✦ the quiet machine.

“yeah, i’ll bet you fuckin’ are.” nadja’s lips curved into a knowing, good-natured smirk. drunk people needed a certain kind of hand depending on the type. some people, assholes in their own right when riddled with SOBRIETY, became absolutely impossible. those were the ones she liked to PUSH. she could push a man to the brink in the spaces between a few choice words and since it was her place ( her and rochi’s ), and there were NO LAWS ( save those of man ), she could do whatever she wanted. rosario and nadja were their own sheriffs. kids like this? they needed TIME. they needed someone to look out for them, a cup of coffee, maybe some greasy breakfast that didn’t exist for anyone but spectres that haunted diners across america.

nadja raised an annoyed, if not amused, brow at his challenge. so much hubris, built from liquid courage that churned and boiled in his belly. “and you don’t have to be in my bar,” she warned, almost a mother’s cautionary tone somewhere in her gravelly voice, “but sometimes the universe makes a fuckin’ exception.” she should’ve been in canada even now, after all this time. she didn’t have to ( like he’d said ) leave vancouver to meet some band in cheyenne, wyoming just to get away from ANOTHER failed relationship. the only thing, as far as nadja was concerned, that a person really had to fuckin’ do was die. there were PLENTY of those poor sons of bitches roaming the city–the ones whom had been unable to stave off the inevitable. theirs was a fate much worse than death.

glad to see the kid slide into the booth, huffing with palpable defeat, a sturdy fist beat the back of a worn leather jacket behind her. “hey–” she demanded the man’s attention. “go get me a coffee from rosario. move your ass.” HARD EYES were stronger than words and the man nodded politely, excusing himself from rowdy conversation and milling his way through the crowd to the bar. those who were regulars knew how to keep their cups full and their scales balanced in the favor of los abuelos’ prolific owners. 

attention back at the kid, nadja realized she’d hit a nerve. an old pet name from someone long loved and dead? something darker, deeper perhaps? there was no way of knowing and she didn’t care to pry anymore than she cared to share her own weak points. everyone had an ACHILLES HEEL and it was so rare that they were the teeth and claws of real threats, but rather the small tragedies of daily life, long since diagnosed terminal in a dying world. “alright, karate kid.” she changed the nickname back to something attached to the present as the man delivered their coffee. thanking him with a curt nod, she slid a cup to the boy. “I’d offer you cream of sugar, but I don’t fuckin’ have any.” she cracked her knuckles and pulled an ashtray closer to her, lighting a cigarettes–holding it firm between her teeth as she continued to speak. “besides only bad mother fuckers drink their coffee black.” an offering of some of his, likely bruised, ego back.

tired eyes slowly shut. the anger didn’t fizzle out like he wanted it to. instead, it grew. every retort shot at his direction made it bigger, sharper, uglier. he tried to dismantle it, tear it apart limb from limb before it could grow larger than him. but it tore through him. his pulse simmered. the feeling demanded a target, or at least something to chew on. devrim pressed the cup between his thumb and forefinger just to ground himself, welcoming the sharp sting of heat on his skin. right then, he envied the woman and her ability to wield her aggression like a switchblade and not care whom it cut. he didn’t have that kind of strength. silence was the only armor he could afford.

SIT YOUR SORRY ASS DOWN or YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE IN MY BAR? which was it? angry as he was, his inhibitions were no longer low enough to let him point out the contradiction; devrim kept the retort to himself. talking to her felt like walking on thin ice — a misstep could send him falling, not to the harsh and unforgiving cold, but to the casual but fierce fury of a woman scorned. the only defense he had on him was carefulness — carefulness and tact —  and with alcohol, that went away, too. right then, he was glad of the sobriety slowly descending on him. self-control was a relief. 

