NINah ask/rp blog

[carrying-coins]

”Let me in Hha.. please? My feet hurt real bad…”

COIN ANON ! yayyy they finally have their own blog

(Middle pic is how they look most recently, left is the default)

!! MOD DOESNT SUPPORT THEIR ACTIONS !!

my main: @pool-table 😇

🪙🪙🪙🪙🪙🪙🪙🪙🪙🪙🪙🪙🪙🪙🪙🪙

facts/stats:

Location: they wander around a lot, coming in & out of different homes, but the hermits home is their primary residence (when there, they stay in the kitchen on the floor) (the school is now their primary residence)

key/unique (physical) features: slightly lazy eye, mole on left cheek + above right eyebrow, scar above left eyebrow

Name: Artie (given name Arthur, if you wanna confuse them/ piss them off call them TuTu)

species: 70% chance human 30% chance visitor (might change later this isn’t like. Solid definitely the route I’m going)

height: 5’7” / 170cm

weight: 133 lbs / ~ 60kg (they’ve been losing weight because the distinct lack of food everywhere)

age: 22

Sex: male

gender ID: genderqueer

pronouns: they/he (any are fine they don’t care)(note: they use exclusively he/him on themself because they don’t know anything about their gender at all outside of “something is amiss..” 👍)

personality/ traits: obnoxious, (mildly) cocky, social/ extroverted, curious, talkative, gentle (overall kind-hearted, just not awesome at reading the room usually), stupid dumb idiot fr awful instincts

🪙🪙🪙🪙🪙🪙🪙🪙🪙🪙🪙🪙🪙🪙🪙🪙

Rules:

nothing wildly nsfw (suggestive & implied are okay, but like… no full on smut). Be average and normal guys

oc x oc + oc x canon is fine (be forewarned that they’re a #SLUT. They aren’t someone who complies to exclusivity, unless you directly blatantly tell them that’s what you expect from whatever kind of relationship they’ve got going w you…)

Don’t be mean out of character/ towards mod/ others interacting on this blog.

let me know if I abandoned a rp. It wasn’t on purpose I swear. I’m simply the forgetter. Let me know that I didn’t respond.

I think that’s all

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What do they have/carry:

•worn book bag

•deck of old cards

•box of cigarettes (two remaining)

•soooooo many coins

•box of matches

•tissues/ cloth

•lollipop from @thelollipopkidthatgoesonanons

•skull necklace from @collectorofbones

•candy from @arimax001

•bracelet & drawing from @mentalspiralgirl-rpblog

•mistletoe from @thetroublemaker-askblog

• tiger’s eye gold ring from @feathers-sticks-and-bones

•wooden utensils from @arimax001

•Arkadij’s ( @thetroublemaker-askblog) ring (they forgot to get rid of it after telling him they would)

•autographed six of hearts card from @hymntheotherpunkgirl

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Other:

TIMELINE (Pre-move) TIMELINE (Post-move) TIMELINE another one because the post move one was getting full

Other drawings /references of them!

More drawings + references

Random bullshit collection

really cool awesome art of them from other people 😛

From @ouunaschl

PFP from @digging-up-ghosts / @mushr00m-collective

[carrying-coins]

(Nemoy hurriedly wandered around the halls, looking for Artie. Gripping a pair of scissors, blade inside his hand for safety reasons, he eventually found Artie in one of the rooms)

(He tapped his shoulder, extending his hand out with the scissors, his other hand pointing to his overgrown hair. Part of his hair seemed unevenly cut, part of his hair being cut in rough layers, part of his hair being shorter than others. Seems like he tried to cut it himself, to no avail.)

"🖐🤙👏. 👏👌🙌 👆🤞👇🤚 🤚👌🤞👇🤛 👆🤙 ✌️ ✋✌️🤜👌☝️?"

-🥬 (@mute-gardener-rp)

<he turns at the sound of footsteps, squinting vaguely forward at the figure posted in the doorway. It takes him a moment to recognize them as Nemoy, but the second he does, he grins wide, inviting, though tired. Amorette lies in a bundle on his bed, passed out. He watches Nemoy’s hands for a moment, before taking in the scissors, one brow cocked.>

Ah ....Sure, okay. We gotta be quiet, though, ‘Kay? ‘Cause she has insane hearing. She’s like a bat..

<he shakes his head, exasperated, throwing a quick glance the baby’s way. He looks like somebody Nemoy should not trust with his hair, if his own mediocre freshly-cut hair is anything to go off of. It could be worse appearance-wise, but the thin, scabbed-over cut in the outer shell of his ear is the worrying part- no doubt his doing, with a pair of scissors.>

I’d offer you somewhere t’ sit, but I’m afraid the floor’ll have t’ do. <he grins at them in a way that may nearly appear malicious, one hand offering itself forward to take the scissors Nemoy brought. He grabs them very gently, before snipping it open and closed, once, twice, testing, like the wings of a butterfly. Too late to go back now… he points downward, at the spot of floor in front of him, a nonverbal demand that Nemoy sit.>

[mute-gardener-rp]

(Nemoy shrugged, sitting criss-crossed in front of him. He eyed Amorette stingily. Seeing her so.. calm and not thrashing-it was unsettling to him. He shuddered, watching her rest before giving Artie a quick thumbs up)

"👐🖐🤙👇🤙🤜🤙☝️ 👏👌🙌'☝️🤙 ☝️🤙✌️🤚👏.."

"Whenever you're ready.."

[carrying-coins]

<he sits behind them, snipping the scissors open-closed still. He’s afraid hadn’t done this for somebody else in forever… Nemoy would also probably kick him in his remaining leg if he fucked it up too bad. But no pressure.>

Ahhmm…… is th- d’you have somethin’ in mind or should I jus’ like… go at it?

[carrying-coins]

They didn't planned to get back to that building, actually they really wanted to avoid it. Yet it was the nearest place where they could possibly get what they needed the most right now: anything which can be used to take care of their injury. They lost a lot of blood on their way here, their shoulder still hurts like hell yet somehow they're not dead..Hard to tell if it's a curse or a blessing that this strange man didn't killed them in that forest. Anyway, the school building did had the nurse's office, they definitely have some bandages here and something they could use to sanitize the wound.

They managed to enter the building, without encountering anyone they didn't wanted to see and quickly found the room they been looking for and then opened the door. Obviously, someone was inside. The cultist stared at him in silence for a moment as they standed in the doorway, holding a part of their veil closely against the wound to stop the bleeding (even though it wasn't really stopping it).

The cultist sighs and closes the door behind as they enter the nurse's office. "...Do you have any...first aid kit..here..? As you..can see..I really need..it.." They are fully aware of their voice slowly starting to sound like it did before, but does it matter? They wouldn't be surprised if Bee already told Artie about their meeting as soon as they left.

@veileddeathcultist-askblog

<he cocks his head towards the door, anticipating to see Lasha, or perhaps Ilya. Certainly, the cultist had been one of the last he’d been expecting to be posed in the door, least of all reeking of blood. He furrows his brows, immediately shifting to stand single-leggedly. With Lasha’s training, he’s really grown quite good at it.>

Y- The fuck happened t’ you??- hha- Jesus Christ.. Are you alri- nevermind. <of course they’re not alright. More of a reflex to ask, than anything.>

Sure- sure, sure, sure, somewhere.. around here- uhm..

<He gestures vaguely to the section of sheets he’d only just inhabited, offering somewhere for them to rest, before opening the uppermost drawer to the cabinet, directly parallel to the mattress. He fails to recognize their voice, more focused on their injury presently. In his defense, it’s also been a few months since their last encounter. He rummages vigorously through the innards of the drawer, eyes narrowed in concentration, taking a moment to successfully locate a small first aid kit. It’s really not much, but he figures it’ll do. He turns back to them, jaws clenched tight, supplies held to his chest, as he gets to closing the drawer and leaning against it for support.>

[veileddeathcultist-askblog]

"...I see that..you're getting better.." They seemed to look in his direction. Quietly hissed due to pain and pressed the veil fabric closer to the wound. Good to know that Artie is recovering well after losing one leg..

The cultist slowly sat down. "...I got..attacked by..some strange.. hippie.. man..in the forest.." They explained what happened as they showed him the wound. It looked messy, like if something severely bitten their shoulder. The injury looks more like something which a wild animal could cause rather than just 'a man'. "Ummm..do you...think that..I need to stitch it..or a bandage should be enough..?"

[carrying-coins]

Uh- yeah, I guess. <they mumble, opening the first aid kit as carefully as they can manage, avoiding spilling or dropping items out. He glances up again, at the sharp inhale from their direction, pleased to see them sat now… it’s a start, he supposes.>

Why were y— <he begins responding to their explanation, before abruptly cutting off at the sight of their injury, colour quickly escaping his features. He may as well have been the one with blood loss, with the whiteness in his face.>

‘s- m- ….. I… I don’t know. Ah- I’m not a doctor or anythin’… <he looks away after a moment, dizzied by facing the gored section. He figures… a bandage should be adequate? He’s not sure there’s enough skin to close it up, anyways… If only Ilya were here. Or Lasha. They’d know, surely? He shakes his head, side-to-side, ridding his conscious of the excess chatter.>

Take off your shirt. <they pause momentarily, upon realizing how that may sound to the poor acquaintance sat before them.> …Er- Please take off your shirt. <much better.>

<in his head it makes perfect sense. They won’t be able to hardly reach, let alone bandage their wound, so treating it themself is hardly in the question, and while he gets scared… well, surely he can manage? Really, as for now, it’s the only solution they’ve got.>

[veileddeathcultist-askblog]

"..." They stared at him confused and then looked away after Artie corrected himself. Do they really need to take off their "shirt" for that? They pretty much would have to undo their robe first, this includes the veil, and then take off what's underneath. The cultist was close to suggest Artie that he can leave and they gonna do it by themselves, yet the pain would make it too difficult..

They sigh deeply and start to undo everything with their other hand. Does it matter if he discovers who they are? Unlike Bee, he doesn't look strong, so he won't stop them from leaving. 'The cultist' took off their robe and veil and then placed it next to them, avoiding any eye contact after they done so.

Currently they're trying to take off the shirt they wore underneath it.

[carrying-coins]

<it takes him a moment, to recognize them, too busy sorting through the contents of the first aid kit, in an attempt not to seem perverse as they undress, to properly look. He only looks up once the sound of fabric shifting over itself pauses, meeting their eye, with confusion.>

Dima? But Arkadij said-?… why didn’t you tell me th-? Dima, what the fuck?

<their confusion quickly gives way to some more intense strain of upset, coming in the form of tears gliding their way across his margins of his eyelids, which he rapidly rubs off of his face. He can hardly blame them. He’d stayed hidden, tucked safely in his apartment for the first few days of the temperature’s exponential growth, hardly capable of knowing they’d disappeared from where he’d often find them at all. But no word from them for weeks, up until Arkadij.. he’d grown worried, though it remained a topic at the back of his mind by product of his constant endeavor in attempting survival. He’d considered Dima his first “friend” since some time in early highschool. At the time, it was a revolutionary thing, to have a friend, or to socialize. He’d missed Dima.>

<his flare up of frustration settles as he recalls his task, suppressed to consider later. More important tasks at hand. He comes to sit beside Dima, bringing some cleansing solution out to sanitize his hands.>

You should probably put somethin’ in your mouth to bite down on, so you don’t rip your tongue off. <stoic in tone, nearly perfectly monotone, hardly a hint of expression in his voice. Not with the intention to be an asshole, or make a point, but because he’s never all that good with his words when overwhelmed.>

[veileddeathcultist-askblog]

"It's..a long..story.." Dima still doesn't look at him or even in his direction, wouldn't even dare to. "...You must...be..very confused right now..but..I will..explain myself.." They finally decided to at least look at him as they speak, noticing that Artie looks pretty upset. They don't blame him for that, not to mention that he does deserve an explaination. "But first...let's...take care of..that injury.."

