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 Posted: Thu Mar 22, 2012 9:14 am
It was hard to move on from the events of the Trials, moreso with a brain that could not, would not forget everything that had occurred. Every success, every failure, and worst of all, every death. Yin's stoic look and Alex's curled form during their conversions, Chuppi's tearful look as she was burned out of existence, Taryn's determined gaze before she had bled to death. It was haunting to say the least.
Several days of confinement in his room were not nearly enough to begin and heal those wounds. Worse, his twitching had increased ever since he had forced himself to try and soak up the electrical charge on his cage. Mort could barely speak without stammering every other syllable, and even with the hours that had passed since then his speech had deteriorated from its previous coherence. Ashamed to go out in public, the zomboil's physical appearance had been less than cared for as he spent his waking hours staring or playing mindless video games, his "sleeping" hours spent in haze-dreams filled with fog creatures and monsters in human guises.
Mort was, in all senses of the word, a true zombie.
His fugue was broken on the third day when, somehow, his hands had detached themselves during one of his haze-dreaming states and had gotten ahold of his eyePhone. With bleary blinking Mort found that he had, about ten or so minutes before, sent Gene a text asking if she wanted to get her dinner today, and what he should wear for it. There was no way to delete the text now, and the mere thought of trying to do so sank him further in guilt. She was a nice ghoul who had offered him help and only wanted company in return - should his angst really get in the way of that?
But then, he only really had to worry if she answered. Perhaps the ghoul had her own troubles and didn't want to go out herself. Mort wouldn't have blamed her.
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Posted: Fri Mar 23, 2012 6:12 am
The ghoul had been shuddering under a blanket, locked up in the proverbial Fort Knox that was her dormitory. Three days of pain played over and over in her head, though her mind tended to favor one certainly savoury moment. Her body was racked by phantom pains every time she thought about it; the cylinder. The slow, agonizing pain that came from being in that chamber, the terribly sharp pain that came from actually becoming a weapon, and - the worst yet - the numbness she felt towards Danny at the end of the process.
She'd burned every set of clothes that she had worn during those trials. Her favorite bikini and sarong from the beach, the trench coat from the obstacle courses, and the underclothes from the terrible illusion. She was now in a simple white slip that had become grimy due to three days straight of being worn. The ghoul hadn't showered, eaten, or slept ever since the trials had ended. She just continued to stare at the ceiling with hollow eyes, screaming whenever a particularly painful jolt came to the forefront of her mind.
Her eyePhone screeched in alert of an incoming message. The doppelganger ignored it, turning on her side.
A certain ball of fluff had been curled around her feet, trying to comfort his Mother. Mother wasn't answering her phone. Mother needed to answer her phone. Gideon slipped out from around her feet, grabbed the machine in his mouth, and dropped it into Mother's hands. Then, he gave her the stare. The stare that said 'if you don't do this, I'm going to battle for a week without coming home once.'
The part of Gene that was still functioning deep in the recesses of her mind recognized that stare, and knew that the squirrel was being completely serious. She forced her body to read the message, then simply typed the letter "K", before sending the message and promptly tossing the phone over her shoulder, allowing the Haztreat twins to get a hold of it. She slumped back into her starting position, groaning. Ugh, socializing with Mort.
Socializing with Mort.
Mort.
The demeanor change was immediate, proven by the ghoul literally throwing herself out of bed, ripping off the slip, and running into the shower. She had a jacking not date.
Meanwhile, the Twins were busy with the phone. They weren't that intelligent, but they did recognize the word "wear." The caretaker had a folder on the phone with that word, filled with pictures of cloth coverings. So, with a bit of minipet ingenuity and sheer luck, the Twins were able to send a picture of what to wear to Mort.
In the bathroom, Gene used her innate ability as a doppelganger to style her hair, because there was no way she'd actually take the time to hand braid and blow dry her hair when she needed to pick out her outfit.
In a few hours, Gene was ready. It had taken multiple outfits, mixing and matching, and even a nervous breakdown full of more haunting images and pains, but she had finally picked out her outfit.
She sent a quick message to Mort, left the room, locked the door, and began her trek towards the wishing well with purpose and pride in her shoulders. The facade would probably break tonight; they had much to talk about.Text to Mort Meet me at the wishing well at 7. See you soon. c;
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Posted: Fri Mar 23, 2012 8:53 am
Nnnnnnng, went the phone.
s**t. He cursed his new ability and, grumbling, looked at the single letter on his screen. "K"? Had she even read - Jack, maybe she was busy recovering too. Maybe this was her way of saying "pass". Mort would be disheartened somewhat, sure, but grateful for the chance to continue wallowing -
Nnnnnnng. A second ring.
s**t s**t s**t s**t. He flipped the phone open again. A . . . a picture? Was that what he had to wear? Was it an accident? He could have made himself believe it, but there was no other reason Gene would send him such a thing if she wasn't intent on this not-date.
s**t.