❝ you win, ❞ he said, finally. he kept his voice even, though his words held a quiet anger. the cup had lost much of his warmth by then; not all of it, but enough that a touch no longer seared the skin. eyes fell on the drink, staring at it blankly, frustrated at how the laws of thermodynamics denied him even the basic pleasure of a distracting sensation — until peripheral vision caught a glimpse of the cigarette between the woman’s teeth. he spared it a quick glance, then let his gaze fall back on the cup, almost frowning. he sighed to himself. maybe some bad motherfuckers just want to sleep. nonetheless, he took a sip, but in his mind, the image of the cigarette persisted.

zoinks ! ya girl is back with her bad life decisions.  i’ll be gone the whole day tomorrow, and then i’m leaving for vietnam the day after that so you won’t be seeing much of me, and if you do see me, make sure to yell at me for procrastinating on real life responsibilities ! now here’s a to-do-list just to keep track of what i owe

It was a hard shell to crack, not that Devrim was a science experiment Aiden was trying to figure out. It was, simply, he wanted to better understand his campmates. Most were easy – emotions worn on sleeves and expressions easily placeable – but it wasn’t the case for all. Those like Devrim, Olivia and Becks would always be harder and how much of Aiden did they want in their life? Some of his longest standing camp mates were some of the people Aiden knew LEAST and it wasn’t for a lack of caring about them but that it was simply how much they wanted to give and how much to take.

Aiden wasn’t their DAD or BOSS or MENTOR – he was simply in a position of a power over young adults. It wasn’t up to him to try and integrate himself into their lives. There were some who made relationships with him – Luz and Ashley among them – but unless that was clear that was what they wanted, Aiden kept a distance.

For Devrim, it was specifically hard to figure out. He clearly respected authority and felt tense around Aiden but was it out of respect or fear? Both? –Maybe. He saw the small flicker of something in his stance when he placed a hand on his shoulder but it didn’t last long since Aiden’s hand soon returned to his side, nodding off to a side corridor, away from the Commons area and their meeting place heavy with traffic. “How’s it goin’? I mean around here..I haven’t spoken with you since that night. How are you holdin’ up? We haven’t gotten the chance to talk much recently.”

There was something humiliating about just how much power politeness lent. It all reinforced truths he’d already known about himself, that he didn’t know how to survive without making himself smaller, that he was barely anybody’s equal, that his life depended on what bigger people thought of him because he didn’t know how to make it on his own. He wished he could say that all “Yes, sirs,” and careful language  he’d thrown around was a testament of GOOD CHARACTER. But it wasn’t. Respectfulness was never a product of his character. It was a product of being afraid.

It wasn’t that Aiden didn’t deserve respect. Of course he did. But maybe if Devrim had half Aiden’s strength, he wouldn’t have to trade out dignity as if self-abasement was a currency for survival. The result was the strange middle ground of showing enough strength to prove himself useful, but not so much that he’d be perceived as a threat. It left no window for honesty, no way to tell Aiden what he really felt. 

     lucia was not silent in her movements. she did the best she could, but more often than not, she fell short. especially with the limping—that was definitely something that she couldn’t simply brush off. every step she took was hard labor, pins and needles that left her feeling NUMB. it made travel difficult, and because of that, she never strayed too far. no, not unless she had somewhere to stay should something go terribly wrong. the icy air hit her skin FURIOUSLY, and she could feel her teeth chatter as he body tried to generate some heat. she had several jackets on, but it really wasn’t enough. not when the nights came faster and the temperature dropped to unbearable degrees. however, she managed just as she ALWAYS did. 

     the young girl turned the corner of the street, eyes searching over what remained of the city—a desolate, eerie silence that soon became filled with the whimpers of SOMETHING. it wasn’t long before the source became known, and lucia’s gaze settled on a man and a dog. terror raced through her as the dog grew low to the ground, hairs between their shoulder and on their neck standing straight up. with their teeth bared, lucia feared an ATTACK. she had never been around many dogs before—only robocop—and that dog had never looked at her with such aggression before. 