"..I don't think..that..I need it..went through worse pain..but.." They looked around, trying to find something which they could bite on. In the end, they picked up their robe and rolled the fabric so it was thick enough to do anything. "..Just..in case.." Then they put it into their mouth and wait.

[carrying-coins]

<yes, just a precaution. He’d probably need it, were he them. Then again, his pain tolerance is abysmal. He’d probably cry if he got a splinter.>

<he inhales sharply, trying to get air to his head, before checking the brutally gored wound again. He sits up on his knees, towering above them, to pour some sanitary solution onto a rag, that will surely sting like hell. Finally, with all the courage he can muster, he looks at the injury, teeth gritted, beginning to clean the dried blood around first… gradually, he guides the rag in towards the center of the gash, dabbing gently. He’s not sure that’s how you’re meant to do it, but he’s not got any other solution, either, so… he hopes this’ll suffice for disinfection. God, Ilya would have his head, probably. He reapplies the alcoholic liquid, mostly as a precaution, until it’s practically sopping, before dabbing all over again. That’ll do, he supposes.>

<he sits back down fully, allowing for it to dry some, as he catches his breath. He hates blood. Makes him sick. He feels nauseous, even now, though he manages to suppress it adequately enough that he can finish his job. What’s next?? Neosporin? Fuck, might as well. He applies that to a different rag, hesitant to use his hands, for fear that it’d be unsanitary, and he’s not got gloves… he finds bandages next.. fold some, press them to the injury, secure with…?? Not with medical tape. That’s cause rash, he assumes. He’ll just wrap it under their armpit for now, he supposes. It’s mighty hard to wrap a shoulder. Whatever. That’ll do until they can get real hope, he supposes. He sits back, hands shaking, with a sigh.>

‘ss.. ah, ‘s done I guess. You might wanna.. get someone else t’ do it better at some point, but that’ll do for now I guess.

[veileddeathcultist-askblog]

Probably making them have something in their mouth during the whole process was a good idea. The pain wasn't as bad as when that man bitten into their shoulder yet it still made them bite hard that fabric, wouldn't be surprised if they made holes in it by doing so..Oh well, they will take care of it later.

They patiently waited until Artie finishes bandaging the wound, watching what he's doing. When he finished, they pulled the fabric out of their mouth and took a look at their shoulder. This should he enough for now, they assume, at least it got sanitized and there's something wrapped around it.

"Thank..you.." They said while looking at him with a soft smile. "I'm sorry that..you had to see..this...I know that..you don't like the..view of..blood.." Dima reminded themselves about this tiny detail about Artie, feeling a bit guilty that he had to see something that makes him feel sick. At least he didn't passed out from that view but still..

They sigh as they stare at the wall. "...You must..have a lot of..questions now..am I..right..?"

[carrying-coins]

‘S okay. <except that it makes him want to vomit. No matter.>

Yes, I have a lot of questions, Dima. <certainly not the kindest tone he might’ve had the capability to utilize.> I jus’.. I don’t get it, ‘s all. Why wouldn’t you tell me? You were- you were right there. An’ I thought you were- a- a dog? A visitor?? Arkadij said—

<they wipe their face over with one hand, an attempt at resetting. No matter.>

<he’s not sure why he gets worked up, anyways. He supposes that they weren’t really all that close prior to Dima’s death. Dima was only….. a kind soul, helping the neighborhood stray cat. Surely. They weren’t really friends. Only the first kind person he’d had the pleasure to interact with since high school. It didn’t mean anything. They were only… acquaintances. Or maybe strangers, even. Ones who talked and laughed, but maybe that was only for sake of politeness. Nothing personal enough to grow an attachment to him, in case he should die by some stupid cause, but maybe enough to aim at a distant-but-friendly sort of kinship. He supposes they hadn’t been all that much to begin with. It felt like a lot then.>

[veileddeathcultist-askblog]

Dima is thinking about the response for a long moment. It's a long story, how should they even explain it? Without spending over an hour telling him about everything that took place and what made them make a decision to isolate themselves from everyone they knew and hide themselves underneath the black fabric...

"Yes...That dog-like visitor..was me.." They sigh, not wanting to remind themselves about that period of time right now. "I remember...chasing someone and then..I felt like I'm falling..asleep and then..woke up in some white room...looking like this.." Dima pointed at themselves. "...It appeared that.. FEMA got me..and done some experiment...From what I know..they were tested something...in that specific building.."

"...Without more details..I was able to escape...then joined the..new faith after..our leader helped me..when I had no..place to go.." Dima remembers that night very clearly. They tried to get as far away from FEMA Site 7 as possible, the soliders could be alerted at any time and go search for them. They had nothing, nowhere to go, not even knowing where to go or what to do..And then this kind man in long robe appeared to give them water and food, a place to stay and show them a way to reach the eternal peace.

"...Why didn't I..told you..back then..? Shame..I suppose...Didn't planned to let anyone..know that..I'm back to...'normal' let's say..." They sigh deeply, perhaps they should open up for once. Artie sounded angry before, judging on his tone of voice, maybe he will understand their decision..? Even though he has every right to be mad at them, like everyone else. "...I expected everyone I know to feel..hatered towards me..After everything I..had done..So I decided to...avoid them.."

"...What did..he..said..?"

[carrying-coins]

<he only listens in silence, uncertain of what to say. He’s unsure if they would prefer him to speak, and risk hurting their feelings with his inability to phrase things the way he intends, or if they’d rather he just stay silent. Finally, a sliver of his voice makes its way out of his mouth, a soft whisper of anything at all.>

…Well I don’t hate you. <he pauses, clearing his throat.> d’you know how you…. <died? He leaves the last word unsaid, afraid to upset Dima. Would that be rude to ask? He’s not sure how these things work, with visitors.>

Oh… ah, he.. Arkadij? He said he was.. mad at you, I think? <he shakes his head, he can’t remember right.. it’s been a little while since Arkadij talked about Dima at all..> Oh, he was gonna get rid of this- wait, hold on- <he opens his bag, unzipping one of the innermost pockets with some effort. At the grand old age of his bag, things stop working as well.. he draws out Arkadij’s old ring, handing it forward with a small frown.>

I didn’t mean t’ keep it.. forgot, y’know.. aha….

[veileddeathcultist-askblog]

"..I...don't remember it..too clearly..it was so long ago..." They responded, understood what Artie meant even though last word remained unsaid. "...I think..that I let in..someone...and then...You can..guess what happened.. I remember choking on my own blood until..I died..? Fainted..?" Dima doesn't know either how to describe it. They didn't really died at that moment after all, but at the same time they were something which barely could be called "alive" or "human" at least.

They take the ring and just stare at it in silence. They put it aside and finally said something "...I expected that..he will be..very mad at me..After what..I did.." Who wouldn't be mad when the only person you fully trusted out of nowhere crushes your ribs, tears you apart and lefts you to bleed out at the staircase?

[carrying-coins]

…Oh. <he really isn’t sure how he’s meant to respond. Words flush from his head, thrown about in a frenzy at the prospect of allowing somebody into your home, offering trust, only to be brutally betrayed. It’s a horrific thing, truly. Of course, he supposes that any way Dima could have died would’ve been tragic. They were quite young… the same could happen to him, or anybody for that matter.>

That’s ah…… real fucked up. <master of the obvious.> d’you know where they- the- the person you let in went after?? Or jus’ like… murdered.. an’ took off?

<he leaves out the “you”. Murdered you, and took off. It feels impolite to finish it fully, to address the subject of the question as such. Murdered and a murderer.>

Well…. Yeah, I guess. But he misses you too.. he er- he talked ‘bout you a lot. Told me nearly every time he saw you out there. I think he’d rather have you back than… have you stay away? I don’t know.

<he bites his lower lip, unsure. He’s afraid to mislead Dima, and evoke conflict, though maybe Arkadij would like to have a conversation with them? It doesn’t matter, anyways. He hasn’t seen Arkadij’s in what feels like forever. Driven off by Ilya, like vermin.>

He’s- I haven’t seen him in a while, anyway… he left the school a little while ago, an’ I don’t know where he went, an’ he hasn’t come back since- I-… would you please tell me if you saw him?

<there’s a distinct worry to his tone, agitated in the loss of a loved one. He worries frequently for him, afraid that Ilya’s shot was more lethal than they let on, or that something since had gotten to him. Any number of things. Infection, another visitor, the sun, starvation, exhaustion…. The list goes on.>

[polarmauling]

<he knocks, very loudly, very firmly, always with the cadence of somebody with somewhere to be, like a salesman. Except he’s got no rush, in reality, and he’s just very enthusiastic, eager to be let in.>

<set with the knowledge that they’ve got a working television, he’s been bringing in terribly dusty tapes he’d found around the school, varying greatly in topic, and begging to play them for a matter of curiosity. The other night, he’d brought a full box of them, which he’d promptly sorted by subject, then alphabetically, then by his interest in them. He’s also been returning frequently enough, only to watch Courage with it. He’s come to quite like the show, in fact, he’s even started taking comfort in it, contrary to his initial uncertainty. In any case, he’s back again, though his mission isn’t to force them to watch more middle-to-early-high-school educational tapes, fortunately. No, he’s here for an entirely different reason, and a little nervous that it’ll turn him away for straying from what he typically comes for.>

—🪙 ( @carrying-coins )

[Arseni's mornings were spent working. The evenings as well. But in the night time it rested in its room, listening to the TV mutter Little Bear. Another cartoon it was watching for the sake of Faina; just to make sure its content was up to its standards. That someone hadn't overwritten any inch of that tape with FEMA propaganda or something. But when the knock came it jumped, then growled. When it continued it knew it was someone who knew what they were messing with, and it stood.

The behemoth sauntered to the door a little awkwardly, still weak in it's right leg, and opened it with a grimacing face. However, seeing Artie's excitement made it lighten up, quirking a brow and leaning down.]

“ What've you got for me now? ”

[It drawled out teasingly, another full sentence which had become exceedingly common the more they spoke. It preferred few words in short conversations, but it could already theorize this was going to be more like a discussion.]

[carrying-coins]

<he moves past it, into its room without hesitation. If they’ve got the door open, he figures its invitation enough. He begins pacing, very full of movement for somebody who complains about his prosthetic or hip pain practically every moment he’s got the chance.>

Well… nothin’, this time, but that’s why I’m here.. I ah… need a favor. I need you t’ come with me, sso that I can get some stuff. Outside. Jus’ a little walk?

<He pauses his motion to give them a pleading look. He’d go on his own, but he’s been growing wary of the outdoors, primarily for the people it contains. The last few times he’d attempted going out on his own had gone quite poorly, and while he’s quite good enough at escaping rough situations, he’s discovered it more… difficult now that he can’t run as agilely. He does need some things from whatever abandoned store he can locate, but more than that, he needs out from the school… only, he’s afraid to go on his own as is, so he turns to Arseni as a lifeline. He’d forgotten about its own injury, though he figures its frame will be enough to drive away muggers or whatever other strain of trouble may arise. He doesn’t need it to fight, so much as an intimidation factor.>

I’ll pay you back somehow, promise, an’ it won’t be long- or- or it shouldn’t be..

[polarmauling]

“ Uhhh. Yeah.. ”

[Arseni looked around. It didn't have anything better to do, and it could use some physical exertion after such a hearty dinner of flesh. It shook its head, the shaking rolling through its body like a crack of thunder. It wandered over to it's bed, or nest so to speak, and picked up the bat leaned against the wall. It rolled the weapon in it's wrist and swung it shallowly, then grinned at Artie.]

