[PRP] A Sight For Sore Eyes (Muerte + Aprife) FIN

[Melancholies]

Tete I'm not thinkin' you're one of 'em.

 

[Melancholies]

scratch... scratch... scratch...

"One-thousand twelve... one thousand thirteen..."

A chipped fingernail itched insistently at the cold ground, smudging a now desaturated green along the grime crusted floor. The sky was dark here—there were no stars, no stars, no stars—no moons, darkness. Everything was blanketed in a primordial black, covered in an ancient blankness. There was no thought here, no need for thought. Time couldn't march forward. If... time didn't continue, it—time was what made things mortal, conscious, waking, it— it was the single proof of existence, the only thing, it—

And he found a way to stop it. There was a dreary chuckle that bubbled around the statistics and numbers that rattled out of his mouth, "O-One... one thousand... thirty four."

Everything was endless here. Everything was perfect here. Everything was fixed here. Occasionally his hand would brush against something buried in the memoirs of the past, and he would freeze, but then it would be gone again. Lost again. Whole again. His hand found something soft.

It was such a bizarre feeling, really. Tactile. His gloves? They were still there and yet... not. A part of him. Within him—a b s e n t... it... couldn't be described. What was he feeling? Could he feel? Was that possible. His hand pulled away, wet and sticky and earthy. It smelled like life—or maybe death—but Muerte couldn't tell. If the dampness was blood (it was blood, blood, blood) then... yes! The connection to all things. This sweet ichor that carried oxygen— cells— nucleoli— electrons and... it was all encompassing. It was like he was staring at the universe glittered onto his fingers, dripping wormholes down his hand and pooling into a black hole on his palm. Mouth slightly agape, Muerte was memorized.

He stopped counting, mouth twitching into a vague smile, "I can see now" and it was true. He saw so much more, so many more things than he ever could have. He was a marvel, a genius, a prodigy. Sitting back on the floor, he snickered, gored hands touching his face. It felt warm. Yes, yes, he was alive. So long as he felt his lungs moving, his heart beating, his face burning... why was that? The pain was good, it was good.

He froze when he heard footsteps. Were they back? He saw them, so many of them, but he had out smarted them, sneaked in when their backs had turned. Who would want to watch a pile of r̴̸̕u͏̴́͘͠b̷̷̷͟b͏̧̨̕͠l̷̡̢̧͟e̶͏̴́? Silly stupid drones, Muerte Perist was a god, and this was his temple. Look at the offerings placed before him. His arms shot out, wide and encompassing. He had everything he needed right here, right here. Silly, stupid drones. They would never find him here. He wasn't a criminal. A god can't be morally wrong.

He made haste nonetheless, scooting over to his makeshift work bench. His shaking hands reached out, unraveling a small pouch until he produced some spotless appliances; scalpels and scissors and needles. He set to cleaning them anxiously. He needed everything to be sanitized and clean. He was a doctor, he had to be prepared. It wouldn't do any good if he wasn't. He slipped his small friends back into the pouch, wrapped it back up. The drawstring was absent.

"You've been awfully quiet..." he spoke to seemingly no one, head slowly swiveling to peer over his shoulder. His left eye felt like his heart. His face was pulsing. He touched it. It hurt, in a numbing sort of way. Touch touch.

"Don't you have anything to say?" he crawled back over, was reaching out again, stroking the softness he felt. "Nothing? Not a peep?"

He pulled away, eyes widening and closing as he nodded in understanding. Carefully, he wiped his hands off on his already bloodied shirt. He made for the pouch. Cleaned the utensils. It was a monotonous clockwork, going back and forth and back and forth and back and forth.

"You're just usually so vocal," he whispered like it was the most profound thing in the world, "You should be thanking me. I saved you."
You killed me
There was only a woeful silence. Muerte's head snapped back up.
There's nothing here. Run. It's burned.
"It didn't burn down." he replied, empty save for the echo in the room, "Everything is still fine."
it's a lie.
"No YOU'RE A LIE" his voice was hoarse; hardly a yell, more like a rasp. He was breathing hard. "We're s-a-f-e here." he emphasized.
you're not...
There were footsteps again, and Muerte froze again, eyes trained on the top of the world. They stopped. He stopped. The door... there was no door. He was safe here, just like he thought, just like he knew.

"There's nothing to worry about anymore..." his voice cracked with exhaustion as he rested himself against the cold fluff. "Everything... is taken care of..."