     stumbling back, lucia BARELY caught herself, preventing what would have been a rather nasty fall. not knowing how to react to such a THREAT, lucia simply stood there, frozen in silence and hands slowly raising in the air as if that would somehow communicate to the dog that she wasn’t a threat to their life. ❝ PLEASE, don’t let the dog attack me, ❞ she begged the other softly, blue orbs wide with fear.

any feelings of wariness dissipated at the sight of the girl, who didn’t seem much of a threat with how she was — scared and limping like the small creature on his lap. ”hey,” he whispered, rubbing the top of the dog’s head with his thumb. growls softened as he stroked her fur. “don’t be scared. she’s not going to hurt you either.”

          light peaks past cracks in the pillowy clouds, nothing like the vivid golds and pinks of summer. the sky is baby blue with streaks of yellow, a hopeful yellow, and the sun rises over cheyenne with a quiet whisper of new beginnings. the new beginning bears the beautiful and simple possibility of friendship for adele. life in the survivalist society leaves little chances for many friendships to last, perhaps begin, and the hans fall into the familiar routine they know from childhood: keep to yourselves. a routine broken by the likes of a vibrant and precocious ingrid sergeant comes back after the great loss of such a vibrant soul. 

           adele is no ingrid. not really, no. pretty and warm? absolutely, adele is a beautiful and warm young woman, but not like ingrid. the kindness and the tranquility devrim finds in adele seems naïve, but it is a way to keep a memory of ingrid as bright and pretty as possible in an ugly world. it is an attempt, perhaps a silly attempt, to make the worst seem better. so, adele embraces the warmth after years as the queen of the ice.   ❛   good morning,   ❜   the greeting beams with hope and optimism like the sunrise,   ❛   i’m excited to spend the day with you.   ❜     the smile looks shy, almost as if adele thinks she’s said something very wrong, but the friendly sentiment lingers over them.

           lake absarraca means almost nothing to adele, save the memories of central high kids hosting bonfires by the lake through snapchat and instagram. a little hum and a nod sound in reply to the unsure statement,   ❛   just south, we’ll know we’re on the right path when we see central high school.   ❜   

it’s not that he likes being alone. it’s that the alone-ness doesn’t know how to leave him, to the point that alone feels safer simply because it’s familiar. when ashley calls him his friend, he raises an eyebrow. when adele says she’s excited, he does the same. it’s not that he thinks they’re lying, it’s just that what they’re saying isn’t easy to believe in. to smile back and accept her words feels wrong, like he’s taking something that doesn’t belong to him, intruding a space that isn’t his.

the cynical realization saps most of his energy to speak, but just so she doesn’t mistake his silence for contempt, he says, ❝ you too. ❞   the remark comes off a little grim, so he tries to smile. it doesn’t work in his favour; all the attempt does is make him look even less sincere. eyebrows knit together in self-directed frustration. ❝  sorry. ❞   the word slips out without him thinking of it. devrim bites his lip, attempting to assemble some positivity within himself to at least mirror hers. ❝  i mean —  yeah. i’ll take note of that. ❞   

my writing has been uglie lately and i can’t get it to cooperate but just so i don’t forget here’s a to do list 

❛  ━  ANOTHER COG IN THE MURDER MACHINE !

task 001: identitatem

the air was beginning to feel ODD between them — and though alix smiled at his ‘ thanks ’, his eyes were saying s o m e t h i n g else even HE couldn’t quite pinpoint. the tall brunette took a s m a l l step closer as it seemed his opposite was a p o l o g i z i n g. curious ; he furrowed his brows. ❛ oh… you didn’t. ❜ he returned, shaking his head and expelling a NERVOUS chuckle as vision d a r t e d down briefly. he wasn’t l y i n g, resealing his lips and looking back to his opposite ; if anything he was IMPRESSED. another s h a k e of his head and he gave the other male a s o f t smile… alix was laughing more out of NERVES now. when it seemed the other boy was about to l e a v e, however, alix reacted hastily… w e i r d l y hastily. ❛ have–! you, um… trained, or…? …like ninja warrior? ‘cause you took that thing down freakishly fast. ❜ he motioned to the dropped walker, i n t e n t i o n a l l y making him stay and chat for SELFISH reasons before going inside.

