[ Starter for @esperpeanuts ;; Tag Along ]
The handles of a plastic bag crinkle and rustle in Gregor's hands as he slowly shuffles his way through the streets. Nothing feels quite real, like the still-wet stone beneath his feet could slip away at any moment. It catches and shimmers with the late evening streetlights, golden hues cascading down the walkway. The light plays strangely off of the slow meandering shapes of other passerbys, the facsimile of workers heading home and young couples going out. Heads huddles close, steps brisk and quick.
It's hard to believe he's back here again.
It's hard to think of much of anything at all, honestly.
His skin still crawls with phantom insects, a lingering, heated malaise that squirms and writhes beneath his skin with every breath. It chews at his thoughts and eats holes in every stuttering breath. March, consume, erase.
Gregor blinks the exhaustion from his eyes. It takes him a tenuous moment to remember where he's going. The faint recollection of a bench by a quiet river…
He doesn't have anywhere better to be right now, that's for damn sure.
There's a small lump on the ground, indistinct shades of black and pink. He completely glazes right over it— the street is nothing but space for pedestrians, and there's plenty of space between him and it as is. He's too preoccupied with watching where he's going to be scanning around for anything else.
The lump somehow bursts into loud, ugly bawling the moment he passes it— it startles Gregor bad enough to make him jump, the bottles in one of the bags clinking loudly. He can feel his heart rocket right up into his throat, nerves frayed and raw.
…It isn't just a piece of junk left out on the road. There's a small girl curled up against the still-wet ground when he whips around to look crying her poor little head off, face ruddy and tear-stricken. She can't be any older than five or so; she looks well-taken care of at any rate, the fact that she's huddled on a random dirty street aside. Someone's kid.
"W-woah, hey—" it's an old reflex by now to angle his arm away from civilians when he approaches them. He doesn't want to exacerbate whatever kind of freakout the poor kid is going through. Maybe she's… gotten lost? Is she real?
"Is everything alright, kid?" The words feel clumsy between his teeth. He can feel the water soaking into his pants the moment he drops to a cautious knee, insectile arm tucked up close and out of the way.
