Inevitable that a time would come when the stars appeared when he was more than 15 minutes from anything helpful. It was a grey day, threatening rain enough that passing cars had their headlights on. He was leaned against a plastic divider in the exit door well. The next car’s lights sharpened and reached out rays to the compass. No.
No no no, not on the damn bus. A check of the current stop and the line map made out no better. Still three away. What is between here and there? Go faster...really, 10 mph is hardly necessary. I could run faster. Can I make it in uniform?
The doors open and Quenton bolted off. Blues and reds screamed at him from the bus stop seat and advertisements. Down a sidestreet, through easements, he pulled his henshin pen out of sight of the street. The burst of energy through his limbs helped. Ran.
Ran.
Skidded along roofing tar, ran. He could see the trees of the campus North Oval in the distance. The spider limbs dark against the pale grey sky lost shaping, and faded into grey themselves. The eternal senshi skidded, dropped the last few feet down a fire ladder, henshin lost in a flurry of purple blue petals as he ran into the brick wall at the other end of the alley and then out to the sidewalk again. Was there thunder, or was that white noise conjured by his body through his awareness? His own heart in his ears? It’s right there. Can I safely cross the street?
He looked blearily up the road. There were poles and lines and signals all done in silhouette against a pale backing. The world was gone comicbook flat. His hands felt like they’d been fisted with lead. Not going to make it-
He wasn’t aware of more.
The slow, plodding process of acquiring a job left Shale trying every avenue he could locate, be it familiar territory or something altogether new and foreign to the hunter. Sporting goods retailers offered stock he recognized and utilized himself, but the majority either held locations too far for foot traffic or filled all their positions despite the alarmingly high casualty rate endemic to the city. However, an advertisement posted at one of the employment fairs offered a potential lead at the local college, even if the work itself lacked a certain measure of dignity. Scrubbing toilets and floors gave Shale little solace, but the need for financials outweighed his interest in retaining a loftier self-image.
While he walked the long stretches of sidewalk to reach the campus, Shale continually scratched at the back of his neck where a fraying tag from a secondhand dress shirt irritated his skin. His arms felt constricted beneath the polyester material, and he felt out of his own skin without his tattoos showing and his earrings removed. The tie hardly helped - he loathed the tactile sensation of hands constricting his neck, but he chose no part of this culture’s expectations for potential employees.
Shale rounded the corner to the main street, one hand trailing along the lamp post as he turned, when he felt the fingered brush of air against his body while someone sprinted past him. Blonde hair streamed back in desperate flails while the form shrank steadily, before altogether dropping to the pavement in a graceless heap. Nothing about that screams healthy.
Shale approached at the same pace as before, maintaining a dutiful gait toward the now prone form, while others either fostered no notice of the event while buried in their cell phones or ran the other direction in abject horror. A sideways glance was cast now and again to look for anyone who might rush to the figure’s aid, or exclaim a name that might indicate relation, but nothing of the sort occurred. When Shale reached the body, he knelt by the man’s hips and gave a quick visual once-over to confirm no obvious injury. “You alive?” He tried next, though no answer came of the prone form. Out cold, if not outright dead.
A check of fingers to neck confirmed the slow beat of life. The draw of breath, albeit shallow, came evident next. Shale elected to pat down the man’s pants, finding nothing of note in back, though a stiff, square object in one front pocket offered either a cell phone or a wallet.
Luckily for Shale, it was the latter.
He retrieved it with some effort to work the tooled leather from between prone owner and concrete sidewalk, but he managed to free the curious object unscathed. Upon opening it, Shale was greeted with some cards of decidedly little value, some money that might’ve amounted to a cup of coffee or bus fare, but most importantly a driver’s license sporting what was presumably the man’s name and address. “Quenton Marinus. 20 years old.” He snapped the wallet shut and slid it into the much more accessible back pocket of the now identified individual. Where were you running to? Or what were you running from? Whatever it was, your health caught up with you first. I suppose I shouldn’t leave you in the street.
With no cell phone, Shale had little choice but to shoulder the burden (quite literally) and maintain his trek toward the college in hopes of finding some hospital signs, a clinic, or possibly a nurse at the university campus. Maybe if I’m lucky, you’ll wake before I get there.
Across the broad, level road, the traversing grassways and compact scatters of murmuring students there were no indications of regathering consciousness. Pressure built of blood and difficulty breathing with a shoulder pressing smartly into his diaphragm, and after such count of step and minutes his body demanded some sort of freedom in panic. Quenton’s eyes fluttered, fingers twitched, then open- On.
Carried. Hands came to life and flatted for purchase on the small of back in front of his mangled, desaturated vision. He breathed hard. “Please let me down.”
Who? Not familiar. strong built, narrow hips. Wide shoulders. Male. Uniform? No. Human. As much as passes for it, monsters may wear men’s faces.
The request was met with silent capitulation. Sale let the man down with as efficient a motion he could manage and stepped away a measure to return personal space. “You passed out in the street.” Whether that’s obvious or not is a tossup. This might be his first time. It might not. Jarring, I assume. “You took a fall at velocity. You should get checked for any damage.” Most importantly, find out what’s causing you to faint in the street while running. I am no expert at medicine, but I wager it’s due to self-neglect more than any other cause.