"Isn't that right..."

...

"...Father?"

saedusk

i am so sorry this is so ******** class="clear">

[saedusk]

Cloak splayed out behind him, catching the wind, Aprife ran. Worry propelled him forward, a concern that had become a very real part of him, but one that caught in his throat and muddled into a mess in his mind regardless. At his back, left in the swamp, was a past life, a chapter he was trying to close. Even so, it reached out with its tendrils of memory, snapping at his heels, lingering in his thoughts. It pushed him further.

Aprife's feelings were a contradiction. Social had always been his nature. He enjoyed trolls, spending time with them, pestering them, watching and studying them, but in the end it had always been to fulfill a base need and nothing more. Caring had been surface level at best. Had been, until he met Zeffer.

One hand was all it took to count the trolls he genuinely cared for, the ones he would actually go above and beyond for. Two... three...

At some point he'd stopped running, breathing raspy and hollow in his own ears. The further he went, the more the forest began to change around him. Something had touched the trees here, leaving branches barren and trunks scarred. Of course he'd heard about Four Fronds burning, but Aprife had no idea the damage had reached this far outside the city. For a very brief moment, he looked to the sky between the broken canopy.

Caring had gotten him hurt. It still might. That knowledge was just the opposite of anything that might soothe the ache in his chest. Yet, there were far more important things to worry about right now, things that couldn't wait. Hesitating could easily guarantee regret, and though acting might too, it could also circumvent it. He had to find Muerte before the drones did.

In short order, he was on the move again, pace more restrained, easing into the territory he knew was near the greenblood's hive. Even with his hood up, fastened around his horns to keep it from falling while he ran, it was no protection against identification. The closer he got to the hive, the higher the chance he'd encounter patrols. Aprife had been careful, he'd been quiet, but the sight of the ruins he came upon was enough to drag a single word out of him. "s**t..."

Where he remembered the front door, there was nothing, just a gaping wound in the side of the building. Past what might still be half-walls at best, charred remains of Muerte's many possessions lay scattered around, spotlighted by the bright beams of moonlight and the countless stars visible where the protection of the trees had been completely stripped away. It was the lightest Aprife ever remembered seeing the forest.

All of that hardly mattered, though. The question on the tip of his tongue, was Muerte even here, wound up lodged in his throat the moment he stepped too far into the ravaged hive. It was subtle at first, but the further he trekked past the endless shards of glass and wrecked equipment, the stronger it became. A scent... No, a stench. Death. Any troll who'd lived as long as Aprife could recognize it easily.

What, who, had died here? If Aprife felt anything other than unease before, it was gone now, replaced. Had he been too late? Had he waited too long? A sudden sense of urgency quickened his pulse as he searched faster through the fallen hive, dropping all semblance of discretion. He didn't even take a moment to hope there weren't any drones nearby to hear him scurrying around before he did so.

The search, for better or worse, took less time than he'd assumed it would. It was obvious Muerte wasn't up here, nor in the collapsed remains of what was once the tower to his respiteblock, but there was another possibility. Another door. Aprife found it flat, closed, even with the floor. Sure, he'd stopped hesitating before, but there was even less pause before he yanked it open.

Whatever call he meant to make when he opened his mouth then, it died in his throat in less than an instant as decay wafted into his face like a putrid gust of wind. The coughing that followed was just as instantaneous, but even through his own startled wheezes, Aprife could hear a faint voice echoing up from the darkness.

"Isn't that right...xxxxxx?"

The voice was almost unfamiliar, but it was enough to drive him down into the depths of the unknown without thought. Tugging his cloak around, he held it to his mouth as he went, but only long enough to steady his breathing before letting it flutter back behind him. Even with the moonlight filtering in through the now open door, his eyes took their sweet time adjusting to the stark difference in light the deeper he dove into the apparent basement. Before he could see it, his foot slid across the floor, prematurely halting him. It was probably for the best.

Amidst the smell of death was a coppery tang, tangible on his tongue as he took another tentative step to steady himself. It was obvious then what he'd nearly tripped in. Blood.

Aprife was the type who prided himself on keeping a cool head, always had, always would. Despite that, tonight he'd already experienced a myriad of unfortunate emotions, unease, worry, doubt... but now there was a cold fear tingling at his fingertips. If he had a mind to right now, he would've hated it. As it were, all he could think was, had his mind made up that voice, is Muerte dead?

