitely has more blood on his hands than any one person should. And he seems, like, proud of it? [Roy has to take a sip of his beer, thinking about that heavy sense of death around Kaiser. Shadows that followed him like lost souls he had to carry. But he wears them like banners of honor. Not like the heavy weight Roy feels when he thinks of all the lives lost because of him.] I never really went out of my way to talk to him. The first time was an accident. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. He kept... [Roy glances around and then gets a little quieter.] He wanted me to actually be a part of the Radicals. But it was mostly because of, well, [he glances at his wrist, the tattoo. It swims in him, the things Kaiser had said to him. How he could be more if he just tried.] I think he wanted to use me? To help him, y’know, take people out? [Roy shakes his head, taking another swig of his drink. 

It’s strange to think that some people looked at the Delusions and thought they were something useful. Thought they could be good. Roy never saw his as good. He saw it as just destruction. Death. but that’s what Kaiser wanted, so he knew why he’d want him to be a part of the radicals. He knew why he thought he’d be important to them. And he hates it.] He can be kinda encouraging, in a weird way. A lot of talk about being yourself and embracing what you can do which in a different light would be nice. But... I dunno. It’s weird to be wanted for something like that. Especially when it’s like the last thing you want to be wanted for.

[He’s quiet again. The conversation had grown heavy again. he didn’t mean for it to. He can’t seem to think too negatively about Kaiser, though. Because despite that, Roy had gone so long without anyone really looking out for him. And then Kaiser came along and was there. he tried to encourage him and help him. And even if that was just because he thought of Roy almost like a human nuke for the NWRF if used right, it still was nice in a weird way.] He’s not my ideal company, but he’s not the worst person I’ve ever interacted with? Not the best, and I don’t think he’s like a good person, but he’s not... [Roy shakes his head, not really knowing what he’s trying to say anymore.] Sometimes it’s nice to be wanted but I don’t want to be wanted like that, I guess.

the untasked | roy + teilo

[Roy is super serious. And this is coming from a young man who spent much of his life around stuffy, stoic academics who took themselves way too seriously. And even though Teilo isn’t exactly dissimilar from those people, he supposes he has his mother and his little brother Brenin to thank for being slightly more easy going. And Sid—definitely Sid has a lot of influence in there. Though, Teilo also knows that if he ever called himself ‘easy going’ out loud, in front of Sid, he’d laugh in his face. Probably never let him hear the end of it, either.

Alright, so maybe Teilo isn’t especially ‘easy going’ by Sid’s standards, but he’s comfortable—in his own skin, and in interactions with other people—both of which don’t exactly seem to be Roy’s forte.

It makes him smile a little; it’s not teasing, but rather charmed. Teilo’s not oblivious to the awkwardness of the two of them together, likely both because of circumstance and personality types, but he feels confident that it will pass. These things often do, if given a chance. And it takes a lot more than a bit of stumbling awkwardness to scare away Teilo. He may have a certain poised elegance, but that’s thanks to years of practice and exposure. He’s never stopped being the nerdy kid with a disproportionate love for Star Wars, Scooby Doo, and collecting cassette tapes.

He pats Roy’s shoulder with a bit of a chuckle.] Well, my first tip about relaxing is to not overthink it, [he intones, smile tipping the corner of his mouth.] But if you’ve not tried the steam room, let’s give that a go, hmm? [He turns right, leading the way to the glass door—understandably too foggy to see into.] Just let me know if you get uncomfortable—personally, I love the steam room, but some people have a hard time adjusting to the warm air. I had a friend who used to say he had a hard time breathing in it. But that shouldn’t be the case, if you just relax.

[He swipes a couple of towels off the shelf before he holds the door open for Roy and follows him in.]

[Teilo doesn’t seem off put by him. Not really. Which wasn’t Roy’s goal, obviously, but it’s still always surprising when people don’t mind his awkwardness or his abrasiveness. 

He even smiles a little at him, which Roy really wasn’t expecting. It really seems like Teilo is trying to get along with him. So maybe this isn’t just a pity thing. Maybe Roy needed to open up more to the idea that maybe people would be okay around him. Well... they would personally feel okay, Roy knows in the long run, being around him isn’t good for anyone. 

