[Meta Inspired PRP] Tentatively (Muerte & Aprife) FIN

[saedusk]

The apology was nothing short of unexpected, though it was hardly the first time he'd been surprised that night. It never quite showed on his face, not even now with his feelings laid bare, but that didn't mean it wasn't there. Especially now, far beyond the surprise of Muerte stumbling over his words and wrestling with things he didn't understand. Aprife realized he had never heard a genuine sorry before. In fact, he was positive the closest thing he'd gotten was a defensive whatever.

The swamp immediately lost his interest. Turning back, his eyes trained onto Muerte, one of many uncountable times. There was still an edge of awkwardness in the air and lingering over the greenblood himself. They might've been small things, the way his chewed his lip, the way he shuffled and hesitated... Aprife noticed them either way. It only made the stark contrast of his attempts at regaining normalcy more apparent.

He knew Muerte understood the severity of their situation. It wasn't necessary to to jump immediately back to business simply because he'd made a comment. Still, like there had been no accusation in it, there was no malice in his thoughts now. Actually, it felt a lot like something he might do in Muerte's situation. He knew all too well the draw to step back and put on a mask of impersonality.

"It's alright," he assured. "I guess I... needed this chance to talk." It was true, he had felt a relief in that moment, if only slightly. In a way, he didn't want to dismiss that. "Sometimes... it's okay to take a breather."

Aprife wasn't particularly concerned with catching up to the caravan now. He was positive they would, or at least that the mother grub would be alright, still alive and coiled around her brood when they saw her next. He supposed there wasn't much more to accomplish standing here in the middle of the swamp, not unless Muerte had something else to say.

"Let's get moving, then." But he made no move to do so, at least not right away. He wasn't going to rush them, and when Muerte attempt to return the horn ring, his resolve to keep the pace manageable for the both of them was only strengthened. The tiniest hint of a smile broke through his droopy exterior, one that was not quite so fake, but still barely there.

"Hold onto it for me, okay?" It was a simple request, but it was a request nonetheless. If the doctor really didn't want it, he'd take it back, but he hardly needed it right now. If it brought Muerte any kind of comfort, even a little, it was doing more good than it did wrapped around his horn, after all.

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

Wrestling with things he didn't understand was something short of an understatement. The only thing that kept more frustrations from spilling out was the understandably exhausted veil that consumed his exterior. Despite that, a tiny expression of surprise shown on his face as Aprife rejected the ring. Had he more energy or visual clarity to bore into the situation, Muerte might have inquired why again, or perhaps seen the small smile that graced Aprife's feature, a genuine one. Maybe he could parse some far more alien reasoning, something that surpassed that ulterior vibe that plagued his thoughts and paranoia. Comfort would always remain a far-away notion to him.

...Would it? The greenblood cradled the ring in his palms again, still stationary despite Aprife's words, though he knew he was still stationary too. It felt almost like a dream—perhaps a daymare given the circumstances—but he felt strangely... at peace. It was an uneven equilibrium to be sure. Muerte could still feel a chilling breath ghosting against his proverbial back, see the long coiling tendrils snaking around the edges of his blurry vision. There were still plenty of reasons to fear and be wary. But when the greenblood flicked the light back to life from the ring, those visions and thoughts seemed to fade, if even slightly. His fragile temperance was delicately held together through a bizarre mix of shaky trust and uncertain condolence from the object in his hands.

It would, at the very least, get him through the night. That was all that mattered. So long as he could make it through the next day and the one that followed, he would be alright. Feeling his heart thrum with pulse and his lungs fill with air was the top priority.

"Moving... of course." His tone was remarkably passive, the statement more of a filler to the space that had once again settled between them. After a moment of consideration, Muerte slipped the ring onto his wrist like a bracelet.

He had always considered Aprife like minded in the sense of his professionalism. Muerte made a weak attempt at pretending this incident hadn't happened, and yet that attempt remained fastened to his wrist. Did Aprife realize the significance in that? He could have taken he chance easily—almost as easily as how Muerte could have ignored him earlier, not pressed him about Zeffer. Maybe they both wanted this. How strange.

"There can be benefit in breaks." he said without really thinking, the filters in his head decidedly shut off, not to mention any troll that really knew Muerte (which quite frankly wasn't really anyone) would see the blatant hypocrisy in that statement, as Muerte believed only in grueling work and results. It was his body's own fault for not being able to withstand the stress. "Though, I..."