Finally, shadows began to appear as his vision regulated. In front of him, ominous, looming, was something undeniably large. His fingers itched as he instinctively reached for his scourge.

Silence, and then-

"Muerte...?"

Melancholieshithere

help me

 

[saedusk]

((Mels reminded me and then I still forgot to do this and now she's laughing at me and telling me I'm gonna roll a 20.))  

[Melancholies]

The creaking was back. It was soft, but definable, and it made Muerte's head swivel in the darkness. He wavered in wait. For as sure of himself as he felt, for as completely finite he felt this situation was, the sound was loud, approaching. His mind cleared of just a tiny bit of fog for the first time in possibly a while. The thing that filled the gaps was an intrusive terror. Breath hitching in his throat, the greenblood was completely still.

The door opened.

The waft of light and shimmer of moonlight was both confusing and alluring. Had he been in a more stable state, it would have been magnificent. Then again, he probably wouldn't have been down here in the first place. Muerte tried to lick the cold air off his lips, ignoring how chapped they felt. Was this his time? Had judgement finally come to claim him? His lesson so sought; did the drones catch on? These thoughts were far too realistic, far too heavy to easily shunt off to the corners of his mind. That would take time, time he had preciously taken already over the past few nights already.

Rapture came in the form of a tall, looming figure, one that Muerte didn't immediately recognize. Through the blear of his mismatched vision, it was hard to make out anything really. His perception was skewed in more ways than one. From his broken throne of dust and decay on the floor, one of his eyes slid shut...

And the other came to life.

The whirring was like thunder in his head, loud and obtrusive. He could feel everything, how every light part slowly snapped together for the first time, how everything adjusted. He could feel the lens twirl in a soft circular motion, though the proximity of it compared to the rest of his face, the location, it felt enormous. The greenblood hissed, fingers reaching up to grip at his face, nails digging into the still raw wounds there. It was excruciating.

He could see everything. The blind fool

Why was Aprife here? Their original promise all but forgotten, Muerte was entirely too perplexed. The mechanics of his robotic eye still new and prototyped, everything was drenched in a faint, hazy red. The blood tipped fingers traveled further up. There were no glasses there.

And he laughed. Though he wanted to cry

Wheezing and spitting and hoarse, Muerte laughed, cackled hysterical. He'd done it, the damn mastermind. He'd done it, and now everyone could see. Aprife could see, most importantly Muerte could see, everyone saw. He was besides himself, giddy with the sickening nausea that came from the immense throbbing in his face.

"Invasi, I'm so glad you could make it!" His voice was a rushed whisper, cracking towards the end. Muerte gingerly crawled to his feet, wobbling as he stood as the motion went very much neglected for the past few nights. He gestured wildly around him with his arms.

"I do have to wonder how you even got in here." the door had been locked, right? Of course it had. Muerte remembered locking it vividly. he also remembered running, saw and arm coated in so much blood, but of course he came back, he

Turning so his back faced the yellowblood, he stood proudly before the aforementioned mass that Aprife was perplexed by. "But enough of that. Quickly, quickly, there's someone you need to meet— ah!" he was nudging the mass fervently, almost innocently, though no response came, none ever would. The greenblood seemed perplexed, but otherwise unphased. "Come on now, wake up......."

saedusk

hi

 

[saedusk]

Aside from the faintest shuffling of fabric and feathers, the room remained utterly, eerily silent. In Muerte's head was thunder, but the delicate processes of his vision were too muted by flesh, too far away to be heard. Even the mechanical whir of the lens went unnoticed, the only harbinger of the new eye's existence coming next in the form of one piercing red dot.

Aprife's hand found his scourge, only moments from pulling it free. First instinct was to leap defensively, his mind had no way of grasping the very, very unusual circumstance of the light. To him, it shouted scope sight. To him, it meant he'd slipped up hard and led some drones looking for their ten minutes of glory straight here.

Time stood still. No shots ever rang out, no stampedes of booted foot soldiers joined them at the bottom of the stairs. There was nothing, nothing until the draw of Muerte's startling laughter. The greenblood had always been unusual, ever since Aprife met him there was an edge to him that made him stand out. Not like the other trolls. It was both a curiosity and a draw. It was nothing like this, though. The hysterical laughter edged with something undefinable made Aprife cringe.

Spinning back on his heel, he eyed Muerte as he stood. With eyes adjusted, and just enough light from upstairs, he could see him clearly now. It was the good doctor, after all... Laughing, wobbling, covered in blood. The entire room, in fact, was splashed in dull, faded green. He couldn't see it all, but he could imply it, and that implication weighed heavy in his gut.