“ There. We're good. ”

[The beast assured. It pat Artie's head and ruffled his hair, walking to the door and looking around. It peered into the hallway and looked for any danger, then nodded affirmingly to Artie. However, it wouldn't do this without some exchange.

It looked at Artie hopefully. A thanks would do ... Or good bear. If its eyes could sparkle, they would.]

[carrying-coins]

<he pumps his fist in a show of delight at its agreement. He really wasn’t sure that it’d play along at all- with how often it’s busy, another errand is likely one of the least preferable things it could take part in. He is beyond delighted that it’s agreed to come with. His head dips below the weight of their palm, though he seems rather satisfied by the gesture, if the brief slack in his features is anything to go off of.>

<he moves past it, out the door, only he bumps his hip against theirs as retaliation for the hair-ruffling. He looks profoundly proud of himself for it too. His eyes catch theirs, the plead in their expression, and a small bemused smile follows along.>

‘s that for?? Whatever could you want?

<he holds one finger over his mouth, as if in thought, before lighting up, as though he’d had some incredible epiphany.>

Ohh!….. Thank you. You’re a very good bear. <he huffs, amused, as though he’s any better. He’d do probably about anything for a few kind words.>

[polarmauling]

[Arseni could've melted on the spot if not for it's trained demeanor. It shivered happily and gave a thankful yip at the compliment, turning its head. It gestured for Artie to go first; protection was more efficient if the 'protector' walked behind, of course. It was a little comical, the slide in height between them making the bear a looming shadow over the brown haired coin lover below. They were hyper aware yet didn't seem to show it, eyes occasionally moving to slide it's gaze across the area they walked.

While it sauntered it was also becoming aware of Artie's prosthesis movement. Funnily, both of them had a sort of rigid walk, with Arseni's weak leg still bothering it occasionally. But a weak leg was nothing to one missing entirely, and they were making sure he wasn't going to trip, occasionally outstretching a hand to push him back to the center of the hallways when he idly began shifting left or right. It didn't mind doing this occasionally, it was more teasing than actually helpful. It was no doubt he was perfectly capable not to walk into a wall or trip, the bear seemed to find amusement in playing barriers.]

“ What are you getting? ”

[It asked quietly, lifting it's head in interest. They hadn't left the school yet so it still spoke lowly, since most people were asleep right now and those who weren't...well it didn't really want to alert them to it's location. It's grip idly tightened on the bat.]

[carrying-coins]

<its reaction to his mild praise elicits an incredibly wide grin from him, amused greatly by its giddiness. He turns out into the hall, slow in his in comparison to how quickly others get around, but relatively fast considering the circumstances. The fluorescent lights flicker overhead and his enthusiasm to exit the school only amplifies.>

<he huffs as it begins playing with him, like a cat with its dinner-to-be, allowing the teasing for a brief while. Eventually, he starts stopping when it guides him to one side, so that it runs into him, a gentle retribution to its banter. He’s astonishingly quiet as they move, paused in his usually incessant chatter to focus.>

Jus’ some..stuff. <helpful as ever. He flicks his eyes back at it for a moment, upon realizing that his response gives no information that it didn’t already know.> …for.. my cat. She’s around lots, I’m sure you’ve seen her- little orangey one… anyway, she won’t eat much sso I have t’ get..…whatever.

<he shakes his head, forgetful of what he’d been saying. finding food for his particular cat isn’t the only reason he needs out, but the other purposes are a little more personal, and take some explaining which he’d rather not get into. Keep an eye out for Arkadij, look for something for Lasha- he hopes very adamantly for a treat in particular for them, but he’s very well aware how low the chances are that he finds anything at all are. He keeps a short list in his head, which he repeats over, and over, so he doesn’t forget. If he had a functioning pen, he’d probably just write it all on himself, just in case, though really, his memory is quite good. He only repeats it to himself as a precaution.>

[polarmauling]

“ Yes. Small thing. Was told not to eat. ”

[It commented idly, looking around the halls. It followed obediently; as much as it would deny the fact, it loved following orders and showing a docile side. It had a weakness towards it's chores when given strictly, it meant high rewards in the evening. Usually just watching cartoons or hanging out with it's daughter, but high rewards in it's mind nonetheless. And sometimes, it got to spend time with it's partners...soft pats to the head, praise for being so brave in a world that it was fighting for it's life in.

But now wasn't the time for swooning. It had a job to do...and it was nothing if not a task follower! It made sure to hold the bat positioned over its shoulder, ready to swing on any visitors or just ornery people.]

“ Look for .. baby things. ”

[It quietly commented. Of course, it's protection was payment plenty, but it was still always keeping that in mind. For Faina, and any other infants that had found their unfortunate upbringing in the school, they needed supplies. Always. Arseni wasn't at ease unless there was a month's supply of everything Faina needed. And toys were just a bonus on their travels.

When they came upon the front door, Arseni moved the bat to stop Artie. They pushed it open with the end of it and looked out, then held it for him. They snickered, pointing the weapon outwards.]

“ Ladies' first. ”

[The thing was, Arseni didn't actually know there was another way to say that. Arseni had been taught by Volkov to impress the ring girls by saying that. So that's just what it did. And to look cute, so to speak. Not as scary as they often were.

In other words, Arseni had no idea the gender affirming they did with that statement. They just said it because they were trained.]

[carrying-coins]

Tss.. I don’t know that she’d let you eat her if you tried.. she’s sorta an asshole, scratches me ‘bout thrice a day.

<he rolls up the sleeve of his jacket, to showcase his extensive gallery of incredibly thin scratches, only minor pink lines. Seldom is there a hint of blood, or scabbing, she is very gentle with her swatting, and on the off occasion that she does cut him deeply enough to draw blood, she licks it up off of his forearms as an apology.>

I’m not even doing anythin’ when she hits me… fuckin’ monster. Least it means she won’t get eaten so easy, I s’ppose.

<he rambles on, mostly to himself, passing by doors and lockers listlessly. He gets stuck on topics in his head sometimes, and then it all just runs from his mouth, into the ears of others. He finally pauses his endless chatter, glancing at it with his mouth still open, before his lips seal themselves closed, pursed into silence. He talks enough to fill every moment of its silence, so there isn’t ever a moment of quiet between the two.>

<he only nods at its next moment of speech, uncertain if this is a narration of what it intends to do, or a request while he looks for his things- an additional item to keep an eye out for. He assumes the latter, though assumptions typically don’t take him far. He’ll look out for stuff for them either way.>

<he comes to an abrupt halt at the movement of its weapon, lifting his head to give it a look of curious scrutiny. He cranes his neck to align his eyes over the top of its arm, attempting rather vainly to see into the darkness sprawled before them, unsure in the purpose of their stop.>

<At their word choice, he reddens, the heat of blood rushing to the surface of his skin following. He can’t be entirely sure if it was intended as an insult, or simply a mishap, though he feels oddly.. flattered by it, charmed to his core. It comes as a subtle praise to him, a nod in his direction that he very much appreciates. What a kind thing, for how intimidating it pretends to be.>

Aha.. well ain’t you a gentle-.. <gentleman?? He’s not really sure. He mumbles something else, the quiet confusion in his tone enough to put forward a decent indication of whatever the meaning behind his inaudible word was. He punctuates his sentence with a pleasant smile, before passing by them, to bask beneath the radiance of the moon. Now that he’s outside, and his already subpar vision becomes entirely abysmal, he gets nearly nervous to lose them in the dark. He turns to it, grateful for its primary colour being white, because it makes them far easier to identify in the overwhelming sea of shadow that is night. He waits until it moves forward, parallel to his side, to continue on his way. He really would rather not find himself alone midway through the walk to the collection of abandoned shops and assorted buildings downtown.>

[polarmauling]

[The beast clad in white simply snickers at the confusion, confused itself but not willing to carrying meaningless conversation. Identity introductions were hardly something it cared about; it didn't understand gender or sex in the first place. Only that without Volkov, it was free to "lie" as much as it wanted. And even though it had plenty of nuanced conversation with Lasha about the subject, it never really seemed to stick after "do what you want". That's the words it liked to hear, anyway.]

“ Mole hole. ”

[Arseni commented quietly, trying to keep up with Artie's chatty nature. It simply pointed to a dried over hole in the ground, likely brutalized at its surface by the sun. But whatever lived within was cozy, it was sure. Mole or snake or whatever it was. It was good at pointing things out...that was conversation, wasn't it? Arseni let out a low rumble in joy at it's observation.]

“ If coffee wasn't so yuck I'd drink it. "

[Another useless comment about ten minutes after the first. It seemed to have this hopeful look in it's eyes, similar to when it was begging for the praise, like it was succeeding in small talk. The weird thing was...in intimacy the Polar Bear was a smooth talker and extremely mature. It was just nervous now, and didn't know how to communicate. It was easy to be flattering and cute when you weren't playing a role. Bodyguards are supposed to be stoic and scary, wasn't that in one of the books it read? Or...someone read to it. It's literary skills were still trying.

In other words, it wasn't exactly the stone soldier it was playing the role of either. It had been shot out here...and no bat was going to stop a bullet. It wondered if any other hitmen were actively hunting its head in these times. Savva was just stone headed and trying to make cash without account for his life, wasn't that the case?

... probably.]

[carrying-coins]

<he cocks his head in the direction where it’d pointed, searching the charcoal ridden dirt for its object of interest. He strays slightly from its side, to investigate better, becoming entirely stagnant in his movement once he finds it.>

Oh, I haven’t seen one of these in a while. D’you think the.. whatever made it’s alive still?

<probably not, right? Surely burned by the sun, or eaten by a bigger animal…? He begins to walk again, returning to it quickly, like a well-trained dog off leash. Their purr-like grumble makes him jump slightly, more on edge now that the safety held in the schools walls is gone. One hand goes up to hold its sleeve, a subconscious move, learned from losing track of people while exploring. Also, it helps guide him better, avoid tripping in similar such mole holes that he fails to notice when they do.>

<the sound of its voice makes him flinch again. He’d forgotten it could talk. He’s more adjusted to going outside all alone, which typically proves more difficult and dangerous, though he doesn’t mind that much. Or he hadn’t been minding it much, but it’s all worse when he can barely walk or see. It’s borderline impossible to come outside anymore without company, for him.>

..Yeah. I like tea better, but both’re shit. Lucky for both of us, ‘s pretty much impossible t’ find anything with caffeine in it ‘sides enerjeka, an’ even then ‘s about a million rubles.

<he chatters on for a moment, over his disdain for the drink and its reputation. His voice is noticeably quieter here, afraid to attract too much attention in the form of visitors or otherwise malicious individuals. He’s not got very good survival instincts, but it’s improved enough that he knows now to be relatively discreet.>

<he goes silent as a distant light comes into view, one of very few stores still open. Most have gone out of business, for lack of funds with so few willing to venture out when ForRest can simply bring most items, or else they’d shut down in order to protect employees. However, a few more wealthy shops remain intact, for those who prefer to select items in person, lack a phone, or can’t find what they need in a delivery service. These establishments are nearly surreal to him now, something of a distant past, a vulgar change in the norm.>

..how easy d’you think that place’d be t’ shoplift from? <he’s joking.. mostly. They’ve probably got more in stock than the ransacked dead businesses across town, but stealing would prove wildly difficult with the current climate. People are desperate, of course everybody would like to steal. And of course, there are probably extensive measures taken to prevent such incidents, and even more extensive punishments. What they’ve got probably isn’t very good, anyways. Nothing fresh, only canned meat and vegetables and fruits, old crackers and cookies, preserved items- things that don’t go bad. Not really worth stealing. At very least, this beacon amidst the desecrated landscape means that they’re approaching places more easy to freely take from.>

[feathers-sticks-and-bones]

<fuck, took him long enough. The silhouette of some towering animal, clad in the black of night, and recognizable nonetheless, with their oh-so-familiar narrowed beak comes as a fantastic relief to him. Mainly he was out to track them down. As a secondary task, so as not to waste his time just in case he couldn’t, he’d been out trying to find supplies for his recent predicament. He’s very lucky to have succeeded in his primary task, because unearthing exactly what he needs for this situation has proven…. Difficult.>

<well…. He’d found them. He’d found them, so what now? He hadn’t really thought about what to say. This makes him nervous, which is an odd thing to be, for him, because he isn’t nervous nearly… ever. He tries to think very quickly, because surely they can smell him now, which means that if he doesn’t come to them, they’ll only come to him. He hesitates, before moving towards them, resumed in his mission.>

Pink, hi- er- hey… <bad start. He inhales shallowly, hardly taking in enough oxygen to resettle himself.> Look, will you come with me? I really need t’ get your help with somethin’, ‘cause-…. Well, it’d be better if I jus’ show you, I think…. Ah… please??