But maybe he could try to get along with Teilo. He was smart--maybe they had common interests? Maybe there could be something they could talk about? Roy isn’t sure. He hopes Teilo helms the conversation. That would probably keep it more normal and actually active. Roy had no problem just sitting in silence around others, letting the quiet company be what they shared. He isn’t sure if that’d make the steam room more or less awkward, though. 

Teilo’s hand is warm on his shoulder. It’s strange to have contact like that. To be touched at all but even more so skin against skin. He doesn’t think about it in a weird way, just it’s strange to him that something so normal could feel so foreign. It’s like when he and Orson started holding hands, just to feel that contact because they could. It was strange and unfamiliar--something so mundane that was almost a little jarring because it had just been so long. And Orson’s hand always seemed so warm. But maybe that was just because Roy was always so cold. 

Roy gives him a nod.] Okay. I mean, I should be fine. Haven’t you noticed I’m extremely calm and relaxed all the time, [He jokes in a flat, almost monotonous tone as he walks into the steam room.]

DEAD WOLVES || Atlas + Roy || Ruina Rex

TUESDAY, APRIL 11TH, 2163, 3:12PM

[Someone died. She didn’t know enough to guess who or how important they were to the colony but she could take a guess on the effect it was having on the inhabitants of Belvedere. It felt like the entire island itself was grieving. The ground outside lay wet and muddy, the buildings almost seemed to lean against the wind, weak—depressed, unwilling to stand tall in the gloomy sky. It could be her overactive imagination at work again but she didn’t care. It felt true.

On her way out of the entrance interview she’d overheard a small group of civilians discussing the funeral in the hall, their collective auras a neutral yellow, dandelion weeds in a hall of grey. She didn’t catch a a name but apparently Atlantis was one day late for the party. She wondered for a second if the reason they sent her to 22 was to occupy the space this person left. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, but it wasn’t too far fetched.

“I don’t have to remind you that we will be watching you closely, do we Miss Easte?”

Yeah, no shit. She was under no impression she got away with murder. It’s one thing to kill to survive, it’s another to kill a guard for doing their job. It didn’t matter that he made a mistake, that he didn’t ask questions before putting his hands on her. That wasn’t the point. He was dead and Atlas stood alone in a colorless building, the sky outside weeping for a person she would never meet. Would never know.

She looked down to the map in her hand, TORREN TOWER was circled in bright red pen. She thought about Claudia and her sharp red nails. Maybe she should have hit her with her chair when she had the chance. Atlas made a mental note to seek her out if she ever made it back to MIT.] This place is a fucking maze.

[She turns to her left, to her right, to her left again. Did she just go in a circle? No. Yes. No? Fuck. FUCK. She throws her entire weight into the doors leading outside, to the rain, to the dorms. She doesn’t care. She steps out into the bleeding sky and slams right into someone. The map in her hand gets ripped away by rain and wind.] You have got to be kidding me.

[She turns towards the person she walked into, rain pelting them both.] Well don’t just stand there. Help me get it back!

[It was strange. This death. Kaiser’s death. And knowing that he was laid to rest here, knowing that his body or ashes or whatever they were able to do with him was still here, dead disposed of, sat weird in him. He had to live with it. Was this the first time? The first time he’d been around a death--a death that he knows is his fault, that he brought, that he caused--and he was unable to flee. He was unable to move on both physically and emotionally. Because he was stuck here. As was Kaiser. 

Was Kaiser’s death just the first of many dominoes ready to fall? Was it finally time, after all these years, that Roy lost control? That the reaper that dwelled inside him finally broke free and stole the souls of Colony 22? And then what. Then where would he go? Who would be his next victim. Would he forget this place like he did the others he’d moved on from? Would he forget the people he’s grown close to?

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Maybe he shouldn’t have grown so close to them. Maybe that’s his own fault. After all, you can only blame yourself if you befriend the mice, knowing they’ll be fed to the snake. He knew what would happen eventually. And now it’s starting.

He’d gone to see the spot in the memorial garden. He stood there, waiting to feel something. Remorse, pity, loss. It was mostly just emptiness as he stared at the dirt. The guilt had come and gone. What now, he thought. What a shame. This man was going to make changes. This man was a one person army. And now he’s dead. Gone without even a fighting chance. Roy wishes he could feel something more about this, even the panic he had felt when he’d first heard about his death. But no. There was just a stillness inside him.