❝  uh, ❞   having such a quick fight-or-flight response had always been a double edged sword. on one hand, the alertness drove him to fight... freakishly fast, as the kid put it, but on the other hand, it made moments like this incredibly awkward. devrim never liked attention, couldn’t quite relate to the kind of people that reveled in it, wanted it, or even went so far as to seek it. there was a certain discomfort that came with feeling watched. moreso, there was a certain discomfort that came with being forced to talk about himself. shoulders tensed. eyebrows furrowed in an attempt stop the strain from betraying itself in his face. ❝  not really. ❞  can i go now?

dark browns couldn’t LEAVE the other male… no matter how MUCH he w a n t e d to look away… or did he? the moment they eye contact, alix just KNEW it’d take him a minute. lips rolled in and he t r i e d to stop his cheeks from REDDENING — before he slowly began to nod. ❛ thank-y. ❜ nope. redo. unintentional. alix shook his head ( nonchalantly ) and cleared his throat. ❛ thanks. ❜ vision d r i f t e d from the guy to the dropped walker with a unicorn mask still on his head, and he couldn’t help but roll his lips in again… this time to stop himself from LAUGHING ; though as the undead unicorn slayer seemed to ask a question, attention shot back to him. ❛ oh… uh, yeah. there’s one inside… ❜ he gestured b a c k to the country club. a l a u g h slipped. he couldn’t HELP it. why was this so awkward? ❛ …down the hall, to the right. ❜

nadja’s vocabulary, though concise in everyday speech, was ROBUST. she was, after all, the daughter of an english professor and his young ingenue. still, in the enjoyment of her own voice, nadja exhaled more ‘fucks’ than she took in BREATHS. her mother had once called her ‘THEATRICAL’ as a kid and tried to push her into theatre. like most things her parents supported, it was rejected outright. but they had not been wrong in their assessment. nadja’s public personality was, in many ways, a PRODUCTION. the vulnerabilities she hid underneath a studded leather jacket like armor were laughed off with exhales of smoke. much like her laughter now, as the man slipped out of the doors of los abuelos–more afraid of the towering woman than DECAYING FLESH.

“yeah,” she turned, narrowing her eyes at the boy’s hubris. there was a glint of annoyance there–the way a guitarist sneers at someone who touches their instrument without permission. “i think that i get to be fuckin’ patronizing, kid.” brow raised in amusement, her lips followed suit–raising asymmetrically into her trademark expression ( which fell somewhere in the middle of the spectrum of SMIRK AND SNEER ). waving her hand to gesture to the space that was STANDING ROOM ONLY and filled to the brim with sound–the din of competing voices and clinking bottles–she let her expression fall to mock innocence. “where do you think you are? this is my HOUSE, kid. and you can shove the manners. i’m nobody’s fuckin’ ma’am.” 

the narrowing of her eyes is not in anger. in reality, she thinks the kid is plucky, amusing, and ANGRY. he reminds her of her younger self. she studies him seriously–somewhere between aware of how intimidating her presence is and not realizing what that experience really means for the subject of her gaze. it is nothing comfortable. even still, it was difficult not to smile or chuckle at dark rage in his eyes. what does RAW VIOLENCE have to fear from unfocused, boozy hatred. when he explains his role in the events, the smile defeats her and she grins, arms crossed as she flicks the ash from her cigarette. the first trace of something genuine in nadja’s eyes. 