<he talks very quickly, a certain stiffness to his tone. He looks distinctly… tired. Worn down, almost. He also reeks of something softer, and something acidic, adjacent to the scents of shampoo and vomit, only slightly off. Nothing that he’d smell of typically, worn like an awful cologne, to such a degree that his usual scent becomes more of an undertone than anything.>

<the delivery of his request came across more poorly than he’d hoped for, and he pulls at the strap of his bag, not dissimilarly to the way he had upon meeting them at the therapist’s house. He looks nearly ready to sink to his knees and either sleep or cry for some time, however, he does not. He only looks at them tiredly, and anxiously, waiting for some signal that they will not scold him for whatever he desires them for.>

—🪙 ( @carrying-coins )

[Pink had smelled Artie before they were saw him, his signature smell of coins still easily picked up by their nose despite the rancid smell of vomit accompanying him. Worried as that smell made them for his wellbeing, they had figured if he was sick enough for it to be his own vomit, he wouldn’t have the strength to be wandering around the wastelands… but that begged the question, whose was it? They approached with little hesitation as they picked out his silhouette in the darkness, getting something to eat could wait.]

Hey kiddo!!!!!! I was jusssssst about to visit, what…… uh…… you look rrrrrrough……

[Death’s sake, he looked like he’d just survived a tornado. As they approached, they almost felt the need to pick him up and carry him back to the school, given the way his body trembled with exhaustion. For now, they look him over for injuries… he wasn’t visibly bleeding at least, he probably didn’t get attacked. Was he actually sick, and just forcing himself to venture out? They would hope not, but given how they knew his survival instincts were, they would not be surprised if that were the case.]

Okay, if it’ssssss important……

[As Artie turned, they followed close behind him, sniffing him, trying to discern whatever the issue was that had him in such a worn down shape… they could pick up the smell of someone new to them all over him, the smell of old milk and… baby formula. Their eye went wide at the implication, could it be??]

[carrying-coins]

‘S that bad? <he chuckles quietly. He’s really not all that sure what he looks like currently, he’d been too busy to check for himself.. whatever. He doesn’t care what he looks like, he’s got a plethora of better things to be doing.>

<At their agreement, he offers up a silent, rather strained grin, before turning and leading them back the way he’d initially come. He’s far slower now, his walking speed drastically reduced from where it had been prior to his injury. He struggles greatly to run, and he’s got no weapon, nor a will to fight- he shouldn’t be out at all, but he’s quite a determined thing, so that all becomes an afterthought. He’d made it out here fine, anyways, hadn’t he?>

<it takes them all of twenty or so minutes to reach the chain link fence bordering the school, most of which he’d spent in absolute silence. He trails along the exterior of the barrier, until he reaches a small hole, just wide enough to fit his body, which he tucks himself through with a small series of grunts. He could potentially go through the gate instead, but he’s not sure who’s meant to be guarding it today, and he’d rather not show up with Pink and risk catastrophe. He figures they can climb the fence, though with how thin they are, they may be able to squeeze through the way he’d just done. He moves out of the way, in any case, allowing them to make their way past the border between school grounds and the expanse of deteriorated landscape, prior to moving forward again.>

<he clings to the innermost section of the fence, hesitant to pass windows and raise alarm, though luckily many of such windows have their curtains drawn, to shield from the light of when daytime comes around. He only begins moving closer to the school, once he’s certain he’s approaching the right window. He may be able to bring them inside, if the window is unlocked, only he can’t remember if he’d left the latch down or not…>

<finally, he stands before the window of his room, leaning his face forward against the glass. The smell of whoever he’d been around is far stronger now, along with the scent of somebody else entirely. Upon viewing, the sight of a teenager, perhaps sixteen, or seventeen, cradling an infant no older than six months greets the pair. Both are asleep, which comes as a shock to Artie, though a relief, considering how violent of a tantrum she’d thrown when he passed her off on Nemoy. He turns to pink anxiously, attempting to gauge their reaction before speaking.>

That’s- ah… she’s my-…. I don’t know. I call her a “her”, y’know, but I’ve not really got any idea what she is, actually.. an’ she’s not really my “daughter”, or anythin’, but—….. anyway, that’s Ettie— ah.. Amorette.

<he stands before them, awkward in posture, afraid to say more, until he gets some confirmation that they aren’t angry with him, or violent towards her.>

[feathers-sticks-and-bones]

Sssssure is, kid!!!!!!

[They laughed, but Death’s name, they’d have their work cut out for him later… his hair looked matted all over again, not to mention the state of his clothes. He could borrow a coat while they washed them and stitched up some of those holes, they decided, it’d more than keep him covered at least.

Fortunately for now, Pink serves as a good enough deterrent for anyone who may want to threaten Artie, the scary dog that permits him to walk alone and unarmed through the dangerous night. No visitor would touch a visibly injured human being followed by a thing like Pink, few humans would dare approach something like them in the first place, let alone challenge them, and all that leaves is FEMA… which they were certainly hungry enough to have a solution for anyways.

They followed behind him at a somewhat consistent two metre distance, their clawed hands folded in the signature neurodivergent T.rex pose, though they unfurled at a glimpse of Ilya guarding the front gate in the distance. They shot a glare their way, but they did not leave to look for some sort of rematch, one they were certainly going to win at this rate. No, all they did was follow Artie past the fence, not daring to try fitting through the gap after him when climbing was an option. They had gotten very familiar with climbing since becoming a visitor, both out of necessity and because of their claws making the process far easier. Even now, their claws allowed them to grip the links of the fence with ease, allowing them to scale the fence with leopardlike speed. Just like a big cat as well, they landed on their feet next to him with a heavy thud, the muffled jingle of jewelry ringing out from their many pockets.

As the two of them finally approach the window of Artie’s room, their breathing grows rapid, as they try to figure out by scent if their theory about who this new person is might be true, and though they did not want to get their hopes up, no other explanation would make sense. As much as they tried to keep themselves from fixating too hard on their idea of what might await them, their excitement was tangible in the flexing of their claws and rushed pace.

Only for their theory to be proven exactly right. Artie’s a father, and they’re a… grandfather? Grandmother? …Grandparent, they suppose. They immediately drop to their knees, pressing the beak of the mask against the glass, eye locked onto Amorette, all in an attempt to get a better look at her without opening the window. No, they would hate for the teenager, and especially for her, to wake up to a sight like them.

They remember now from their human life that they had always loved kids and always wanted children of their own, they remember vaguely the baby dolls they played with as a child, visiting adoption agencies, fantasizing about having a family, their own blood or otherwise… all of those memories came flooding back to them at the sight of her, the first baby they had seen since their death, since the cataclysm.

Her little face, her tiny eyelashes, her soft little head of hair, her itty bitty fingers and toes, Death’s name, she was adorable, she was perfect. Amorette, little love, that’s exactly what Pink saw when they looked at her, their granddaughter. They wouldn’t have named her any differently.]

Amorrrrrrette…… why didn’t you tell me about my granddaughter ssssssooner??????

[They spoke with about as much love in their voice as such a monstrous thing like them could manage, any other thoughts and emotions they may have felt washed away by overpowering affection as they looked upon her… well, all but one. The thought that Artie didn’t know what she might be… something long tucked away in the depths of their mind stirred at the thought.]

[carrying-coins]

<he sighs, relieved at their response. He hadn’t been sure how to tell, them or whether or not he should tell them at all- they have the capabilities to kill her in an instant, and he’s had no mention of how they feel about babies at all, so it wasn’t exactly out of the realm of reality that they ate her or otherwise. He figured he trusts them enough not to do that, even if they did end up not liking her, though he couldn’t help but worry anyways. He’s been worried lots recently, and she is always the center of his anxiety. He’s more worried about her, than he’s ever been about himself in all his life.>

Well, ‘cause I couldn’t leave her alone, for one, an’ bringin’ her out here sounded like a shit idea…. Ah.. I wasn’t sure I was keepin’ her, anyway, so there wasn’t any point in tellin’ you if I was jus’ gonna get rid of her a week later..

<except now he’s afraid he’s too attached to hand her off… and unfortunately for him, vice versa. She’d practically imprinted on him, far too dependent to let him leave for more than a few hours. It was hell to give her to Nemoy. She has his jacket, in the hopes that a familiar object would help her calm down, and signify that he’d be back eventually. Though, of course, babies aren’t clever enough to really comprehend the notion of leaving and returning.>

<he runs one clammy-cold hand over his face, wiping it of exhaustion to the best of his abilities, before continuing on.>

I think I will keep her, now… I don’t know. I go back an’ forth.

<he huffs, exasperated. He didn’t ask for this baby. He doesn’t even know how to take care of one very well. Clearly, he’s getting better, because he’s had her for about a week now, and she’s still alive, but he’s not sure he’ll manage it that way forever. He hasn’t slept right in two days, for fear of rolling her over in his sleep, or her getting taken by a visitor, or somebody else with malicious intent. He can’t go outside anymore, unless somebody is watching her, and in fact, he can’t do anything he likes, unless she’s sleeping, which she doesn’t do often, because she’s busy crying or vomiting. Nobody else will take her, though. And she is a sweet thing, when she wants to be, and he’s afraid that he likes her now. He has other reasons, too, but they’re more convoluted, feelings mostly. Pride, and instinct, affection, and attachment, duty, and expectancy. He probably should’ve had a kid by now, in any case. His mother would’ve thought so.. carry on the bloodline or whatever. And she makes for a fine series of tasks, which makes him feel… useful, respectable. Not so much of a waste of oxygen, if he has somebody depending on him. He’s not sure these are very good reasons, but they’re the best he has now, and it doesn’t matter anyways, because nobody else will raise her in his place. Nobody wants a baby in the apocalypse.>

[feathers-sticks-and-bones]

You talk about her like you found her on the side of the road…… she’ssssss not yours, then????? How in the world did you get a baby in times like thesssssse without it being your own blood?????? [At the thought, they got to work theorizing all the reasons she may have been left all alone… there was no world in which FEMA would have killed her parents and left her alive, and they aren’t sure they know of a visitor who would have killed her parents and not brought them back out of sheer guilt, so she must have been abandoned. Perhaps her parents suspected her to be a visitor, or maybe she was unwanted, or maybe they couldn’t care for her in the current situation? Those made some more sense, yet, they weren’t so sure they could imagine someone abandoning her as they stared through the window, the precious little thing!]

If it matters, I’d rather you keep her…… I can help you with her, you know…… I’m the one who raises most of the “baby” vissssssitors that we find, I think I’m ussssssed enough to parenting for it……

[While none of their true visitor colleagues officially gave them the job of making sure “baby” visitors, that is newly risen visitors, don’t get themselves killed while they figure out how to function… they hardly do their primary job in comparison to every last one of their coworkers, and when they aren’t spending all that time not working and getting attached to random humans, they may as well do something else productive. So, they parent newly “born” visitors instead, and though they hardly remember anything about their human life, they figure it can’t be THAT different from raising human babies. Feed them, clean them, keep them uninjured, and love them, that’s all it really takes, if Artie and their countless visitor “children” are anything to go off.