“I’ll walk with you to the university, at least. There might be a nurse on their grounds. You might faint again on the way.” Not to mention it’s my destination. But if ‘interview attire’ is so easy to spot, you could probably make that inference without my say.
It’s not much farther.
“Are you okay to walk?” Shale shied from making assumptions about a condition so unusual. He couldn’t remember witnessing anything like it, let alone hearing about it. Strangers hardly ever simply passed out in the street. It seemed more a tale than an actuality.
You will, will you? Magnanimous and declarative. Quenton ghosted hands diagnostically over his face, then torso, thighs and knees. There were concrete rashes burning along part of his jaw and chin, the heels of his hands and knees beneath his pants. A once over of the benefactor provided little more than a well-knit frame and a lack of uniform. There was makeup on his face, too thick to be casually worn and pointing to marring or modification. At least it was a civilian that had decided to be a good samaritan, which was something of a growing fable in the city. Having been blessed by two such lightening strikes felt like overstretching fate. “There’s a clinic on grounds. The damage isn’t bad. ‘May as well paint a house that’s on fire.’ “
A quick scan of the surroundings behind the other man confirmed location- there wasn’t much of campus, thankfully, that he couldn’t recognize on brief sight. The reality that he might go down again was unfortunately a little more real than he would have liked. Light was still speckled and elongated into starshapes. The jostle and difficulty in breathing had been something to triggering a small fight response. Hopefully it would hold. A suit...is he a relative of a student here for a meeting with some faculty on behalf of a helicopter parent? Or visiting lecturer? Looks possibly too young...possibly. General lecturers or in-field specialists don’t necessarily have to have degrees to be wildly successful.
“In honesty, I don’t know. If you have the time to spare, help getting to the faculty offices at Heron Hall would be splendid. Where were you headed? “ He shifted to take a step, a little ‘bambi-legged’ as parties missed would have pointed out. Holding a hand out slightly raised corrected a fraction of the trouble, aid of balance helping the ground to stop feeling like an ocean. “If nothing else, I can give you directions. Thank you for the carry. Rescue. Mister...? “
”That’s not the damage I was referring to.” Something caused you to pass out while running. That takes precedence over child’s scrapes. I wonder if you are no stranger to neglecting yourself. Shale folded arms over chest, causing his sleeve cuffs to retreat slightly above his wrists. Flecks of tattoo peeked out from their carefully obscured location. “As you said, there’s no reason to treat cuts that mild. It’s here that needs a once-over,” he finished, tapping his temple. Unless your goal is to faint in the street and get flattened.
“I was headed to the university.” And you were either on the way or in the way. Unfaltering gaze settled on the blonde for a time, watching him reacclimate to his spatial awareness. Undoubtedly, fainting jarred his senses severely. “I wouldn’t call it a rescue.” But I doubt you would appreciate knowing that it was no different than taking a dirty glass with me because I was on my way to the kitchen for a different reason. “I have a job interview there. And it appeared that no one would take the time to help you. Most ran instead.” Shale started in the direction of the university grounds as they spoke, his eyes settled on the horizon. The frigidity so natural to him never faded; it only seemed to amplify for the expanding stretch of time he spent in his stifling suit.
“I’d rather know why you’re fainting at breakneck speeds, if you’re going to return any favors.” There’s so much about this city I don’t understand. And if he is insistent on paying perceived debts, then a tour of the city and its faculties would be far more useful than directions. “And if you can tell me anything about the city, it would be appreciated. I’m not from here.
“And it’s Shale. Shale Blackwell.” Only so far from Sheol. “You are?”
“Then I won’t.” Gesture and implication were brazen, uninformed, and assumptive all. Expertise was doubtful, and the jump to mental incapacity when much, much more common for perfectly active collapse would have been diabetes, insulting. Or it should have been insulting. Quenton slow blinked at Shale, non-expression not altering one way or the other. Rescue apparently its own assumption, so succinctly rebuked. Some implications read clear from just ‘heading in that direction’ said so disconnectedly. You aren’t trying to downplay a good samaritan’s spirit and worry, I don’t think. Why even have bothered, all the more with other pedestrians making a run for it to not get involved. That itself would be the curious factor. Investing curiosity and care in the careless on all accounts, how droll. Fair enough, then, Shale Blackwell, we can both be our separate ways the sooner.
“There’s vigilante warfare going on that is both taxing and lethal to the city. Small research in the local papers and news expose would inform you plenty on that account. That is why people flee instead of help each other. It is growingly a hard and fearful city, coloring trade ashen and society hollow. There’s philosophy debates on current events every wednesday and friday held by some of the professors and students at one of the classrooms. I’ve not been, but student affairs will know.“ Civil Rot may not be adverse to one with such mannerism. “If you had the fiscal and travelling ability, I’d suggest moving on to D.C., Philadelphia, New York or their like if you want big,opportunity, and diversity as better and safer on this coast.”
“Marinus, for what it’s worth. Thank you Mr. Blackwell. Good luck with your business on campus.” Quenton shifted his own trajectory after a polite lift of hand. This way? Yes. The count of Oak, Beech and Chestnut is right. That’s the honors dorm. The offices aren’t far. I can make it? Don’t make it a question.
Ivynian
will drop my response in the next post