"Muerte..." The closer Muerte got, the more Aprife realized what he'd seen before hadn't been a sniper scope. No, it had been something different and entirely unexpected. It had been Muerte's eye, but not the one Aprife remembered, as strange as that thought might be. The normal, everyone-has-one eye was gone, replaced with incredible looking gashes and something inorganic, metallic, and glowing red as it leveled its gaze on him.

"What the hell..." he whispered, incredulous, but his chance at questioning was lost when the greenblood started talking again. Aprife couldn't believe how casual he sounded when the situation was so obviously dire. Introduce him to someone? There wasn't any time for that, they had to get out of here now before the drones did find them. This wasn't a goddamn tea party.

Head spinning as he tried to take everything in, all Aprife could truly do was act. There would be time to deal with this later, or perhaps sooner, but in that instant he reached out, roughly grabbing Muerte's shoulder to turn him back around.

"What the ******** happened to you?" he hissed, free hand instinctively shooting up to touch the gratuitously damaged side of Muerte's face, but he stopped himself before he made contact. Instead his fingers curled halfway to his palm. "We have to get out of here, we have to go. It's not safe here."

Even in the flurry of instinct that took over him, he still spared a glance up at the large, unmoving mass, now obviously stained in green and... injured. Very injured. Aprife breathed in, his heart pounding in his chest. The stench was near unbearable. It was very dead.

What was this? It was in Muerte's hive, it was someone Muerte wanted to introduce him to, could this be... was it his lusus? The weight in Aprife's stomach grew larger as he thought for a split second of Bumbs. Teeth clenching, he quickly looked away.

What delusions kept the greenblood from realizing the inevitable, there just wasn't time to decipher. Staying here was far, far too dangerous. "Let's go. Muerte. Now." With a tug on his shoulder, and the other hand now on his arm, Aprife tried to drag him towards the stairs.

HiThereMelancholies

 

[Melancholies]

The prodding seemed all but futile.

It was perplexing. Muerte's almost manic grin curled into a taut frown, features in his face twitching from the dull pain the movement caused. For all his coaxing, the enormous mass remained still. Muerte could only ask himself why, the simple question turning gears and cogs over and over and over in his mind. There wasn't any answer available to him, not readily. Why?

"You're being awful company" he hissed quietly, the tender prodding turning rough as he grabbed a fistful of the decaying flesh, expression twisting again when the matter gave way with ease. The muddied feathers greeted him, sticking through his fingers. He was fixated as Aprife spoke, eye twitching. Not safe here? What happened to him? His head turned in a slow swivel, mismatched eyes scrutinizing the yellowblood. He didn't speak until there was a tug on his shoulder—when had his hand gotten so close?—lip curling slightly to reveal the two prominent fangs there.

"You're the only one that's found me," he stated at once, because it was true. The scowl softened, though it wasn't into anything remotely reassuring, "I've been here for quite some time, working, I—" the eye was whrring quietly again as it moved intricately. "—working, I've been working you see, I—I fixed it!"

Despite his excitement, Muerte's voice never rose above a murmur, face now blank. "And there's still much to be done. I can't leave, not yet." and that was true too; couldn't leave the job half finished could he? That would be too sloppy.

His hand went loose, the feathers drifting lazily to the floor. Aprife seemed... panicked, fervent. He was dragging him, and Muerte went easily until he saw the destination. At the sight of the stairs, he started to writhe against the grip.

"N-No! No I said I'm not done here!" he screeched pathetically, "You can't make me!" he practically wailed, "Haven't you been listening to a word I said?"

saedusk

tete is a huge child

 

[saedusk]

It was honestly irrational to think that anyone else had done to Muerte's face what had been done. No one had come here, blade in hand, to off his lusus yet leave him alive. There was no reason, not unless it was a drone, but no drone would leave the job half finished like this. It could've been a fight between guardian and child, but that thought only lingered as long as it took for Muerte to confirm a much grimmer fate.

Pride really could be a killer. Aprife had his own pridefulness to balance, but it didn't hold a candle to what he'd observed in Muerte since they'd met. He sure had fixed it, hadn't he? He sure had torn out his own eye, mutilating his face in the process, to correct the flaw that was his grub-given eyesight. That was the only conclusion the yellowblood could rationalize, but by now he was sick and tired (with a considerable emphasis on sick)of putting two and two together. Unbelievably tired but far too on edge—no, over the edge, really—to relax even a moment.