Wait… Artie said he wasn’t so sure what she was, neither a girl or boy, and knowing she was certainly abandoned by whoever her parents must have been… their instincts may be right. She might be a monster too. Death’s sake, even within a family lacking any blood relation, they couldn’t help but end up with something as deformed as them as their granddaughter, they couldn’t help but curse another child to end up wrong by their wholly awful presence, in the same way they’d crippled Artie as a result of their horrible nature alone. Especially now that Orlov wasn’t around to fix either of them, surely he was too old now to still be around, if he had managed to survive the cataclysm at that.

They looked to Amorette again with a poorly masked self hatred in their expression… sorry, little love, for how they ruined you.]

[carrying-coins]

ha- no, she ain’t mine. Who’d I have knocked up? I don’t sleep around that much, Pink. Why, does she look like me? <there’s an incredibly minuscule, though still distinctly noticeable tone to his voice, a quiet bit of hope entangled in his inflection. Does he want her to look like him? At this stage, she nearly does, though once she grows older, the resemblance will likely begin to taper. Currently, with her ever so slightly curly hair, her pale skin and- though pink can’t see them- her brown eyes, she does bear some similarity to her adoptive father. He blinks at the window, after a moment, realizing he’d gone quiet too long. Right, he has to tell Pink how he got her… he turns, sinking to the floor, so his head rests just below the window, his back to the wall of the school.>

I was.. Ah…. I was.. walkin’, an’ I saw this heap- figured it was bodies, so I came over- jus’ tryin’ t’ see if they dropped anythin’ I could take, without diggin’ too much, y’know… anyway, it was this er- couple. I don’t know what got ‘em, maybe a visitor? Coulda also jus’ been regular people though, with how things are goin’. Somethin’ fucked up- their heads— w-……

<he shakes his head, a small gagging noise following the gesture. Even thinking about it now makes him sick.>

……Ah.. Amor- Amorette wasn’t too far off. She wasn’t even cryin’.. jus’ reached for me like I was her mama all along?? …I’m not really sure what sadistic fuck’d do.. that t’ the parents an’ then jus’ leave her, but I couldn’t… I mean, she was gonna burn up…..

<he trails off, hands splayed out on either side of him, helpless in both expression and in body language. What was he meant to do? He turns to them, now that his story’s concluded, as if in search of an answer, something to make sense of and justify the whole situation. Or advice… anything. He’d take anything he could get his hands on. He wonders momentarily if Pink ate the corpses of her parents, if the headless couple were familiar to the insides of their mouths. Some morbidly symbolic cycle, an odd ritual. Maybe they’ve got her genetics stuck to their teeth. He shakes his head out, dismissing the thoughts quickly.>

I… I jus’ don’t know that I’m cut out t’ be a m- dad. I’m gonna fuck her up, an’ she’s gonna piss me off- why- why do it if nobody’s happy? I can barely get myself around, how the hell am I meant t’ get another needier person around??

<he touches his face again, overhearing as an odd contrast to his typical internal temperature. Fuck, maybe she passed her fever on. This is wildly inconvenient. He exhales tiredly, chin mounting the knee of his better leg as he considers his options for the hundredth time.>

..I guess I’ll keep her. ‘S not like anybody else’ll take her, anyway.. I jus’ need… help. I don’t think either of us’ll make it if I don’t have somebody else watchin’ her a few times a week- even once a week!

<he chuckles, but there is a very serious undertone to his voice. He really won’t survive without an occasional break, which he can’t have unless somebody else is caring for her. Even once a week sounds like bliss.>

Would you? Would Pearl mind that, or…?

<he sighs, relieved. Thank god for pink. He only worries about what their partner may do, should she discover Amorette in the arms of Pink.>

<he watches them for a response, only just barely capable to catch the pained expression beneath their mask. Had he said something wrong? Are they lying, for the sake of not hurting his feelings- should he have left her out there, all alone? Did he make another imbecilic decision? He holds the fabric of his shirt very tightly in one hand, worried, analyzing their face for further explanation.>

Did- ‘s somethin’ wrong? Are you okay?

[polarmauling]

<he knocks, very loudly, very firmly, always with the cadence of somebody with somewhere to be, like a salesman. Except he’s got no rush, in reality, and he’s just very enthusiastic, eager to be let in.>

<set with the knowledge that they’ve got a working television, he’s been bringing in terribly dusty tapes he’d found around the school, varying greatly in topic, and begging to play them for a matter of curiosity. The other night, he’d brought a full box of them, which he’d promptly sorted by subject, then alphabetically, then by his interest in them. He’s also been returning frequently enough, only to watch Courage with it. He’s come to quite like the show, in fact, he’s even started taking comfort in it, contrary to his initial uncertainty. In any case, he’s back again, though his mission isn’t to force them to watch more middle-to-early-high-school educational tapes, fortunately. No, he’s here for an entirely different reason, and a little nervous that it’ll turn him away for straying from what he typically comes for.>

—🪙 ( @carrying-coins )

[Arseni's mornings were spent working. The evenings as well. But in the night time it rested in its room, listening to the TV mutter Little Bear. Another cartoon it was watching for the sake of Faina; just to make sure its content was up to its standards. That someone hadn't overwritten any inch of that tape with FEMA propaganda or something. But when the knock came it jumped, then growled. When it continued it knew it was someone who knew what they were messing with, and it stood.

The behemoth sauntered to the door a little awkwardly, still weak in it's right leg, and opened it with a grimacing face. However, seeing Artie's excitement made it lighten up, quirking a brow and leaning down.]

“ What've you got for me now? ”

[It drawled out teasingly, another full sentence which had become exceedingly common the more they spoke. It preferred few words in short conversations, but it could already theorize this was going to be more like a discussion.]

[carrying-coins]

<he moves past it, into its room without hesitation. If they’ve got the door open, he figures its invitation enough. He begins pacing, very full of movement for somebody who complains about his prosthetic or hip pain practically every moment he’s got the chance.>

Well… nothin’, this time, but that’s why I’m here.. I ah… need a favor. I need you t’ come with me, sso that I can get some stuff. Outside. Jus’ a little walk?

<He pauses his motion to give them a pleading look. He’d go on his own, but he’s been growing wary of the outdoors, primarily for the people it contains. The last few times he’d attempted going out on his own had gone quite poorly, and while he’s quite good enough at escaping rough situations, he’s discovered it more… difficult now that he can’t run as agilely. He does need some things from whatever abandoned store he can locate, but more than that, he needs out from the school… only, he’s afraid to go on his own as is, so he turns to Arseni as a lifeline. He’d forgotten about its own injury, though he figures its frame will be enough to drive away muggers or whatever other strain of trouble may arise. He doesn’t need it to fight, so much as an intimidation factor.>

I’ll pay you back somehow, promise, an’ it won’t be long- or- or it shouldn’t be..

[polarmauling]

“ Uhhh. Yeah.. ”

[Arseni looked around. It didn't have anything better to do, and it could use some physical exertion after such a hearty dinner of flesh. It shook its head, the shaking rolling through its body like a crack of thunder. It wandered over to it's bed, or nest so to speak, and picked up the bat leaned against the wall. It rolled the weapon in it's wrist and swung it shallowly, then grinned at Artie.]

“ There. We're good. ”

[The beast assured. It pat Artie's head and ruffled his hair, walking to the door and looking around. It peered into the hallway and looked for any danger, then nodded affirmingly to Artie. However, it wouldn't do this without some exchange.

It looked at Artie hopefully. A thanks would do ... Or good bear. If its eyes could sparkle, they would.]

[carrying-coins]

<he pumps his fist in a show of delight at its agreement. He really wasn’t sure that it’d play along at all- with how often it’s busy, another errand is likely one of the least preferable things it could take part in. He is beyond delighted that it’s agreed to come with. His head dips below the weight of their palm, though he seems rather satisfied by the gesture, if the brief slack in his features is anything to go off of.>

<he moves past it, out the door, only he bumps his hip against theirs as retaliation for the hair-ruffling. He looks profoundly proud of himself for it too. His eyes catch theirs, the plead in their expression, and a small bemused smile follows along.>

‘s that for?? Whatever could you want?

<he holds one finger over his mouth, as if in thought, before lighting up, as though he’d had some incredible epiphany.>

Ohh!….. Thank you. You’re a very good bear. <he huffs, amused, as though he’s any better. He’d do probably about anything for a few kind words.>

[polarmauling]

[Arseni could've melted on the spot if not for it's trained demeanor. It shivered happily and gave a thankful yip at the compliment, turning its head. It gestured for Artie to go first; protection was more efficient if the 'protector' walked behind, of course. It was a little comical, the slide in height between them making the bear a looming shadow over the brown haired coin lover below. They were hyper aware yet didn't seem to show it, eyes occasionally moving to slide it's gaze across the area they walked.

While it sauntered it was also becoming aware of Artie's prosthesis movement. Funnily, both of them had a sort of rigid walk, with Arseni's weak leg still bothering it occasionally. But a weak leg was nothing to one missing entirely, and they were making sure he wasn't going to trip, occasionally outstretching a hand to push him back to the center of the hallways when he idly began shifting left or right. It didn't mind doing this occasionally, it was more teasing than actually helpful. It was no doubt he was perfectly capable not to walk into a wall or trip, the bear seemed to find amusement in playing barriers.]

“ What are you getting? ”

[It asked quietly, lifting it's head in interest. They hadn't left the school yet so it still spoke lowly, since most people were asleep right now and those who weren't...well it didn't really want to alert them to it's location. It's grip idly tightened on the bat.]

[carrying-coins]

<its reaction to his mild praise elicits an incredibly wide grin from him, amused greatly by its giddiness. He turns out into the hall, slow in his in comparison to how quickly others get around, but relatively fast considering the circumstances. The fluorescent lights flicker overhead and his enthusiasm to exit the school only amplifies.>

<he huffs as it begins playing with him, like a cat with its dinner-to-be, allowing the teasing for a brief while. Eventually, he starts stopping when it guides him to one side, so that it runs into him, a gentle retribution to its banter. He’s astonishingly quiet as they move, paused in his usually incessant chatter to focus.>

Jus’ some..stuff. <helpful as ever. He flicks his eyes back at it for a moment, upon realizing that his response gives no information that it didn’t already know.> …for.. my cat. She’s around lots, I’m sure you’ve seen her- little orangey one… anyway, she won’t eat much sso I have t’ get..…whatever.

<he shakes his head, forgetful of what he’d been saying. finding food for his particular cat isn’t the only reason he needs out, but the other purposes are a little more personal, and take some explaining which he’d rather not get into. Keep an eye out for Arkadij, look for something for Lasha- he hopes very adamantly for a treat in particular for them, but he’s very well aware how low the chances are that he finds anything at all are. He keeps a short list in his head, which he repeats over, and over, so he doesn’t forget. If he had a functioning pen, he’d probably just write it all on himself, just in case, though really, his memory is quite good. He only repeats it to himself as a precaution.>

[polarmauling]

“ Yes. Small thing. Was told not to eat. ”

[It commented idly, looking around the halls. It followed obediently; as much as it would deny the fact, it loved following orders and showing a docile side. It had a weakness towards it's chores when given strictly, it meant high rewards in the evening. Usually just watching cartoons or hanging out with it's daughter, but high rewards in it's mind nonetheless. And sometimes, it got to spend time with it's partners...soft pats to the head, praise for being so brave in a world that it was fighting for it's life in.

But now wasn't the time for swooning. It had a job to do...and it was nothing if not a task follower! It made sure to hold the bat positioned over its shoulder, ready to swing on any visitors or just ornery people.]