He’s unsure how long he stood out in the rain, watching the dirt turn to mud, watching the little notes that had been placed for Kaiser start to run. But once he’s sure that no more feelings will come, that the noises in his head are quiet as he looks on, the shadows aren’t raising from the ground, there are no screams, he turns away, walking back toward the building. The reaper was satisfied, and since Kaiser’s death, his head had been quiet. Urges fulfilled, desires quenched, Roy got peace. Was it worth it? Did he really not feel remorse for Kaiser’s death because of it? Was he really not going to miss him?

He’s unsure. Maybe he’s still just in shock. Or maybe Kaiser hadn’t made as much of an impact on him as he once thought.

Roy’s lost in his own head, not paying attention, when he’s suddenly rammed and he’s snapped out of it. It’s like a switch flipped and Roy feels the rain on his skin again, he hears it hitting the ground, he feels the heaviness in his chest. Whatever daze he had been in, he was shaken from it, and he was face to face with someone he’d never met.]

make me an island | roy + orson

[ ‘But you see, my dear friend, if I had said “The last time we got loose together was pretty interesting…’

Orson bursts out laughing in a way he doesn’t often do. Usually, his unexpected laughter is more like a giggle, or a scoff and squeak of some kind. But this time it’s a guffaw—bright an uninhibited and, well, loose. Pun intended. Maybe it’s because he can safely say he hadn’t seen that crack coming. Maybe also because he’d walked right into it and he probably should have. 

Maybe also because it’s Roy who’s saying it.]

[It makes Orson wonder—a little, and not for the first time—what Roy had been like before the End. If he’d been more of… this. Dark, almost caustic sarcasm, confident and drawling and apathetic. In certain lights, Orson can see it, and he’s not sure if the thought of that makes him happy or sad. It’s nice, in a way, that he can get a glimpse of what might’ve been a past life version of Roy, like a peek into a looking glass, a preview of a dream—but it’s almost sad, too, because Roy doesn’t seem to be that person, anymore. Not really. Or, well—it’s there, but it’s faded. Bleached out by the sun and turned soft. An echo of lost colour, once deliberate patterns now only a suggestion of them. 

But who is he to talk, really? He sometimes thinks if Joel walked through those doors right now, he wouldn’t even recognize Orson, for all he’s changed. 

He snorts a little at Roy’s compliment-slash-apology and grins.] Thanks. Ditto. [He takes a sip of his drink, and in his mind, the alcohol twists around the muscles in his throat and the lining of his stomach and seeps into his bloodstream like a facsimile of courage.] Y’know, speaking of interesting people—I recently met this Torren… Draco? Have you met him yet? He’s… loud, I guess. And loudly handsome. But he was talking to me about… just, rebel politics or whatever. Not letting people silence you, standing up to the NWRF, all that… and I couldn’t figure out how to explain to him that like, the idea of being like that—like him—appealing as it was, just sounded so… exhausting. Even if a part of me wanted that for myself… I just don’t think he got it. 

[He cracks a grin. It’s meant to be an amusing anecdote, it’s meant to be lighthearted. But he realizes he’s not sure if it came out that way or not. He decidedly doesn’t want to ruin the mood of tonight, because they’re here to have fun, and relax, so he tries to fix it before it breaks.] Interesting people don’t get the appeal in being boring. But being boring means I probably get more sleep at night. [Well…] Okay, other than the nightmares. But those come from when I’m accidentally interesting. [If traumatic events classify as ‘interesting’.] Hence why I would love to just stop being interesting entirely.

[Orson’s laughter makes him smile. Because it feels nice to make him laugh. He’s also got a really nice laugh and there’s something so deeply genuine in his laughter that Roy really can’t help but smile. And there’s something so nice and reaffirming about being able to sit here with Orson, cracking jokes, actually able to make him laugh. It feels almost normal. That’s something he really likes about being around Orson. He makes him feel almost normal. Not in like a comparative way or anything like that, but if feels like a friendship he could’ve had before the End. Before he got all fucked up--before they all got fucked up. Hanging out with Orson just feels like he’s hanging out with a friend without the looming knowledge that the world has ended hanging over their heads. He makes him feel more like a person.