Muerte shook his head slowly, clicking his tongue. He wasn't suited for this, and he wasn't about to try and comfort the yellowblood when he was sure they'd both know it was absolute bullshit. Something about the situation still bothered him, even though it made sense to him in a strange way.

"...He... simply never struck me as the type to think things through." there was a curt nod that accompanied that statement as he finally took a careful step forward, boot toeing nervously for any debris. Coast clear, one step, still clear, another. One god damn boot sopped in front of the other. It was more like an awkward shuffle, not necessarily taking his feet completely off of the ground, knocking away small twigs and rocks that found themselves in his path. With a twinge writhing uncomfortably in his gut, he came to another stop.

Yeah, he felt better when Aprife was leading, and when he was using him for support. Any other time, Muerte wouldn't have even come close to admitted that, not even privately to himself.

He motioned vaguely ahead of him, "Could you..." he flicked his wrist, ring bouncing with the motion. He turned to look back at the yellowblood, face gaunt with stress and eyes lidded with fatigue. Without meaning to, he yawned, long and drawled out, yet calm and content.

saedusk

i didn't proof this sorrrrrrry LOL

 

[saedusk]

Everything about this encounter had been a shot in the dark and asking Muerte to hold onto the horn ring was no different. The question of whether or not he would accept it stretched on through the silence that fell between them, an unspoken conversation.

The natural rhythm of the swamp grew louder around them with every passing moment. It framed them like a goddamn picture: two wet and weary trolls having a moment, in the middle of a swamp, over what amounted to a piece of glow-in-the-dark jewelry. It felt more significant than that, though, of course it did. It felt like a link to a troll he was only beginning to understand, but was compelled linger near anyway. As cautious and fragile as the connection might be, it was far more than just a ring.

Or bracelet, as it were.

Aprife felt a sense of relief, a momentary weightlessness that was a lot like finally sitting down after standing all night. He'd taken a chance, that much was still apparent, but Muerte responded. Maybe they both wanted this. And maybe that was okay.

Things weren't moonlight and roses, but they were okay. Fledgeling understanding meant there was still so much Aprife had to learn, though. Muerte's starkly hypocritical comment rang as wholly casual on his radar, as straightforward as it had escaped through the disengaged barriers in his think pan. So untouched it sounded truthful.

Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately, since no one was quite in a place good enough for debate about personal issues—tonight was not the night for such a deep dive. Instead, the yellowblood mentally grasped something else, taking further solace in Muerte's spoken agreement with his internalized opinion on his... matesprit. Aprife still pitied Zeffer, there was simply no way around that right now, but it stung how weak the blueblood's forethought was in his mind. Did he truly not realize how far he was letting himself fall? Did he think that revealing his feelings now of all times was a good idea (though really, when was a good time for that kind of honesty)? Did he know now, wherever he was, that Aprife was thinking of him?

"You're... too right." Aprife tried not to focus on the way his insides threatened to feel heavy again. Instead he settled on the vague camaraderie Muerte's words stirred in him, even as simple and not-quite-the-comfort-type as they were. As self-centered as he was, as difficult as it was to admit it, Aprife hated to feel alone. At least he wouldn't have to experience it now.

Eyes dulled with exhaustion followed Muerte as he began to move again. His gaze flickered down to the greenblood's boots, coated in muck, cautious in their step. Automatically, Aprife trailed behind. It was only when his companion motioned for him to go ahead that he did so almost thoughtlessly, muttering a quick, "Ah, sure." The significance hit him once he'd passed, hesitating near Muerte, but only long enough to ensure he could follow as closely as he chose to.

Muerte was letting him lead, putting his faith in him again, circumstantial or not. Aprife felt the doctor was further relaxing his guard, if only slightly and if that mellow sounding yawn was any indication. It was almost... reassuring.

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

Okay was a well enough way to put it, though the inner peace was fragile at best. Muerte merely saw it fit to focus on living through the night before he focused on his turmoils. They had wasted enough time, and it wasn't the place to begin with. He didn't need to be dealing with this right now, and from the sounds of it, neither did Aprife. Unbeknownst to Muerte (though he had a strange feeling...), they both had arrived to the same mental conclusion. For them, in this tenuous moment, they were breathing and moving forward. Simply put: okay.

And that would do, for now.

Things still made little sense to him. He watched as the blurry figure was a little slumped as Aprife moved past him. He didn't need his glasses to make out the details; he could tell the yellowblood was just as exhausted as he was. Anyone could probably come to that conclusion. The specific camaraderie that Muerte couldn't yet grasp still lingered tentatively in the midst. Everything aside, there was a trust there, and it was evident as the greenblood forced his stiffened and sore legs forward, carefully trailing after Aprife.