He ran a hand through his hair, the remnants of his heart feeling like they were plummeting into his stomach. This was going to be a fancy dressed up dinner wasn't it? Could he pay for it? If he scrounged every seed he had, maybe . . . Cursing under his breath, the zomboil set the eyePhone down to investigate his closet for something close to the clothes she seemed to have in mind. Mama had have given him something for special occasions, right?
In the meanwhile Daisy, Mort's little kushi-kushi, had scurried out from her perch atop the tv set to investigate this mysterious rumbling noise. The open phone was hers for the taking, and as Mort changed she stepped onto the sensitive keys and sniffed about, accidentally replying in the process.Text to Gene aja.janhrihgvajkdfnal;jdFK
Mort hissed at her, possible shirts slung over his shoulder as he checked the message. 7? It gave him a few hours at the least, though it also made him swallow with a grimace. This was really happening. Like really really happening. Oh sweet Sally . . .
Remembering what sparse instructions he could from his mother, Mort set about cleaning himself up: attempting a shower, slinging the clothes on (they seemed to look a bit disheveled no matter how hard he tried), and setting food out for the mini pets in case they wanted to eat. While he didn't quite have the things in the photo, Mort managed to put together a vest ensemble, as well as wrangling his hair int oa small manageable ponytail; the stubble on his chin was too much to bother with - he didn't want to go to her with cuts and bandaids due to his failure at shaving.
Brian, for the moment, looked like he wouldn't be a big trouble to leave loose for once: a small comfort in an otherwise soon to be awkward night. At 6:30 Mort locked his room and made his shuffling little zombie way to the wishing well; he left a little early to compensate for the slow pace he normally went at, as well as to leave some wiggle room since he wasn't quite sure where the Wishing Well was and had to use the directory outside to orient himself.
Upon reaching it, however, he sucked in a breath. Gene struck a pale figure in the twilight, looking confident as she waited: so unlike himself, whose pocketed hands fidgeted and would have been covered in sweat had he been alive. But there was no going back now. He approached with growing anxiety, suddenly wishing he had dressed better.
"A-Ah . . . hey." He could barely speak, it was so terrible. Mort was already a wreck around ghouls, let alone ones who put forth effort to look so nice.
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Posted: Sat Mar 24, 2012 5:54 am
Text from Mort aja.janhrihgvajkdfnal;jdFK
Yes, she liked Mort. Yes, this was more than a not-date to her. But, she was still all sorts of antsy. It was a different kind of agony, an agony of her heart. Stupid proverbial organ needed to stop fluttering like a moth's wings. The fact that they'd just gone through a horrific experience was going to make this encounter a million times worse.
When her ears picked up the slow shuffling stride, Gene immediately stood straighter. Her hands clasped themselves to each other in front of her legs, and her face lit up. Even though she was anxious and nervous, she still couldn't help but smile when around the zomboil. She turned to face the direction the sound was coming from, and her smile faltered for a mere second. Why was he so slouchy? Was he not happy to see her? Maybe it was something else. Probably the trials. Yes, the trials, that had to be it; he was down and out because of how much the trials sucked.
A small part of her said "he could still be happy to see you, though." Gene did her best to ignore it.
"Mort!" She gave a cheery smile and wave, before pulling him into a hug, making sure to lean in with her chest. That was one way to cheer a boil up.
"So, where's dinner at?"
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Posted: Sat Mar 24, 2012 5:05 pm
Mort swallowed hard. No amount of reading could prepare him for an actual d- not-date. Alex wasn't right, he couldn't be. This was just a pity date, an excuse for him to hang out with a ghoul who was dressed nice, get food, get some air - that was what his hands had intended, right? Just to force him out and get over himself.
Okay, deep breaths. Even if you don't need them.
"I-Is good t'see," he mumbled, into her hair as it was; the thoughts from above had taken the span of time it had taken Gene to come over and hug him. His arms went up around her in return, at first pensive, and then relieved. If Gene could come out of that mess and still smile, perhaps he should put forth that same effort. And so Mort squeezed her tight for several seconds before letting go, for once not thinking of the boobs that had been pressed against him.