He grins a bit at Orson’s “Ditto”, glad he seemed to get what Roy was saying, glad he felt the same. Roy takes another sip of his drink as Orson starts talking about some Torren guy he’d met. The name is one Roy’s heard but he’s never met the guy.] I haven’t met him, but it sounds a lot like what Kaiser-- y’know, the big, scary German guy?-- tried to tell me. And I totally get what you’re saying. It’s just... a lot. I would like to think that I’d want to help, or I’d want to, y’know, be a part of things. But we tried that. And it went poorly. And for so long after that there was just so much taken out of me that I don’t think I could be a full time rebel. [They did get serious for a minute, and Roy doesn’t want things to shift too much. But he’s just sharing off of what Orson had said. Relating to him. But Orson did explain to Roy what he often felt-- it would be exhausting. And he’s already got enough shit in his own head that keeps him awake at night that he doesn’t need that too. 

And it seems that was Orson’s take on it too. Which was nice. It made him feel like a little bit less of an asshole.]

the untasked | roy + teilo

[He wouldn’t say it’s a pity thing. No, not really. Because Teilo’s concern is genuine and he’s certainly empathetic enough to feel for Roy, not just feel bad for. But would he be going out of his way to spend time with Roy if he hadn’t seen what he’d seen? If they’d never had that interaction on the roof? Probably not. And not because he doesn’t think Roy is worthwhile or pleasant—that’s certainly not true—but simply because Roy is something of a wallflower in a shadowed corner. It may even have occurred to Teilo to spend time with him, because Roy might not’ve wanted to be noticed. 

But there’s also not a whole lot of value lingering in hypotheticals, because the fact is that they did meet on that roof that day, and Teilo did see what he saw. And he’d consider it a good thing, really. That maybe their paths have crossed for a reason—two totally different sorts of people, intersecting because something in the fates have dictated it so.

He’s glad Roy takes him up on the offer, because he’d almost anticipated a rejection. Roy is a pretty private person, from what Teilo can tell, and he may not be in the mood for more company, after a tough day trudging around in the mud and rain. Perhaps that’s still true, and the temptation of a steam or a hot soak just outweighed the former.]

[He smiles.] Excellent. It does, doesn’t it? I’ll go grab my trunks. I’ll meet you there in five or so? 

*

[He’s not one hundred percent sure why he agreed. Honestly it all still feels like a bad idea, even as he stands in his dorm, digging through his clothes, looking for a pair of swim trunks he knows he has but rarely ever uses. He’d agreed to meet him there in five. Roy feels like he’s already spend five minutes in his room debating whether or not he should follow through. How big of a dick move would that be, though, to stand him up on a friendly offer that he didn’t even have to make. And it wasn’t even like Roy could really ghost him when there were only so many people in the colony. Not that he wanted to. Teilo was nice, it wasn’t his fault Roy just hated being around people most of the time. 

And there’s just a feeling he can’t shake, even when he finally finds his trunks and heads off toward the baths. A feeling like he doesn’t want to be around Teilo. Honestly for Teilo’s own sake. And a little bit of Roy’s. He’d seen him in such a vulnerable place. He’s almost embarrassed to think that that’s all the other thinks of when he sees Roy. Some sad, depressed weirdo who hangs out on the roof and talks about how his missed the voices in his head. What if that embarrassment turns to resentment? What if one day it gets to be too much and Roy just gives in and lets Death take Teilo? Just because they were close? Because he had a strong, negative feeling toward him? He doesn’t have any negative feelings toward him, he reminds himself. He’s just worried things will become that. He always worries about that. 

More people probably like Teilo than they like Roy. So if something were to happen to him and it was Roy’s fault... Not that anyone would believe him. But if they did, he’d be hated. 

Just stop, he tells himself as he reaches the baths. Stop thinking like this. Just relax--that’s the whole point of this. But it’s hard to relax when you’re so in your own head, always worried that your presence will kill people, isn’t it. But today, for now, he needed to.

He stands around almost awkwardly for a moment, debating whether he should look for Teilo or wait for him to find Roy. But he does spot him--it’s not hard, the area isn’t that crowded-- and he shuffles over.] Hey. Sorry I took so long. [He debates telling him that he couldn’t find his swim shorts but when he remembers that he wears basically the same five jumpers and really doesn’t have that many others, it sounds either pathetic or like a lie that it took him so long to look through his very few articles of clothing. Whatever. He’s just quiet for a moment too long instead.] 

make me an island | roy + orson

[Orson pulls a face at the commentary about alcohol making you interesting. He’s skeptical, to say the least (and he’s also aware of the problematic route that might put someone on), but he chuckles nonetheless.] Well. Makes you think you’re more interesting, yeah, I can agree with that. Though I’m sure when alcohol does make you more interesting, it’s probably not in a good way. [He idly spins the glass in front of him slowly, watching the condensation drag across the bartop.] 