There was still a little hesitation to be sure—Muerte was still, first and foremost, prideful—but he had a sense that... they were both above that sort of dignity. As much as Muerte didn't want to admit it, they were both at a pretty unusual low. He found a tiny, well kept solace in that fact. They were both bound in this general armistice because of their weaknesses; both of their secrets, their fears that were expressed—be them outright or not—were safe, lost to this god-forsaken swamp. Any troll that knew Muerte would see the significance in the action, but then again, there wasn't anyone that fit that profile.

To be fair, Aprife was probably the closest. They both knew that was still leagues away from anything substantial.

Muerte found his sleeve again, fingers clasped in it firmly. Any stumbling was more or less enervation rather that lack of literal foresight. "We... should be able to catch up." he stated impassively.

Perhaps this had already occurred to him earlier, but regardless the thought wormed into his mind anyway. He already had his answer, but it didn't stop him from asking anyway, "Do we... even have a destination?"

saedusk

 

[saedusk]

There was no denying the wave of familiarity that rolled over Aprife as he felt the tug against his sleeve and the weight of Muerte's hand as it lingered there. For a moment, it was like they'd never stopped walking. A blankness took over his think pan as suddenly as flicking a light switch, pitching him into a space where he didn't have to think. Aprife honestly couldn't say whether or not he enjoyed the sensation, but it wouldn't be long-lived, so it didn't really matter.

"We... should be able to catch up."

Eyes drifted opened. When had he closed them? They were lucky he hadn't led them straight into a ditch acting so foolish. Perhaps there was some unseen grace with them or perhaps they were both so tired that autopilot was the better choice, after all.

"We will," he agreed, taking a brief moment to survey their surroundings now that he was 'awake' again. He didn't look back.

"Do we... even have a destination?"

That... that was when he broke his silent vow, the one from earlier and the one from this very moment, to keep his gaze forward. Originally, it had been a promise forged in maintaining the greenblood's pride, and even a bit of his own, but at this point, as Aprife turned his head back, it felt unnecessary. They'd both reached a plateau of understanding, a mark that they likely wouldn't dive past. It was fine to press to the edge they'd already decided on. All he did was survey the top of Muerte's head.

A destination... That was a pipe dream and they both knew it. The swamp was their destination, at least for now, unless they could make it out before sunrise. Even then, where would they go? It was too dangerous to return home while they were still being hunted. To Muerte's hive in the forest maybe, but they had to find the mother grub first. They had to ensure the other's had survived.

Scratch what he'd considered earlier, the mother grub was their most concrete destination, the only thing left of the Initiative's previous life. Otherwise, even Aprife hadn't figured out what to do.

"No," he finally answered. "We don't." He chose not to share his rambling thoughts with the doctor. Instead, he looked ahead again. "We... just keep walking."

At least they were walking together.

Melancholies

DIDN'T PROOF SORRY SOBS

 

[Melancholies]

Regardless of Aprife's silent promise or not, his gaze was all but lost on Muerte. He pride was wounded, but there would be time to lick his wounds later, when he was preferably still alive and... situated, somewhere. Obviously neither of them knew where yet. Muerte felt strangely unworried about the situation. The exhaustion was palpable, but at least it was shared. He'd come to terms with it later.

"Of course not..." Muerte snorted, some of his snark vaguely alive, "I forgot no one in this damn organization thinks..."

There was no venom, no real venom, just a small grasp at normalcy. His feet ached and his legs ached and his knees ached and every muscle was screaming for rest, but still, Muerte walked forward into the unknown, wavering vision and tapering shadows far too clear to be any part of the scenery. Where Aprife felt his head clear back into the moment, Muerte's took its place as a foggy daze, eyes undoubtedly closed. They weren't doing him much good anyway, besides giving him a worse headache than he already had thanks to the unnecessary strain. It was no lie that the greenblood was already beyond tired, the tiny grasp in Aprife's sleeve became a hand on his arm, body growing ever heavier as he moved on a bleary auto pilot.

"Let me know when—" yawn "—we... get there..."

Giving in to his exhaustion was completely unnatural, but a strange part of it didn't burn like it should have. He couldn't see the glow from the bracelet anymore, but the mechanism and energy made his wrist feel warm. It was a small beacon, but in the mugginess of the swamp, the dry heat was a godsend. One less thing that ached, one more step he managed forward. Aprife would get them there.

saedusk

AND THAT'S A WRAP