“I like that. and i don’t think you’re too far off either.” smile faltering, the sincerity stayed as she spoke seriously. it was no lie that the boy had meant to protect himself over any malice, despite the fiery rage her regarded her with. “he meant to kill you. sometimes men look for someone to kill for NO GOOD REASON.” you’ve got to make yourself the bigger fuckin’ enemy. “you’re alright, karate kid. you’re alright.” it seemed, however, that the boy–despite his self-defense–still harboured a DEATHWISH. “yeah, kiddo, that’s not gonna fuckin’ happen.” she laughed, cigarette bobbing in her mouth. “at least not ‘til you’re a few less sheets to the wind.” gesturing again at the booth, albeit kinder this time, she repeated herself. “take a seat and make yourself comfortable. i have a feeling you’re in for a long fuckin’ night.”

things slowly started gaining clarity. the buzz remained, but he was coming back to himself, at least — the war in his mind was coming to an end as common sense and instinct came crashing on one another. strangely, that only made things worse. though anger didn’t need logic to exist, it wanted it, fed into every rationalization as the mind spewed out explanations as if they were no less objective than a shopping list: you’re angry. why? because i’ve been hurt. why? because i hurt someone. why? because i was scared. why? because hurting’s the only thing the fucking world knows how to do, right? why?

❝  — i’m so tired,  ❞  he said.

but it never got anywhere, the anger. the urge to act on emotion was always outweighed by his fear of the consequences, because no matter how hard he tried, he could never seem to make himself the bigger enemy. he’d been itching all his life to become a goddamn fire but knew it took just a stomp to put the flame out. fear then came and closed the exit doors, locking the negativity inside to let the damn rot fester. it turned his body into such an inhospitable place. the throat choked on every sharp retort he’d left unsaid while his nerves surged with the tiresome fury of every punch he’d been too afraid to throw back. his veins became equal parts his father’s monster blood and his own poison rage, and god, his skin was an exhausting place to live in.

the apprehension spiked up when she smiled —  he didn’t have the energy to process why. all he understood was that it felt like an act of condescension; every goddamn nerve in his body was both exhausted and on edge and she had the luxury of finding that entertaining. devrim slid into the booth, movements graceless and sluggish, burnt out from both the buzz and from feeling too much. though his eyes betrayed resignation, his gaze didn’t falter. it locked on hers, weary but unwavering. ❝  sure, you get to be,  ❞   patronizing, he meant. the words were said with more weariness than contempt, save for his frustration at the powerlessness of a too-late comeback. ❝  you don’t have to be.  ❞  there was no point in pretending he held any power. if this was a fight, she was on the winning end. it was better to accept defeat with quiet dignity than argue and risk losing more of his pride. 

OH SHIT. he hadn’t meant for THAT to happen. it seemed the stranger and the walker were now at arms… while alix was left standing off to the side with his hand over his mouth like an idiot. wide, dark brown hues watched in awe as his opposite heroically slayed the undead unicorn. the boy almost wanted to FILM it, it was too priceless. with every stab, however, alix took a small step back  — pre-cautionary reasons. and once the other survivor had finished and turned to face him? alix jerked back slightly, surprised, hand still covering his mouth… and eyes wide for days. slowly, he lowered his hand from his mouth, looking at the other boy. ❛ nice arm… w-with the… stabby… ❜ he swallowed awkwardly, choosing to IGNORE what he’d said before and stick with a new story.

devrim blinked.  ❝  uh,  ❞  he said. the brain still needed time to cool down from the aftermath of adrenaline rush. “thanks. i think,” his free hand reached for the back of his head in antsiness. “nice arm, too, with the,” the words felt awkward on his tongue, ❝  … shooty.  ❞   speaking was making nothing better. he hadn’t intended to SCARE the kid, he’d just meant to protect himself. still, no rationalization could erase the damage done, and as the boy stared back at him with wide eyes, some thing ugly and familiar rose to his chest. guilt. shame. feelings that had grown to call his heart home. now, it was difficult to tell what kind of response this situation merited. an apology? an explanation? devrim bit his lip. ❝   so… um,  ❞   he stared at his hands. at his knife. smears of rotter grime stained them both, and there, devrim found his excuse.  ❝   i gotta … wash this. do you know where the bathroom is?  ❞