But uh—[a breathy laugh, as he rubs at his eye.] I’m assuming you’re talking about the Delma party? I mean, I feel the need to clarify, I wasn’t drunk—[maybe he was, a little bit, but he’s going to deny it.] I was just… loose. Which, yes, yes, I heard it. As soon as that was out of my mouth I heard it, and yes, I now have a lot of regret—but you know what I meant. [He grins, taking another sip of his drink in an effort to minimize the embarrassment. Good thing he hadn’t announced himself as ‘loose’ to Kip; he’d have never let Orson live that one down. He’d be calling Orson ‘loose’ to his fucking grave, no doubt.] 

I would say, though, that the odds are pretty slim. Without Corbin here—or anyone else for that matter—drunk or not drunk, you and I just can not live up to that sort of entertainment. Not in a million years. But you know, that’s probably not a bad thing. I don’t know if I want to be Corbin’s kind of interesting. No offence to him or anything but I just… couldn’t pull it off. Can you imagine me trying to swagger around, cigarette hanging out my mouth, telling off Elites and covering myself in tattoos? It’d be cartoonishly wrong.

You’re probably right on that, [Roy agrees. But he doesn’t think he himself is more interesting when he’s not sober. From what he remembers, he was less in his own head. He was just having fun, he wasn’t worried about what might happen and he wasn’t hearing things. He was just being as normal of a person as he could. But he shouldn’t think about it like that. That he needs alcohol to be interesting--to be normal. That... he knows it wouldn’t end well.

Roy’s smile grows, nodding along as Orson explains himself. He’d known what he meant since he said it but it was endearing how he went on. Honestly, one of them was bound to say something embarrassing at some point, Roy’s just impressed it wasn’t him first.] I don’t think I was drunk either, but you see, my dear friend, if I had said “The last time we got loose together was pretty interesting”... [He lets it sit for a moment as he takes a sip of his drink,] Just imagine the implications. [He grins.]

the untasked | roy + teilo

[ ‘Quiet’. In this context, that description could be taken to mean a multitude of things, and Teilo isn’t sure if Roy intends the remark to be a good thing or a bad thing. Then again, maybe it’s just… a neutral observation. It’s quiet out in the wastes, most times, and a listener can take that however they like. 

The wastes? Do the places the hunting and groundsweeping groups explore out there count as the wastes, he wonders? Do ‘the wastes’ constitute anything beyond a Colony’s boundaries, or is the term meant only to refer to places barren of even the leftovers of a town or city. Is it anywhere abandoned, or simply anywhere the NWRF isn’t, now?

He nods solemnly at the mention of the rain again. Right, Roy is soaking wet and probably cold, miserable. Teilo sure knows how to pick his moments.] Say, do you have anything going on after this? Class or anything? Because you look like you could use a steam, or something. I haven’t spent any time in the baths in a while now, and I’ve been meaning to go back. And what better way to cure a chill from the rain than a good soak or steam, right? 

.

[it’s quiet for a moment. Not necessarily awkward, which is nice. Things so often feel awkward for him. When there’s silence in conversations, it leaves him with a moment to wonder what’s going through the others head. What do they really think of him? Are they bothered by him? Has he said something too dark or weird? Thankfully, he’s not thinking of those things while chatting with Teilo. Whether its because he’s already seen him in a much worse situation or because Roy’s more focused on how his wet shirt is clinging uncomfortably to his back, he’s glad that the silence doesn’t feel heavy or strange. For once. 

He’s almost surprised by his offer. Surprised Teilo wants to continue to be around him. Roy thinks for a moment. The cold clings to him, and he feels a shiver run up his spine. To hang out with Teilo more could lead to disaster. Roy knows the reasons he doesn’t hang around too many people, he wonders if Teilo knows anything about that? 

Or maybe its a pity thing? Maybe Teilo just looks at Roy and sees some miserable prick who hangs out on the edge of the roof and he feels responsible for him?