“ Look for .. baby things. ”

[It quietly commented. Of course, it's protection was payment plenty, but it was still always keeping that in mind. For Faina, and any other infants that had found their unfortunate upbringing in the school, they needed supplies. Always. Arseni wasn't at ease unless there was a month's supply of everything Faina needed. And toys were just a bonus on their travels.

When they came upon the front door, Arseni moved the bat to stop Artie. They pushed it open with the end of it and looked out, then held it for him. They snickered, pointing the weapon outwards.]

“ Ladies' first. ”

[The thing was, Arseni didn't actually know there was another way to say that. Arseni had been taught by Volkov to impress the ring girls by saying that. So that's just what it did. And to look cute, so to speak. Not as scary as they often were.

In other words, Arseni had no idea the gender affirming they did with that statement. They just said it because they were trained.]

[carrying-coins]

Tss.. I don’t know that she’d let you eat her if you tried.. she’s sorta an asshole, scratches me ‘bout thrice a day.

<he rolls up the sleeve of his jacket, to showcase his extensive gallery of incredibly thin scratches, only minor pink lines. Seldom is there a hint of blood, or scabbing, she is very gentle with her swatting, and on the off occasion that she does cut him deeply enough to draw blood, she licks it up off of his forearms as an apology.>

I’m not even doing anythin’ when she hits me… fuckin’ monster. Least it means she won’t get eaten so easy, I s’ppose.

<he rambles on, mostly to himself, passing by doors and lockers listlessly. He gets stuck on topics in his head sometimes, and then it all just runs from his mouth, into the ears of others. He finally pauses his endless chatter, glancing at it with his mouth still open, before his lips seal themselves closed, pursed into silence. He talks enough to fill every moment of its silence, so there isn’t ever a moment of quiet between the two.>

<he only nods at its next moment of speech, uncertain if this is a narration of what it intends to do, or a request while he looks for his things- an additional item to keep an eye out for. He assumes the latter, though assumptions typically don’t take him far. He’ll look out for stuff for them either way.>

<he comes to an abrupt halt at the movement of its weapon, lifting his head to give it a look of curious scrutiny. He cranes his neck to align his eyes over the top of its arm, attempting rather vainly to see into the darkness sprawled before them, unsure in the purpose of their stop.>

<At their word choice, he reddens, the heat of blood rushing to the surface of his skin following. He can’t be entirely sure if it was intended as an insult, or simply a mishap, though he feels oddly.. flattered by it, charmed to his core. It comes as a subtle praise to him, a nod in his direction that he very much appreciates. What a kind thing, for how intimidating it pretends to be.>

Aha.. well ain’t you a gentle-.. <gentleman?? He’s not really sure. He mumbles something else, the quiet confusion in his tone enough to put forward a decent indication of whatever the meaning behind his inaudible word was. He punctuates his sentence with a pleasant smile, before passing by them, to bask beneath the radiance of the moon. Now that he’s outside, and his already subpar vision becomes entirely abysmal, he gets nearly nervous to lose them in the dark. He turns to it, grateful for its primary colour being white, because it makes them far easier to identify in the overwhelming sea of shadow that is night. He waits until it moves forward, parallel to his side, to continue on his way. He really would rather not find himself alone midway through the walk to the collection of abandoned shops and assorted buildings downtown.>

[carrying-coins]

- Happy birthday Artiiieee !!!

*High pitched hype screaming... Thank you, Lucie.*

- I wanted to make you a gift... But I figured the only thing you really wanted was to get out of here, so, BEHOLD ! MY NEWEST INVENTION !

*She very proudly shows Artie... a legless, well paded chair, with... Backpack straps ? What is that ?*

- @tie-girl-lucie 🪼

Ah- huh? <he turns slowly, as though in a horror movie, eyes wide and confused. His posture becomes slack again, as he realizes who it is.>

Ohhh, hi Lucie! Thanks.. aha.. <they pause to take in the chair, head cocked to one side.>

‘s this?? You didn’t have t’ do.. er- anythin’..

[tie-girl-lucie]

- You like it ? Made it myself !

*It was still very much unclear what it was, but her smile was... News. Nor good nor bad but certainly news. She looked... Mischivious.*

- It's a "chaise à porteur" ! It was made for princes and kings. Made to be transported by servants for important people to never walk a day like a peasant would ! Wait... A... Carrier chair, it's called, I believe ?

*The two sets of handles on the sides and the straps at the back of the chair made sens, now. There was even, for security, a safety belt. It did not look regal at all. Frankenstein's chair itself...*

- I figured you would be tired of being handled potato-sack-style, but if one day you really cant do a certain travel, like stairs, or a quick escape, it's a much more secure, comfortable and dignified option. I think.

*The young visitor is looking kind of nervous, playing with her hair and hands. It was almost nostlagic to find a glimpse of the old Lucie. Insecure and anxious, but the human one.*

- It might be a weird gift. Truly I would have loved to offer you, like, a book or some nice clothes. But heh. It's an apocalypse gift !

*She smiles, at least. Yeah. Proud of trying.*

[carrying-coins]

Ohh.. so like.. a wheelchair? An’ you made it? <he leans forward slightly, eyes narrowed as he inspects it. It certainly appears to be more functional than the chair he’d been using. He flicks his eyes back up to her after a second, smile wide and genuine.>

you’ve got no idea! Everyone carries me around like a baby kitten by the scruff, y’know?? ‘S either that, or I hop around, which’s absolute hell on my hips.. or the uhh.. other chair, but that tips over like every three seconds.. you’re a godsend Lucie, fuck this’s great!

<he claps his hands together, fingers intertwined near his chest as though quite literally worshipping. By the way he’s lit up like a candle, she can likely tell that he’s delighted to have a better mode of transport at his service.>

[tie-girl-lucie]

*A wheelchair made into a "chaise à porteur" ! Even better than that ! All the best for "Kitten Artie". Very fucking proud of herself, Lucie holds her bloody skinned hands on her hips and smile wide. Weird, her canines look sharper now. But her dimples are too cute to care about it.*

- Yep yep ! Made it with my own two hands ! ... And lots and lots of clips. Aha ! Zeugma !

*Lucie's Arts and Letters diploma was showing... Wich was worrying. Because she did not seem like the type of person to be able to build something like that alone. She was a book nerd. Not a carpenter. But it was a preexisting chair, just... Made better ?*

- It's sturdier than it looks. It can hold my weight easy ! You will be able to roll away better than in that little pathetic chair... And it actually has a thing to rest your back... AND if people help you can actually... Go upstair. Go outside. Go wherever you want ! And even when you will have better, a leg, well, you'll still need rest sometimes and this will be perfect, in my humble opinion... ~ ☆

*Her little ankwardness and apprehension dissapeared when he lighted up... She was a "godsent" !!! You all heard it !!! Hell yeah !!! Nothing humble in her anymore !!!*

- And why dont we roll to the kitchen where there MAY be a very good and very amazing chocolat cake waiting ? Just sayin !

*Wink wink.*

[carrying-coins]

Fuck, you’ve got me sweatin’ for when it’s your birthday! This’s a helluva legend t’ live up to, I’m afraid.. hhaha… Whole ass cake.. you’ve- there was no reason t’- You’re too kind.

<they exhale softly, small, vaguely bewildered smile latching itself to their face, immovable and only growing wider by the second. With some sense of hesitation, he stands from his bed- he’d been getting better at standing single-legged- and deposits his weight into the chair. He’s still quite thin, though a good four inches taller than she is, but he looks lighter than he is at the same time. It’s quite comfortable, especially for being as hodgepodged as it is.>

This’s really good, actually- hhaha- ‘s like.. really fuckin’ comfortable.

<by his standards anyways, he’s been stuck in a bed, to cushioned for his taste, or the floor, too hard for his taste. Either way, he’s not quite comfortable. But this chair- well, this chaise à porteur, as she’d called it, is a different story. He could sit for hours, without getting all that restless, a feat for his jittery bones, truly. This is an innovation!>

[tie-girl-lucie]

-I know ! I'm a genius !!!

*Was this the start of a catchphrase ? Or was it pure truth ? Yours to decide.

But the young visitor chuckled at Artie's answer and gave him a dismisive sassy hand gesture.*

- I'm a legend, I'm an icon, and I am the moment. But... Actually, my good friend, you are a bit late for that, my birthday was at the fourth of March !

*And she never asked for anything. What she reallt wanted was to be a human again and it was not going to happen so why bother ?

Being a visitor came with some perks. Being strong as a bull was one of them. Lucie had always been on the stronger side -first daughter privilege- but this was new. She felt capable of incredible things. And picking up both Artie and the chair, carrying him like a backpack, was actually quite easy and even a bit funny. Dora the Explorer style...*

- I must say I was waiting on an occasion to do a lava cake and your birthday was just that... But I found no vanilla ice cream tho, so I took my favorite instead, mint and chocolate chips... Hope it's okay for you !

*Everything called it toothpast but everyone was wrong and that needed to be said.

She hums "happy birthday" as she leads him toward the kitchen.*

- Oh !!! Mince !!! I forgot to invite people ! I am so dumb... I'm sure some others want cake too !

*Ah... Being a visitor also came with... Brain fog. But heh. Small price to be for still being alive !*

[carrying-coins]

<sigh….> this is true. I’m afraid I’m on the presence of the next Einstein, lookin’ stupid as hell in my sweatpants. Say, when you’re writin’ up your bibliography or gettin’ interviewed ‘bout your most recent incredible work of ingenuity or whatever, you can’t say shit ‘bout how stupid I look, ‘Kay? I don’t wanna hear “ouh oui, mon ami Artie! Blah blah blah, he looked stupid as fuck” in twenty years. <he puts on his best French accent- which is admittedly awful- for his imitation of her. He punctuates his banter with a too-wide smile, clearly amused by himself. God, when is he not amused by himself?>

Aww, fuck, seriously? I’ll have t’ make it up some other time then, I guess.. <he pauses vaguely to consider. Fuck’s sake, what could a legless guy put together? Not much. He’ll figure out- he’s clever enough, and pretty good at getting what he wants by the end of it all.>

<he lets out a shrill yelp when lifted, clearly having failed to anticipate the move. He quickly clears his throat bringing his pitch back down with an awkward chuckle, gripping the chair hard enough that it’d hurt, if the inanimate being were a person.>

Euuh, Lucie! Mint’s disgusting! Awful taste… terrible taste. ‘S like I’m getting a whole mint plant shoved down my throat, roots an’ all, an’ then the taste’s never leave… Ahh, jus’ kidding. I’m sure it’ll be jus’ fine.

<probably. Certainly, he’ll eat it vigorously, for he quite enjoys eating, and his appetite’s been back in full force since his recovery had been speeding up. He doesn’t particularly like chocolate or mint, but fuck if he doesn’t like cake!>

Well… I’m sure they’ll show up of their own accord. Hard not t’ smell somethin’ baking on times like these an’ not like your head in. An’ it doesn’t matter much t’ me. <this is true. He’d never been all that into big birthdays- well, not for himself at least. He’ll take what he can get and make do with what he has. This, and he doesn’t typically want much outside of… well, his coins.>

[tie-girl-lucie]

- Oh... Artie, that was... Very good !!! ... For a start. I didnt know you wanted to speak French !

*Trying to be polite, Lucie was lying to his face. She tries to encourage his poor attempt at a french accent but quickly cracks up and laugh, while leading the way. He can roll by himself. He is a big boy !*

- Fine ! More for me then. All for the actual tasteful people here... I'm sure salt is the only spice you can tolerate... No wonder you are so vanilla !

*She immediatly feels bad for her own joke. What if he thought that was mean ?! Red in the face, she tries to save it... Her own way. And Artie's fox face was not helping. Why did he always look so smug and sure of himself when she never was ? If only she had half of his confidence ! That was a gift idea !*

- Ah sorry sorry ! Everyone loves Vanilla ! I didnt mean it like that ! Euhm...