"Fixed what?" he hissed, hardly feigning ignorance as he spun back on the doctor in his struggles. "All I see are more injuries." A disgusting slurry of anger and concern swirled in his gut, fighting against the will to let instinct take over entirely. Aprife had seen enough dangerous situations and had a hand in enough emergencies that he'd learned the value of capping off emotions to better handle the flood. With Muerte, he found that tactic increasingly difficult to follow.

"Of course I've been listening, but obviously you haven't been listening to me." His refusal to let go of the greenblood was obvious in the way his hand tightened against him and the other found his second arm. "We're leaving. Gather your things like we agreed we'd do, but for ******** sake don't waste time doing it." Only then did he release his grip, motioning around the dimly lit basement, to the unmoving lusus. "Whatever happened here you can be damn sure we'll discuss later, but right now we don't have time for that. We don't have time for more work and we don't have time for thinking drones aren't going to be on the damn doorstep soon. We're wanted criminals, Muerte. They know who we are."

It was a good thing Aprife's voice was a whisper of its former self or he would've been shouting. He sure wanted to, especially as he locked eyes yet again with the damage Muerte had done to himself. It made breathing a real labor as worry tore into his chest again. God ******** damn it, Muerte.

Melancholies

meanwhile aprife is torn up as ******** thanks

 

[Melancholies]

"All I see are more injuries."

Muerte froze for a moment, ridged as his eyes pierced through Aprife's. There was something boiling there, something angry, and yet it was frozen just beneath the surface. Clouded with recognition. He gawked slightly as Aprife went on, obviously livid himself, unable to really say anything in his defense. Was... was he right?

No, no, he couldn't be... Muerte had.. he... he fixed it, hadn't he? He looked to his hands as he was berated, noticing the green splashed all over his gloves. That... that wasn't just his, was it? He blinked and winced at the pain from the motion, fingers tensing into fists and rolling back out into flat palms.

"Wanted... criminals..." he repeated slowly, careful to enunciate each syllable. Of course they were, but they hadn't—

The hair rose on the back of his neck. Something was wrong. Something was horribly, horribly wrong and he couldn't place the gut level dread that nauseated his stomach. He could feel shadows watching him, feel eyes glaring at him, felt trapped. Sucking in a ragged breath, the greenblood broke into a sweat, though it was honestly hard to tell if it was from the stress or sickness or both.

Slowly turning to the unintelligible mass, Muerte made out the features of his lusus. Had there been anything in his stomach, it would have been on the ground. Instead he coughed and dry heaved instead, nearly keeling over to his knees.

"Y-You're wrong," he hissed again, wiping saliva from the corner of his mouth, "w-w-wrong."

But it was becoming increasingly apparent that he was actually right. They had to leave, had to get out, didn't they? Leave this behind. Clasping a hand over his still coughing mouth, his nose crinkled at the sensation of sticky blood against his lips, though his sense of smell had blessedly dulled by this point. It didn't matter. He was covered in the stuff anyway.

"I-I..." He was searching for words to say, something, anything, but none came. Staggering a little, obviously dazed, the greenblood looked the surroundings around again, eyes coming to rest on the discarded black back on the floor and the tally marks that accompanied it. Despite Aprife warning him not to waste time, his movements were pretty close to sluggish as he retrieved the parcel, staring blankly at the sullied tools inside. The bag was stained green. The tools were splattered green. At the bottom sat a carefully wrapped object.

He clutched it wearily to his body, wheezing out another laugh. He looked over his shoulder again at Aprife, studying him clear as day thanks to the robotic enhancement. "It's fixed." he insisted again before his mouth curled into a little grin, "or are you bliiiiiiind too?"

Cackling hoarsely, the greenblood ignored the warm sensation dripping down the right side of his face, probably just more blood. Seemed logical anyway, despite the fact that it was blurring his vision. Just a sign that he needed to fix the other eye, too.

saedusk

just drag him out of here already

 

[saedusk]

In that instant, Aprife felt like witness to something he was never meant to see. It felt like eavesdropping on the end of an era and even the self-proclaimed King of Gossip was ill at ease about intruding. Seeing inside of Muerte's head was impossible, but the way he momentarily coiled in on himself, the way he heaved as if he were a hair away from sick... Aprife wondered if he'd finally realized what was more than obvious as he stared up at the monstrous lusus: stilled, cold, decaying, and dead. Did the greenblood finally understand what was going on?