He spends a moment too long in his head, considering scenarios, considering motives, before he realizes he shouldn’t overthink it. Because damn would a warm steam feel nice right now.]

Um, yeah, sure. [He nods a bit.] It’s been a bit since I’ve been over there too. But it’s always nice. And it definitely sounds nice right now.

It was a rare moment in his sleep where Roy felt calm.

There’s a moment where things are still. Calm. No noise, no static, no screaming. Just a cold sort of calm, like he’s floating. Or falling. He isn’t sure, he couldn’t be sure. Was it a dream? When did he have those that weren’t plagued with visions of death. It was eerie. It was unlike the calm he’d felt when the Reaper had left his mind--when everyone was sick. It was different. It was something he hadn’t felt in a long time. A cooperation with the monsters that lived inside of him; a shared moment of rest between and the devil that dwelled in his mind. A rarity. 

He feels like he’s standing, looking in a mirror, seeing himself. Calm. it’s strange how calm he feels. No dread or panic or worry. Almost like he’s let go. He’s drifting. 

and in the peace there’s a noise that rips through the silence, shattering the walls of this calm reality. the mirror shakes and cracks and in the reflection he sees his face twist and change into something horrific. There’s a flash of black, then light.

And Roy wakes; he feels present in his body again. Not with a start, but still calm. remembering the dream, still hearing that noise. Like a monster in pain. It echoes in the back of his mind. And for a moment there’s still peace. His body feels calm and still. Like a corpse. He doesn’t feel anything in this moment, no emotions. Just this eerie sense of tranquility. He isn’t thinking, isn’t feeling, isn’t questioning why he’s in this sort of state or what’s just happened 

He’s just calm.

-

People are just taking notes in class. He’s not really paying much attention. Tapping his pencil on the paper in front of him, a slow rhythmic bounce. There’s still this calmness around him that he didn’t usually carry. Roy was jumpy and would shake his leg and would mutter to himself in class, but today he’s silent. The only sign he’s even awake and present in his body is the tapping of his pencil. He’s in a haze that he hasn’t been able to shake all day. 

Until the PDD on his wrist lights up, vibrating and sending a chill through his body that lingered. A sense of dread that he couldn’t quite place. The taste of metal in his mouth. 

It isn’t just his that chimes, though. It’s everyone’s. 

He looks at the screen and that dread sets deeper into his bones. And all the noise in his head returns, mixing with the murmuring that breaks out in the room. The static, the screaming, the deep chilling rumble that felt like the devil was laughing in his soul. He feels sick. 

Dead. How could he be dead. Kaiser was like a building. He was a force of nature, he wasn’t... he wasn’t something that could die. Not like this, not in a quiet way in the early hours of the morning. Was it quiet? Or did they just want everyone to think that. A brain aneurysm. It sounds wrong. It sounds fake. Kaiser wasn’t that old, he was stronger than most of the people in this building. How could this have happened.

Something cold takes over his body. He feels frozen in his seat. A chill that scratches like claws down his back. We weren’t close, he thinks. But that’s not true. Kaiser had known him-- he’d known Kaiser. Kaiser practically told him he wanted Roy around. Wanted him to be a part of something bigger. Kaiser had tried to encourage him but Roy always shot him down because he was afraid. Afraid of himself. Afraid of what would happen to him and the people around him. And when Roy had chosen to wallow in self pity instead of standing up for anything, he’d distanced himself from Kaiser. Though in a weird way, there had been times Kaiser had been there for him. Times he’d gone to Kaiser or at the very least thought of doing so. 

And it’s now that Roy realized that in some of his darker times, Kaiser had been around him. Had tried to help him in his own weird way.

His advice was the closest thing to fatherly you’ve gotten in years.

Roy finds himself in a bathroom near the classroom. He doesn’t remember if he’d asked to leave or if he just left. He doubts the teacher cared. This isn’t your fault, this isn’t your fault, this isn’t your fault, he tries to tell himself over and over again. He’s shaking, he can’t breathe. His eyes are burning and he finds himself crying. Crying over a man he felt like he’d done nothing but disappoint. Too much like your real dad, huh? 

He wishes he’d eaten breakfast just so he could have something in his stomach. To maybe make the nausea less bad or so at least something would come from that feeling. It’d been a long time. A long time since someone died, someone he’d gotten close to. A long time since he had to face these fears. Since these fears were made real. 