"N', er, l-look very nice," he added, willing himself not to look self-conscious or do that characteristic neck rubbing which said as much. It was hard, though, like trying to tell someone not to think of a scrag and expecting them not to. "Makes feel bad, 'cause d-didn't think to find restaurant . . ."
Wow, that sounded stupid. Make good on the promise, only not all the way through?
"Was, uh, hoping you had preference." The hole was being dug deeper. The zomboil's hands twitched nervously, his mind racing for a way to fix the situation.
"Could, ah, c-could get take out? Pizza? Stay in, w-watch movie? O-Or sit n' cafe, chat? N-Not sure what you like."
Like applying a bandaid to a gunshot wound.
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Posted: Sun Mar 25, 2012 12:41 pm
"Ooooh Jack, Mort, please keep holding me with your brawny arms." Was what Gene would say if this were one of those odd smut fanfiction things that she often saw when browsing the interweb. Alas, this was not a smut fanfiction, no vamps, just no but an actual event that was actually happening. Mort was hugging her tightly, and she enjoyed it thoroughly - she even gave a small pout and low whine when he let go. Even if the boil was colder than an icebox, it was still warming to know that someone else had been through the same things she had, and still came out of it. It was odd, but she enjoyed knowing she wasn't the only one that had gone through trauma.
Oh, no idea? Well, that's okay. Gene totally had preferences, but they all involved velvet chairs and waiters in tuxedos, and that probably was not in Mort's budget. Because yes, she was totally expecting him to pay for this whole thing. The very least she could do was be courteous though.
"Oh.... Pizza and a movie sounds wonderful. Demino's is pretty good, but if you know of a better place, I'll be glad to go." She hooked her arm around his, giving him another smile. This would be a lovely evening until her emotions finally broke through the facade like a flood breaking a dam.
It would be good for now though. Totally.
"So Mort, how did the... ah... sex ed homework go for you?"
Crap. Awkward.
Crap.
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Posted: Sun Mar 25, 2012 1:02 pm
"Err . . . S'fine? Grew up o-okay, methinks. Fluffy, chases symbol thing around."
Why is there all the awkward? Wry? Was Gene purposefully torturing him with these topics? The arm hanging, the pouting, the agreement of the parameters of their d- not-date. Why couldn't he be the suave, wears a suit but with the cool untucked shirt, buys whatever he wants kind of guy? Gene was probably pouting because he wasn't, and she was just making due. That had to be it.
Jackdamn, he was supposed to be making himself feel better, not worse.
"Demino's good," Mort agreed with a nod, taking the lead now that they were hooked arm in arm. "Toppings? T-Type've crust? Want extra like Skinnamon sticks, p-pasta, r' something?"
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Posted: Mon Mar 26, 2012 7:33 am
The ghoul giggled at the image of the Lammit chasing its symbol around, a much better picture than what her's had grown in to. "You must be good at applying those charms then; mine because some terrible spider thing." She shuddered a bit at the thought of it, glad to have shoved it in the closet. "Must mean I'm a terrible protection charm applicant."
Sorry Mort, but Gene was just too elated about this "not date" to notice that you were feeling rather down and out, and that she'd just made one of the most awkward conversations in the history of ever. But hey, at least she's happy to be around you!
Not that you can actually see this. BACK ON TRACK!
Gene was far too giddy to understand that Mort was feeling bad about himself from his dress to his budget. She actually didn't really care about those things in others, she just kept herself to that standard. The boil's question snapped her back to reality.
"Ooooh.... I like Scargheritta on thin crust. Oh, and garlic bread." As she listed the order, Gene found herself picking lint off Mort's vest. Maybe she'd buy him a lint roller later.
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Posted: Mon Mar 26, 2012 8:06 am
"Y-You think so?" Was it good to be good at putting symbols on? Well just in case he supposed. He had done a perfect job with Shehk, though Mort had reasoned it was because she had done such a great job of applying it to him first. "Well, i-is not like everyone knows how putting on works at first. Was lucky is all."
He somehow did not derp hard enough to add, "I could show you how to apply it", probably at the mercy of some unknown being.
The image of past and garlic bread made his mouth water, and Mort hastened them along just a bit faster to reach their destination. He somewhat envied ghosts' ability to float - none of the hard work of walking, all of the distance you could eat up. Unless you could only float slow? Still, that would've been so handy during the fire cave tr -
Aaaand there went the involuntary shudder as he recalled that horror. It was only Gene's picking at his vest that kept him going as if nothing had happened, even if her close proximity alone made him want to just shrink into his clothes and hide forever. So close. Like. Crap, her face is right there -
Oh look, the Demino's entrance. Saved! He tugged the door open for her and headed inside. "One sec. C-Can find seat, will have wait for food n'way," he told her, unhooking his arm to head to the counter and order.