Denial claimed no, but Aprife continued to feel otherwise.

Discontent still fired in his veins, but pity wiped away the angry crease of his brow. At least he wouldn't have to argue with Muerte anymore, not about anything that could get them killed, at least. Nothing but the last vestiges of denial, ones that could be easily ignored, if only for now. It was like Aprife said, they'd talk about it later. Muerte was gathering his things. They'd leave and soon everything would be alright.

If only the relief in that had been enough to shield him from the jab the good doctor threw his way next. Whether it was meant the way the yellowblood took it, it didn't really matter. His weakened throat and near useless voice were ever an endless source of frustration for him. Now wasn't the time to remind him, there never was a good time to remind him really, and Aprife had to fight back another sharp swell of his temper in favor of getting them the ******** out of there.

"Don't ******** with me, Muerte," he hissed as he closed the gap between them, hand back on the greenblood's arm, already starting to tug him towards the stairs. "Put that s**t away. C'mon, you just gonna ******** stand there all n-" The pause that came next began in disbelief, but continued as a sensation of intense discomfort and held any attempts at speaking fast in his throat. Was this even real? Hell, this whole situation felt like one big fever dream, but here he was, staring down at Muerte Perist as he cried. One eye held strong and unwavering, but the other gave away something Aprife had never expected to see. It made him feel undeniably awful.

He still wasn't able to say anything else as he nearly carried the greenblood up the stairs. The sound of broken glass crunching beneath his shoes was the only thing he heard as he lead the metaphorical charge away from the ruin and death of the hive as quickly as possible for the state Muerte was in. When they were far enough away, Aprife let them rest only long enough to remove his cloak and fasten it around Muerte's shoulders instead. It was too long for him, but it would take the edge of night air off. That's what Aprife told himself, at least, as he tried to tuck it up and away from his feet.

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

There wasn't enough time to really stop and think about what was going on with his eye, not when Aprife had roughly yanked him away again. What was with all the manhandling again anyway? The greenblood scratched at his throat with one hand, other arm cradling the bag of tools. It felt tight and he didn't know why. His eyes felt itchy and he didn't know why. He nearly tripped on the first step, but Aprife was basically pulling him and it didn't really matter much.

He shrunk when the night air hit him.

The brightness of the moon after nights spent confined in the basement had rendered him almost blind in some strange twist of fate. Squeezing his eyes shut to ward off the light, it didn't stop him from being pulled forward, though his weakened legs went willingly enough. The cold burned his face regardless. Unable to form real words in the moment, Muerte instead was hissing out garbled little sounds of discomfort, whining and huffing.

After a while, his eyes reopened, little cracks at first. The pain was still a little dull, but starting to sharpen. Muerte winced slightly, finding a sudden irony in the situation. The two of them, roaming through the woods, except this time Muerte could see and this time Aprife was the one with his hand on his arm. How quaint. Looking down at the captive arm, Muerte saw the unlit bracelet there.

He didn't speak until they stopped. "Why..." was all he really said, though the question was completely abstract. He wasn't sure what he was asking really; why Aprife was there? Why anything had happened? Questioning his own actions? His legs wobbled dangerously.

"Why... isn't it fixed, then?" he deliberated on his words for a while as Aprife did the cape around his shoulders, looking tiredly up at the yellowblood. "I can see you so clearly with it." he closed his good eye to make the point, eye ticking as it refocused. "I can see everything."

saedusk

3:

 

[saedusk]

Even as Muerte's eyes locked on him, even as one closed and the other displayed its new dominance, Aprife's gaze remained on his own hands working the cloak. "That's not the point," he muttered, voice calmed from what it had been, but not devoid of emotion. Folding the fabric between his fingers, he tapped his hand against the greenblood's. "Here, you'll have to hold this. Keep it out from under your feet." It wasn't that he'd forgotten the vivid concern, the near fear from earlier, it was just that finally there was a moment to breathe. They weren't completely out of the woods yet, both literally and figuratively, but this short rest was like heaven on Alternia, no matter how temporary.

Carefully lifting the large hood up over Muerte's head, only then did Aprife look him in the eye. It was no surprise how tired he looked, how sunken his blood splattered face was. It was rare Aprife felt protective instinct towards anyone. Self-preservation had been in recent sweeps his most important endeavor, but there was no denying how much he wished in that moment he could've done something to stop this from happening.