*Fortunatly, the ankward travels end quickly and the smell in the kitchen makes everything better.

- The best slice for the birthday boy ! So... How old are you now ? I realize we talk a lot but... I never got to really learn about you, "coin boy". Never too late !

*She blabbers as she cuts another slice for herself. The lava cake is perfect. But she know she'll puke it later. It's only to play pretend.*

[carrying-coins]

I know.

<he smiles wide. He thinks he’s funny. He thinks it’s funnier how she tried to be convincing. He knows his French isn’t all that good, much less his accent.>

<Fortunately, he doesn’t mind prodding. He’s insensitive and generally apathetic towards insults or potentially hurtful banter. He could hardly care less. He’s got thick skin for the most part- quick to recover, hard to hurt, though his pain tolerance physically is abysmal.>

Awww…. Well… I could look at a pepper, so I think my spice tolerance’s pretty good, personally. I love all the flavors like… water, an’ milk, an’ mayonnaise.. not a sole desire for blandness in my body!

<he giggles, slumping with almost comical slowness into the depths of the chair, once they arrive at their destination. He takes the plate given gratefully, taking only a moment or two to pile a rather large bite into his mouth.>

Thif’vve— <he freezes to swallow properly. He’s got some table manners, after all!> This’s pretty good! Thank you very kindly.. hhaha… ah…. I’m twenty tw- twwwenty three..? <he doesn’t sound all that sure of himself. Twenty three… yes, that’s right.> Yeah, twenty three. You’re.. twenty four? Or twenty five, since your birthday was a while ago?

[tie-girl-lucie]

- At pepper ? Oh my ! Mighty daring are we ! And mayonnaise too ? Geez Artie I was unfamiliar with your game !

*Never ask the French person how smelly those cheese can be. Lucie's palate was made for all kind of weird things... So Russian potatoes with sour cream and little else were starting to annoy her. How lucky she was to be a visitor. Now everything just tasted like rotting cardboard. Wich was a bit better. Yum.

Yet she was becoming better and better at pretending. If everyone around her was ignoring her badge AND her obvious signs, than she was going to be a polite guest and sit at the table and make small talk while wasting food she'll have to spit sooner or later.

She tried to remember the taste of chocolate.*

- Mmmh ! It's delicious ! How I missed birthdays. Too bad we dont have candles but I think you should make a wish anyway ! Twenty three you say ? You are so yoooung ! Little baby ! A fetus even !

*Lucie was twenty five since a month.*

- I am the first born between us two wich means you are a vassal to me ~.

[carrying-coins]

Oh. Yeah, I guess.. I wish for…. Ah….

<he pauses to consider. He’s not sure he’d made a proper wish in all his life. His family was never all that big on birthdays- not that they did nothing at all to celebrate, but eleven birthdays in a year, typically with two birthdays in a month… well, it got overwhelming. He pokes at his cake, which is rapidly turning to some sort of brown-grey sludge, by the way he refuses to stop mushing it with his fork. Fuck. What does he wish for? For things to go back to normal? …No.. that’d ruin his perfect ecosystem he’s built around himself. The school, the community- everyone would have to go their separate ways, and he’d have to re-adapt to the normal world, with working, and social rules, and… no, he’s not sure he wants that. For money? That’s useless here. He’s not noble enough to think about others, when making a wish that won’t come true. He’s not sure he wants anything. He shrugs, looking back up at her sheepishly.>

I wish.. uh… I could walk proper again. <sure, that’s good enough. He does want to go back out…>

I am not that young. You’re- man, you’re only two years older than me, ‘s not even that much. We can both drink an’ stuff sooo…. An’ you wish I were your vassal! O noble lord, my advantageous are low… I can no longer fight, nor offer gold, an’ you never liked my guidance much… but surely you will not depart me from this land?

<they giggle, stirring the slurry of cake they’ve created on their plate. Never give a history buff an opportunity to abuse their knowledge, via playing out a vassal.>

D’you- can you even have that cake? Can visitors eat stuff outside of… uh.. like- what’re they called.. me? Can you guys eat not-meat stuff?

[tie-girl-lucie]

- Depart you from this land ? I shall think about it, poor Vassal of mine...

*Her accent was posh and downwrite comical ! And she crossed her legs with elegance, before taking a spoon with her little finger in the air, like a true noble...*

- But you make a good jester, so you shall be spared. What is it you are doing, soup ? Baby puree ? On the very day you grow older, such symbolism...

*And never give a literature buff an opportunity either...

But at his question, her grin dissapeared.

Eyes suddenly devoid of light, just for a second, she considered her friend's whole being.*

- I can eat it.

*That will be enough of an answer.

But it hides that she cannot digest it. Either she pukes everything, or stay sick for days. And it never brings nurishement. It can give to her stomach the illusion of being full and fool the hunger, but her body grows weaker and thiner and her mind... Changes.

But she manages so far !

She takes, as a proof, a big bite of cake.

It tastes like rot.

She smiles.*

- See ?

[carrying-coins]

Well, I’m glad I’m funny enough t’ be of value t’ you, my lord… I guess.. oh! Oh, yeah, much better this way. So I don’t choke on the mint.

<he grins, scooping a good large spoonful of cake-soup into his mouth and swallowing.>

mmm… see? Y- hey, ‘s that s’pposed t’ mean? Are you saying I’m immature? That’s unkind of you.

<he doesn’t pick up much on her sensitivity to the subject, more absorbed in his plate to properly see, and understand. Oops… he looks back up at her after a brief silence, failing to understand her response entirely. Finally, he catches on, and realizes that perhaps probing further would be a bad idea… change the subject then?>

Ah… yeah. Right. So, aha, where’d you get the ingredients for all this?

[tie-girl-lucie]

- Don't worry about it.

*She ponctuated her sentence with a small smile. A bit of an omnious one.*

- You dont want to know how many people died for that cake...

*Her dark stare on poor Artie's face was the scariest she ever looked. Wich was still not a lot, given her small size and chubbyness, but it had something predator like... Until she giggled.*

- Aha ! I'm joking ! You should have seen your face... Wild chickens lay eggs here and there, there was chocolate in stores, there was no milk but warm water works just find and sugar and butter comes from my own place. I used it all, tho... So, enjoy it. The last cake of the apocalypse.

[carrying-coins]

I- oh…. <he looks down at his pile of much with some degree of dismay, frown deepening by the second. Oh dear… is she being serious? He can never tell these things! He’d rather… nobody die, for a cake.>

Ohh…. Hhaha…. Uh…. Good one. <he smile nervously, demeanor softening again.> all that, jus’ for a cake? Lucie, ‘s a lot of work.. now I’ve gotta pay you back! …. What did you like before all this? What’d you want then?

[tie-girl-lucie]

- Nothing is too much work for a friend !

*She says that so giddy and happy. Artie's words struck with her, it seemed...*

- But if you want to learn more about me, okay ! I loved a lot of things..No ! ... I still love ! Even more than before !

*She counts on her fingers, and speaks so quickly and with such a strong accent...*

- Books, I read and write... And art ! Drawings and paintings and music and theatre mostly, I draw but I worked in a painting and sculptures museum before all this !

*She shakes her lanyard, showing the name of a famous russian museum.*

- I also loooove fashion ! And cooking ! And magic ! Esoterism, cards, wicca... So I like fantasy, and fairytales... And romances, aha... And ALL things spooky ! Not scary, tho. Spooky.

*The list was getting longer... She stopped by showing her tie and the gifts she got from Mikhael : a brooch, a bracelet and a necklace, all blue saphire.*

- And all things pretty. ~

[carrying-coins]

<they struggle to keep up with her heavily accented speech, head drawn back slightly as she speaks, almost as if they’d been literally hit with a wall of information. They’re shockingly quiet throughout her rambling, not one interruption, which is really a record for them.>

<they lean over to take in her collection of jewelry, clearly as entranced as she is by the glittering set of accessories. They’re a rather large fan of all things shiny, if their collection of coins, reflective garbage, and mutual affection with pink (also interested in shiny materials) weren’t proof enough, their wide eyes go wider as she holds out her gifts.>

ohhh….. so you jus’ kinda liked everything, huh? I think you’ve named every topic an’ item on the planet, Lucie.

<they giggle to themself, before quieting to consider…. Maybe they could get pink to help them make a pair of earrings for Lucie, also blue sapphire? To have a matching set… are her ears even pierced? It looks like it… he can’t see all that well… does pink even have sapphire- especially sapphire that they’d be willing to sacrifice for the sake of their son’s attempts to socialize…? He thinks silently, but with such a fixed expression of contemplation that it’d be difficult to misinterpret what exactly is going on in his head.>

[tie-girl-lucie]

*Her ears were peirced and her joyful gaze was peircing.*

- You can touch ! Try it on ! I don't know where he found it, but it's so beautiful...

*If Artie had the eyes for the signs, he might recognize a familiar work...*

- No ! I do dislike some things ! ... But not a lot.

*She has to think for a while for things she do not consider even a slightly bit likeable.*

- I am very afraid of pigs for some reasons, I hate violence and with that everything that present violence as being cool, like martial sports, military fashion, or action movies... And huuuhhh... I don't really enjoy warm colors, except for dark red ! I'm a cool toned girl. ~

*Yeah that was about it. Oh, and being a visitor. She hated that. She truly hated that. But unless Artie had a cure hidden somewhere under his hat...*

- Oh did I mention I love board games ? I do !

*Whao, what a focused gaze ! What was he thinking about ?! Lucie was starting to panic ! Did she talk too much ?*

- Are you alright, Artie ? Did I offense you ? Is the cake not good ? I could not taste-test it ! My apologies !

[carrying-coins]

<his eyes widen at the idea of touching, even trying on the gorgeous glittering necklace cradled in her palms. Emasculating… surely, yes, but it’s beautiful, and she’s not one to shame others for their eccentric tastes, right? He reaches one hand out hesitantly, eyes darting up to meet hers as a brief sort of confirmation, before picking up the cold heap of metal so delicately, one might wonder if he thought it’d disintegrate at his touch. He grins as it sparkles in contrast with his pale skin. It compliments hers more nicely, for blue and pink is a lovely combination, but it does t suit him very poorly either- maybe slightly too cool-toned for his skin, but not bad overall.>

<he admires the jewelry as she considers her more disliked things, looking up only once she begins speaking again.>

<they agree on their dislikes a good amount-he’s not particularly fond of violence either, even in media, but more because that has the potential to show blood, than because he disagrees with he concept as a whole. He doesn’t like pigs all that much because he’s afraid they’d hurt him-he’d heard stories of pigs eating deceased farmers and such, which put him quite ill-at-ease with them, since… though warm colors, he’d have to disagree entirely. He’s more fond of a fierce red or orange than a softer blue… it shows in his taste in partners- bee red hair, Lasha, red hair, Ignazio, red hair… he’s got a type, to be sure. His clothing choice too- he dresses himself in shaders of brown and gold and copper, more than silver or cooler toned choices. He likes pink and brown and white, but he’s certainly fond of robes of yellows and oranges as well.>

Uh-? No, no, I’m alright? Why? <he blinks at her, confused. He has an irritated face, certainly, but he doesn’t realized just how angry he looks when neutral. He smiles often enough that it’s hardly a problem, but when his grin slackens… well, he looks about ready to start a fight.>

Board games? ‘S your favorite? D’you think we have any here?

[tie-girl-lucie]

*No, Artie, the woman in a tie and formal masculine wear all the time was not going to judge you for wearing a necklace.

If the Greek inventer homosexuality, the French perfected it. It was all so natural for her. But for Russians, of course, being Queer was a crime punishable by death. And if Lucie was being quiet about her own taste, it was because she learned quickly she might swing from a tree branch it she was acting to carelessly.