Oh Jack, he needed to take a breath and calm the hell down. Running a hand through his hair, Mort scanned the menu above for the appropriate items and placed an order for a large thin crust Scargheritta with a side order of ten garlic bread sticks.
"It'll be twenty minutes," the woman at the counter stated as she took his seeds. Mort swallowed hard and nodded.
Twenty minutes. s**t s**t s**t s**t s**t. He turned back around to find Gene's place, biting the inside of his cheek as he made his way back.
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Posted: Mon Mar 26, 2012 12:42 pm
Gene nodded as the boil talked about protection charms, taking the whole thing seriously. The thought of getting more experience later crossed her mind, and the blush came upon her like a fire in a forest. Dear Jack... more experience with protection charms.
She gladly took the invitation to sit down while Mort placed their order, picking a table in a far back corner. Nice and private, totally intimate for a fast food pizza chain. Again, she blushed at the thought of them being in an intimate setting. This was what she wanted, yes, but still. Hopefully she'd cool off in a bit, when conversation was happening. She heard the woman say twenty minutes, and swallowed hard. Twenty minutes. Could she get through all her feelings in twenty minutes? Mot had said just come out and say it, but... it definitely didn't seem so easy now that the moment was here.
When Mort sat down, Gene straightened her posture a little, and removed her scarf. For a hair of a second, she thought about switching her anatomy up a bit, but decided it was totally inappropriate and not okay at the present time. Maybe she would do it the next time she attempted to flirt with the boil.
"So...Mort." She began, nervous tension seeping through her voice. If she could sweat, her palms would undoubtedly be wet by now, as would her forehead. Why was this so hard? Just say it!
"I really like-"
Nope, she couldn't do it. It was like her throat was a bottle of wine, and some arbitrary force had just corked it. Ugggggh.
"Like that the trials are over. I definitely won't be going on this exchange trip, though. Not after all that." Whoops, there she went. This was only slightly less dreadful to talk about, but would probably result in more emotional leakage and waterworks.
Suck.
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Posted: Mon Mar 26, 2012 12:53 pm
Luckily for Gene (or perhaps unluckily, as the more they avoided it the harder it would get), Mort didn't find her pause strange. He too found the trials hard to talk about, let alone think about even; it was almost brave of her to bring up on her own so nonchalantly. "Yeah . . . Don't blame if don't want go. Will be for self; want to see through, w-want to prove can handle it." He rest an elbow on the table and pinched the bridge of his nose in thought. Should he ask how her team faired? Was it too soon? She seemed to talk dismissively about it, which might have indicated she was a far better person about coping than he was. Or it might be an indicator that she was just as bad, but better at lying.
"Was, ah, tough, though. But earned things 'bout self. Faced fears, faced f-fire, swam for first t-time in while . . ." The hand rested back down on the table, slightly clenched. "Er, how were teammates? Were Bea n' Danny, yes?" He couldn't remember the score postings at the end, and to be honest didn't care about the numbers and who won anymore.
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Posted: Tue Mar 27, 2012 4:39 pm
Gene's pride for the zomboil, which she didn't realize she had until that moment, found itself swelling as he talked about sticking it through, and proving things to himself. She understood how big of a thing it was for him to face fire, the one thing that could stop an undead in their tracks. The swimming thing she didn't quite get, but if he brought it up it must have been big for him.
She saw the hand on the table, and wanted to grab it super bad. Like, really really super bad. To stroke it, provide some kind of comfort. Not that her ethereal form would provide the boil much in the way of warmth, or much weight really. Maybe she actually kind of sucked at this whole "comforting" thing; she obviously wasn't built for it.
"Oh... they were amazing ghouls. Bea; she's so gorgeous, and was totally a team player. She actually let us bury her in the sand as part of our castle." She gave a fond smile at the memory, Bea pouting while she and Danny piled sand around the White Lady. Hadn;t the press taken a photo of that moment? "Oh, and Danny! Energetic, spontaneous, loud, full of charisma. A bit off, but a true fighter."
A fighter she most certainly was. When they were trapped in that horrid hallucination/dream/illusion thing, Danny had gone blitzkrieg on the walls of the room, while Gene had just sat there and cried.
Like a useless ghoul. Tears threatened to well up as the ghoul turned her head down in a brief moment of shame, struggling to not just word vomit all over Mort about her feelings and what the trials had done to her. As a compromise, she let one little tidbit slip.