If only he hadn't loitered back in the village. If only he'd trusted that little nagging feeling in the back of his mind. Really, though, how could he have known what was happening in that dark, dreary basement. It wasn't as if his own experiences up to that point had been particularly pleasant.

"I told you, we'll talk about it when we get back to the swamp, alright? Just focus on making it back." There was something in the way Muerte looked at him, in the way he spoke, that told Aprife now simply wasn't the time. Neither of them were exactly prepared for a conversation as deep as the one he assumed would be coming, especially Muerte, should he choose to open up at all. In that moment, Aprife truly did hope he would.

As he pulled his hands away, satisfied the hood would stay, they lingered a moment on Muerte's shoulders with a faint pressure. "Are you okay to walk?"

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

It... it just made no sense. Nothing Aprife was saying made any sense. There was a problem, and Muerte had fixed it, and things were better. At least... that's how it should be, right? The way Aprife was looking at him, the way he was acting... it made Muerte feel sick, like there were rocks in his gut slowly tearing through all the flesh lining there. It was a deep pain, and he didn't like how it felt nearly physical. His hand slowly opened when Aprife tapped it, grasping the cloth that was handed off to him. What was this? He hadn't been paying attention. Oh. There was a cloak around his shoulders now. Had it been Aprife's?

Must have. It was much too long.

It did help with the cold edge of the cool night air, but in the same breath it was hard to feel anything at all. What was there, other than dull throbs? What was there, other than somber aches? The weight in his abdomen, the pressure in his head, the pulsing where his eye was—where it was... why was it pulsing like that, when there was nothing left living in that socket? For a moment, he felt a little dizzy, somewhat faint, and he wobbled.

"I..." his voice had sounded hoarse to his own ears, but when did it start to feel hoarse? He rubbed his nose with the cloth cloak. "Of course..."

Could he walk? Well, he had to. Where were they going? Right, the swamp. The swamp...

A rather childish emotion abruptly welled within the greenblood, petty and selfish and almost naive. Muerte would have found it unbecoming had he the clarity, but he couldn't stop the question from leaving his lips, "What about my hive...?"

The sinking reality of wanted criminals hit him as soon as the question was uttered, vague recognition flashing in his eye. He could smell the smoke, see the smolder from the flames. His head hurt. He groaned, bringing a hand to his aching temple. "We can't come back." he said all at once, eyes trained on the ground.

"What's... going to happen now..." it was muttered so softly, a question meant mostly for him and not necessarily for Aprife. It was an empty inquiry, because Muerte both knew what would happen and what wouldn't. There was a sea of sheer open-endedness that made it hard to parse between what he knew and what he didn't and what he could expect and what wasn't going to happen by any long shots. He gave another glance up towards the yellowblood, and then took a shaky step away from the hands steadying his shoulders.

saedusk

i got called for dinner so i couldn't proof ready SORRY WILL DO LATER

 

[saedusk]

It was hard, Aprife knew, to leave the past behind. Whether you were sentimental or stone cold, he was positive everyone had memories they looked back on from time to time. The stirring in his gut when Muerte, in that short moment of childishness, asked about his hive. His hive, his life until now. Aprife could relate as he thought back to the last time he'd seen his own hive, not that long ago, standing in the doorway as a surreal feeling washed over him.

It was empty and lonely. It didn't matter how hardened he'd become. The edge was only cut away by the fact that Bumbs had been there. Unfortunately for Muerte, his father was dead and gone, rotting away in the basement. Aprife worried again at what might've happened if he hadn't shown up. But... That wasn't something he'd have to think about anymore. It was over, this hardship at least, though he was positive there would be plenty more to come. His stomach was torn between settling and sinking.

"It's... time to move on," he replied, though Muerte had already answered his own question. The greenblood's hive was gone, essentially, lost to a life now marred by their criminal undertakings. If only true equality wasn't considered a crime.

"I don't know what's going to happen," came the next response, an obvious one for both of them. "We have to take things one step at a time..." We have to go home, he wanted to say, though even he wasn't sure if he'd accepted the swamp as his new home just yet. "Let's go, Muerte. Okay?"

Aprife let the greenblood stand on his own. He let him take that step back, let him walk despite his wobbling legs. If Muerte needed him, Aprife would be there. Otherwise, he didn't mind if the pace was slow. All that mattered was they made it back together.

Melancholies