Roy throws cold water in his face and when he looks up he stares into the mirror, seeing his twisted visage staring back, darkness around it, an inhuman smile on his face. 

“Why him? Why now?” Roy finds himself whispering, gripping the sink, feeling ill as the reflection moves; a sort of vertigo effect around the edges. It shakes and the noises in his head are louder. Screaming. He feels like his ears are about to bleed but he knows they won’t. It’s all inside. It’s all in his fucking head. 

There’s the laughter from the Reaper and Roy blinks. When his eyes open, focusing on the distorted reflection he sees Kaiser looming over his shoulder, eyes gone, bloody sockets remaining. Darkness gathered around him, his skin taught to the bone. He looks like he’s screaming. He looks angry and in pain. He reaches a hand out, touching Roy’s shoulder, something he did often--something he can feel the weight of-- and Roy is filled with a blind panic. 

It takes a moment for him to realize what’s happened. He’s backed up on the ground, in the corner of the restroom, clutching his hand. It takes a moment to remember where he is, why he’s here. It takes a moment to remember what he’d seen in the mirror, it takes a moment to remember lashing out, punching the mirror several times, harder and harder until he couldn’t see his reflection anymore through the cracked glass and his blood that smeared across it. 

He can’t stop thinking about his morning. How calm his head was. How he felt normal. How the Reaper felt cooperative, like there was no battle, like Roy didn’t have to fight to keep him quiet.

make me an island | roy + orson

[It’s funny, because they’re both not particularly ‘good’ at the ‘fun blokes at a bar’ thing. Which is entertaining partly because they maybe should have been, or could have been, had they not had their young-adulthood so starkly interrupted. It’s sort of hard to become the same person when you’re only a teenager by the time the apocalypse roles around. But it’s also entertaining because they’re both trying anyway, and they’re both here, soon-to-be enjoying themselves and it’s sort of like they’re discovering something new that everyone else had figured out years ago. That maybe they don’t even think about anymore, because this is hardly the time and place. 

But before D-Day, Orson had other things to focus on. Like figuring out where he would apply for university—and what the bloody hell he would study—and hoping that wherever he ended up next, he could get a handle on his nightmares and his tremors enough to not end up ‘that strange, quiet one’ in the corner of all the classrooms again. He’d managed to overcome a lot of that with Joel’s presence in his life and guidance at school. But what would he do without Joel’s support? Would he be able to replicate the confidence he’d managed to fabricate with the reliable leadership of his older brother? 

But now, what was there really to focus on? Political unrest, oppression, hostility? Traumatizing nightmares and visions of death, replaying in his mind, over and over, like a jingle from hell? An ‘ability’ he couldn’t control, and was too afraid to try? Not being able to touch Kip, someone he liked. Not being able to touch anyone. 

Except for Roy. He could touch Roy, by some miracle, and the first time they’d hugged, he’d cried. It’d been so, so long. Too long. And for a week after that, they’d held hands every time they were together, just because they could. They’d never talked about it. 

Now, he pats Roy’s shoulder in greeting, in lieu of a hug, but a part of his wishes he’d stood up when Roy had come in, to take advantage the opportunity.]

Er, you’re welcome? [He chuckles a little.] Were you always this formal with your friends? You don’t need to thank me, Roy. I do actually like you, [he teases, taking a sip of his drink.] But I’ve been alright, I guess. [He shrugs. Pauses. Shakes his head with a bit of a wince.] God, I sound like a broken record, don’t I? 

[His answer to that is always the same, no matter who’s asking, no matter when. It’s sort of depressing, when he thinks about it too long, so he tries not to.

[It’s nice when Orson pats his shoulder. It’s nice because he’s glad Orson can have someone he feels comfortable touching and it’s nice because while it might not be for the same reasons, Roy also finds himself starved of physical affection. Any kind of touch, really. He doesn’t have the fear of it, of having to make sure he doesn’t even brush into someone like his friend does, but he finds that most people just don’t like to come into contact with him. Most people prefer to stay away from him because when he’s not sitting off on his own, muttering to himself or just looking all jumpy, he’s usually being defensive which comes across as him being an asshole. Most people don’t like him, that’s why he only has a few people he hangs out with. And he’s glad that Orson--one of his few and closest friends--can touch him. For both of their sakes. 