"They were definitely better than me. Really great ghouls to look up to." She tried to make it sound less painful that it actually was, putting on a small smile. Be strong, Gene, be strong. Boils don't like gushy, clingy ghouls.
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Posted: Tue Mar 27, 2012 5:20 pm
Yeah, he could almost imagine the fun by Gene's description during the Famine Trial. The beach was a horrible place for a zombie to be, and sometimes he still felt like he hadn't gotten rid of all the sand yet from his body, but to imagine the ghouls laughing as they piled sand atop Bea a made him smile. It also helped to see Gene do so as well, a little kindle of hope that maybe the ghoul was made of tougher stuff than the trials could break.
Well, at least until she put herself down. Then Mort remembered that she was only a First Year (as far as he knew), and had not seen anything remotely in the same field as these trials before she had come. His smile dropped. "Hey, er . . ." What did those ghoul magazines say? How could he forget the invaluable knowledge of Dead Beat magazine and Grossmopolitan, both of which his mother avidly subscribed to? But if there was one staple he figured from his skimming, it was that when a ghoul said stuff like this, they wanted to be comforted. Pats on the back, shoulder, head even - or hugs if you were more intimate.
Right, like he had the nerve to get up and hug her, let alone try and reach out across the suddenly expansive tabletop with his cold, should-have-been-sweating fingers.
After bunching his lips inward a bit, Mort tried again. "Hey. I-Is good have ghouls look up to, but not put self down for not being good as Horsemen. 'Member, is trials for them for being adults. Different standard than normal students. And i-is only first year, yes? Too high 'spectation for self." Unless Gene was the kind like Hel, gung-ho about being the best at fighting and incapable of comprehending the idea of losing without a fight. "Was hard even for s-second year like self. Don't be hard on self, mkay?"
Right, like Mort was one to talk after his behavior with the Badgers during Tea Time. He clearly was not an expert at coping mechanisms.
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Posted: Thu Mar 29, 2012 2:27 pm
Gene bit her lip and fidgeted slightly as Mort spoke; she knew what he said was true, but she didn't want to accept it. "I...I know. I just wanted to prove to them that we could handle it, that Amity was worthy." Her shoulder slouched slightly as she sighed, casting a sideways glance to the counter. No one else was in the restaurant, which was good. She'd rather not have strangers see the vulnerable, non chipper side of her. "I just wanted to show them that my home is a good home, one capable of standing through the toughest storms. I feel like I failed Amity though..."
Another deep sigh, and another sidelong glance at the counter. She hated being vulnerable like this. She wasn't a strong gung-ho personality, no, but she tried her best not to be a clingy sap. She knew what happened when you were too much of a clingy sap. You freak people out that way, make terrible first impressions. No one likes a clingy sap.
"It's just so... insulting, what they did to us. First the whole gender change thing, then the Horseman of Conquest calling us unworthy. I was fine with what the other two clans did, but I still can't forgive the Death clan." She choked for a second on the last part of her sentence, memories of being trapped in a glass cylinder and being changed into a weapon still fresh and vivid. Terrible. "I know they just wanted to show us how much we need them, but... they went too far."
Now would be the opportune moment to take her hand, Mort.
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Posted: Thu Mar 29, 2012 4:25 pm
"Mrrr . . ." His brows knitted as he listened, all too sympathetic with her insecurities. It had taken him a forced reboot and a literal battle with himself to get over that, and even then he knew it would haunt him until he was truly able to accept himself for his strengths, faults, and limits. But there was no way he could find a way to say that to Gene eloquently, or even speak at all for the matter. It was like how he had tried to help Amrita, only in that particular instance he had been . .. not all there. No need to think, but simply to act.
Why couldn't he do that now? Just act on impulse and grab her hand and - and -and be a man or something? His fingers twitched anxiously.
"Ah . . . d-d-do know," he all but mumbled, grim. "And do agree, went too far, even i-if was only dream. But."
Do it, man. Just do it. Do - aaaahIcan'tIcan'tIcan't.
"B-But also think is being too hard on self," he pressed on. "Think that . . . th-think that whatever happen, only should matter what you think've self. Think i-is admirable for wanting prove self even after all the stuff."
Doitdon'tdoitdon'tdoitgraaaaaah-
And quite suddenly Mort's hand shot forward and grasped Gene's of its own accord. Apparently his body was more ready than he was. Mort's expression was something of a mix between surprise, nervousness, and . . . No, that was it. Just a whole slew of ldkflskdjflksjdfldksjflsjf going through his mind.
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