Roy rolls his eyes a bit,] No, not always. Just... I dunno, guess I wanted to be polite just in case this was a pity thing, but now that you’ve confirmed it’s not and that you do in fact like me, [he says with a teasing grin,] I guess I’ll just be my normal, rude self. [Roy feels like that doesn’t come out as he means for it to. This was why he was being overly formal. Because he doesn’t fucking know how to talk to people. Maybe he’d relax once he’d had a few drinks? He fucking hoped so. He needs to relax; he always needs to relax.

And as if the bartender could sense his awkwardness, he’s passed his drink.]

At least it’s not a bad record. [He says, taking a sip of his drink.] I feel like I sound like that but it’s always depressing shit that comes out of my mouth. [he looks over at Orson.] But that’s what they say about alcohol, right? Makes you more interesting? Or it at least makes you think you’re more interesting? 

the untasked | roy + teilo

[Teilo chuckles—because for a moment, a very brief moment, he forgets that it’s not a universal thing they can both joke about. He reacts to it like he would have an idea of cleaning the bathroom at home, or at a minimum wage job at a local fast food place. But he quickly realizes that he doen’t share this with Roy. He’s Uninfected. He isn’t forced to do chores, that, from the sounds of it, were just a way of contributing and keeping the Colony operating in the new landscape of a moneyless, jobless world. 

In fact, if he’s splitting hairs, he’d never even had a minimum wage job—not one like that, anyway. Not serving burgers and fries or wearing a tacky uniform and a hairnet, coming home smelling like onions and grease. Of course he hadn’t—it was so far removed from the ways of the Aisling household, and it’s almost funny how it’s after the apocalypse, that Teilo is the most starkly aware of his privilege. 

He feels a little bad—not for laughing, per se, but for the fact that he can’t gripe along with Roy in the same way. That he has to take Roy’s word for it, that Janitorial is the worst. That for once, he doesn’t know what to say to it.] 

Yeah, I can imagine… I have to say, in a way the hunting and groundsweeping are the chores I envy the most, being that I’m not in the rotations. Not that I think I’d be any good at hunting… but it seems like it would be a fascinating change of scenery, getting beyond these walls. [Though he hopes that’s not ignorant of him. The journey here had been mostly by boat, but from what he’d seen, there are some depressing landscapes out there, and he can only imagine that the outskirts are worse.] 

Do you enjoy the journeys? How far do you go? 

[If he hadn’t been cold and wet, Roy might’ve been more bitter at Teilo laughing along like he understood. But he doesn’t even really think about it in this moment because he has other things to worry about. Like not getting hypothermia. Maybe he was being dramatic, but whatever. That’s what his mind was focused on now. 

It’s something that he doesn’t even really want to pay mind to because he’s pretty sure Teilo hasn’t ever had to work for anything in a physical way ever. Not that he had confirmation of that, but he just seemed like he was--back when the world was normal-- well off, and he seemed smart and like he just succeeded in everything. Not that Roy had a job before D-Day, but he did have an excuse seeing as he hadn’t been old enough to get a job. But he did stuff now, so that made up for it. He has worked, he’s done shitty chores, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care if its unfair that the uninfected don’t have to do them. He probably wouldn’t have even thought about it in this moment if Teilo didn’t state the obvious. Being that I’m not in rotations. No need to brag, Teilo.

Roy doesn’t really care, but he’s just decided that on top of being bitter about being drenched in cold ass rain, he’d be bitter about this too since Teilo just had to say something like that. He tries to remind himself that he’s just trying to be nice, that he’s trying to check in on Roy. So he probably shouldn’t be a dick to him.]

I mean, it’s mostly just more dead trees, [Roy says as he talks about the scenery. He shrugs,] I don’t hate it, I guess. It’s really quiet out there. [He knows there are times when everyone will be just out of sight and he feels like he’s entirely alone. And there’s this part of him that finally feels at peace. Like the anxiety of bringing death to the people who live around you has settled, even just for a moment. He knows it’s selfish of him to stay with the Colony--to stay around people-- but he can’t help it. Because eventually that silence would be too much. Eventually the darkness would take over and he wouldn’t even be himself anymore. He’d just be an avatar of death, lurking in the wastes. Not quite alive, not quite dead.]