Yet Artie was her friend. And that word meant she trusted him and could be trusted back.

Her gaze, although very red, was encouraging and even... Hyped ?*

- It suits you, Coin Boy. Maybe something in gold or in copper would be even better, but I also should add "playing dress up" to the list of things I love to do with friends !

*Such warm and encouraging words, and all so trustworthy sounding !*

- Well... I have my tarot deck ? The major arcanes are the "atouts", 0 to 21, and the houses are the normal card : Cups stands for Hearts, Swords for Spades, Sticks for Clovers and the Coins are Diamonds. We could play every card game with it !

*Or she could take her little visitor self around and stroll for board games and silly things as such...*

- I know a jewelry store this necklace could be from actually. Maybe I could... Ah no I should not make promises !

[carrying-coins]

Ha.. you think? I don’t know, ‘s a little silly, isn’t it?

<he squirms under her gaze, vague blush scattered haphazardly across his cheeks, like an artist had dabbed their paint brush all over, but forgot to blend. Unfortunately, even with her support he’s a little bashful. He’s a confident person, proud of everything he does.. but insecurity slips through the cracks every once in a while for everyone.>

Oh, I like card games.. d’you have a favorite or..? Hha…

<he does like card games. His family was particularly fond of them, so he’s got a relatively vast amount of knowledge on them compiled up in the back of his head.>

[tie-girl-lucie]

- Nothing silly about it, pretty boy.

*In her mouth, in her language, it was all a compliment, and the expression on her face was all so sincere and encouraging. But that choice of word, surely, could also hurt. Maybe she could not see it.

But his smile, his blushing, it was all so adorable. How could anyone see it and HATE it ? It was beyond her understanding of the world. At worst, leave and let leave was her motto. Treat others the way you want to be treated. So simple. So easy. Why couldnt people do it ? What was so incomprehensible ?*

- No favorite. I like what people like ! What I prefer is to have all my friends with me, having a good time, so the game is of little importance, aha... Also I am a people pleaser but hehe...

*She played with her hands again. Nothing new.*

- ... I am happy we are talking like that, you know ?

[carrying-coins]

<he exhales through his nose, a short-lived snort of amusement. Or maybe embarrassment? It’s difficult to tell with him. Finally, with all the subtlety he can muster, he brings the chain to the back of his neck, clipping it in place rather quickly. It’s cold against his neck.. it feels… nice, admittedly. More “right” than the rest of his outfit- none of his other clothes are worn by choice, besides his jacket, but rather out of a scarcity. He’ll take what he can get. All that fuss for nothing. He fails to comment on it further, not a joke not a giggle to accompany his breakthrough in confidence.>

..Right.. I mean- really? No favourites whatsoever? <he pauses to think about it. Not having a preference is odd in his mind.. he’s rather opinionated on nearly everything- only a few exceptions. Card games, card games… difficult to think of any allowing for under three people to play..>

well which ones d’you know then?

[tie-girl-lucie]

*Lucie's gentle smile grew. It did suit him. The necklace sparkled and so did his eyes. And it made her kind of magenta cheeked. Oh, maybe this little borrowing of confidence was the best gift she made him ?*

- Poker ? Mistigri... Hummm... La Crapette... Le Solitaire... You know. French things. Or a game of the seven families, but with a tarot deck... Kind of difficult. Oh wait ! Tarot is a game too ! Ah, is there anything I do not know... That is the question, aha !

*Sometimes her genius... Is frightening.*

- But I am already happy with the time we are spending. I do not see you as a little jester having to amuse me with card tricks or a magical show. Even tho it would be funny ! Euh my point was...

*Her point was she was feeling hungry and the cake did nothing for her. But she could not really say it.*

- You are one of my dearest friends and I am grateful for every second.

[carrying-coins]

<he giggles shrilly, high and nearly effeminate at her display of nonsense- that is, her sudden realization. It makes him red round the face with delight. He settles as she begins speaking again, though his face remains a flustered shade of pink.>

<in place of amusement, his expression shifts slowly into one of sheepishness, entirely charmed by her kindness. He’s not all that sure he’d been called a friend before. It’s a stupid thing, titles to explain relationships, a deep human need for intricate elaboration on one’s affairs and what “type” of intimacy one’s got going with another, but… well, the title makes him gleam with affection nonetheless.>

.. I’m glad t’ be friends too. Thanks Lucie. …I think you’re avoiding the question though, ‘cause you know I’ll beat you. <he smiles wide. Stupid boy.> well ……how long d’you figure before sunup?

[tie-girl-lucie]

*Two girlies having a nice little time at the end of the world. The french word "chipie", meaning a mischivious vixen, but a cute one, a little rascal, crossed Lucie's mind as she watched Artie's expression. He was such a She, right this moment.

And then this second was gone, and Lucie snaped out of it.*

- ... I don't know. Let me ask the cards !

*She picks a random card in her deck, the three of heart.*

- Three hours before the sun is up !

*... Probably more something like two, but who would DARE to contradict the all mighty cards ???*

- Also no chance you could beat me in anything. A good arm whrestle, a cooking challenge, a game of cards or even a marathon and I am sure I... Oh. Oh no so sorry about that, I didnt mean it like that.

*She was not wrong, per say. In fact it was quite right. But still her face just... Decomposed from ankwardness and she hid her face in her hands. Her terrible hands that made her even more ashamed and it was a snake eating his tail...*

- Heeeu let's pretend it never happened and... And have a little game before sun is up and I go back to sleep, right ?

*Lucie lived at night and slept all day, skiping as many meals as possible, for... Quite obvious reasons.*

[carrying-coins]

<the marathon comment earns a snicker from him, more amused than anything else. He’s sure she could now. He’s also sure he could beat her if he still had his leg. He walked lots. He ran lots. He was very good at it, maybe the only thing he was really good at. He’s good at other things, too, math or history… but those don’t really count, he doesn’t think. He shifts in his seat, thoughtfully, scraping his fork over the plate left in his lap very quietly.>

Actually, d’you think we could go outside reeeeaal quick, instead?

<he really does hate to be kept inside all night. He hates breathing in the air, with its scent of sweat from whatever young teens used to go here for education, he hates the boring beige halls lined with boring lockers, he hates the blinding fluorescent lights, and he hates the ugly stained carpet. School had never been one of his preferred places to be. He skipped most of his classes as a teen, and then he stopped going at all most days. Why would that change now? Outside is much better, anyways. And sort of a staple in their relationship, a root cause of their friendship, surely… if she hadn’t carried him out of the hermit’s house, when his ankle was only broken, rather than fully gone, maybe they wouldn’t have been friends at all.>

[tie-girl-lucie]

*Hearing him give this half laugh made Lucie feel calmer. Artie was a kind soul. Loving and friendly. And she was so glad she could be herself without too many problems around him.

And she was also very glad they both got to test the chair !

With a big smile, quite ugly in it's perfection, Lucie agreed.*

- Of course ! Anything you want, birtdhay boy. Hang in there.

*She went for the chair, and brought it toward Artie. Of course she could carry him easily without it, but being sat and not just carried away would give Artie comfort and dignity. Something more regal looking. For the princess in her very good necklace.*

- Dont worry about the dishes, not one minute to loose. I want to show you a place !

[carrying-coins]

<he absolutely beams at her agreement, delighted beyond belief. This is surely one of the best birthdays he’s had in a very long while, and he greatly appreciates her company.>

<he eases himself into her make-shift chair. He looks far smaller when he’s sitting, poor posture forcing him back into himself, like a kitten in a soggy cardboard box. Or maybe an opossum in a soggy cardboard box. Weird, gross, little thing with big black observant eyes, almost charming in its narrowed face, but not quite. He watches her movement, ready to go.>

We’ll do ‘em when we get back? <he asks almost hopefully. He likes doing dishes. Or perhaps not “likes”, but he finds it very important, something he is eager to do. Old rules still stuck in his head, old habits die hard.>

<he beams up at her, intrigued by this mysterious location.. he tries to think of where it may be, he knows lots of destinations, but still perhaps not the one she has in mind.>

[carrying-coins]

(Nemoy hurriedly wandered around the halls, looking for Artie. Gripping a pair of scissors, blade inside his hand for safety reasons, he eventually found Artie in one of the rooms)

(He tapped his shoulder, extending his hand out with the scissors, his other hand pointing to his overgrown hair. Part of his hair seemed unevenly cut, part of his hair being cut in rough layers, part of his hair being shorter than others. Seems like he tried to cut it himself, to no avail.)

"🖐🤙👏. 👏👌🙌 👆🤞👇🤚 🤚👌🤞👇🤛 👆🤙 ✌️ ✋✌️🤜👌☝️?"

-🥬 (@mute-gardener-rp)

<he turns at the sound of footsteps, squinting vaguely forward at the figure posted in the doorway. It takes him a moment to recognize them as Nemoy, but the second he does, he grins wide, inviting, though tired. Amorette lies in a bundle on his bed, passed out. He watches Nemoy’s hands for a moment, before taking in the scissors, one brow cocked.>

Ah ....Sure, okay. We gotta be quiet, though, ‘Kay? ‘Cause she has insane hearing. She’s like a bat..

<he shakes his head, exasperated, throwing a quick glance the baby’s way. He looks like somebody Nemoy should not trust with his hair, if his own mediocre freshly-cut hair is anything to go off of. It could be worse appearance-wise, but the thin, scabbed-over cut in the outer shell of his ear is the worrying part- no doubt his doing, with a pair of scissors.>

I’d offer you somewhere t’ sit, but I’m afraid the floor’ll have t’ do. <he grins at them in a way that may nearly appear malicious, one hand offering itself forward to take the scissors Nemoy brought. He grabs them very gently, before snipping it open and closed, once, twice, testing, like the wings of a butterfly. Too late to go back now… he points downward, at the spot of floor in front of him, a nonverbal demand that Nemoy sit.>

[feathers-sticks-and-bones]

<fuck, took him long enough. The silhouette of some towering animal, clad in the black of night, and recognizable nonetheless, with their oh-so-familiar narrowed beak comes as a fantastic relief to him. Mainly he was out to track them down. As a secondary task, so as not to waste his time just in case he couldn’t, he’d been out trying to find supplies for his recent predicament. He’s very lucky to have succeeded in his primary task, because unearthing exactly what he needs for this situation has proven…. Difficult.>

<well…. He’d found them. He’d found them, so what now? He hadn’t really thought about what to say. This makes him nervous, which is an odd thing to be, for him, because he isn’t nervous nearly… ever. He tries to think very quickly, because surely they can smell him now, which means that if he doesn’t come to them, they’ll only come to him. He hesitates, before moving towards them, resumed in his mission.>

Pink, hi- er- hey… <bad start. He inhales shallowly, hardly taking in enough oxygen to resettle himself.> Look, will you come with me? I really need t’ get your help with somethin’, ‘cause-…. Well, it’d be better if I jus’ show you, I think…. Ah… please??

<he talks very quickly, a certain stiffness to his tone. He looks distinctly… tired. Worn down, almost. He also reeks of something softer, and something acidic, adjacent to the scents of shampoo and vomit, only slightly off. Nothing that he’d smell of typically, worn like an awful cologne, to such a degree that his usual scent becomes more of an undertone than anything.>

<the delivery of his request came across more poorly than he’d hoped for, and he pulls at the strap of his bag, not dissimilarly to the way he had upon meeting them at the therapist’s house. He looks nearly ready to sink to his knees and either sleep or cry for some time, however, he does not. He only looks at them tiredly, and anxiously, waiting for some signal that they will not scold him for whatever he desires them for.>

—🪙 ( @carrying-coins )

[Pink had smelled Artie before they were saw him, his signature smell of coins still easily picked up by their nose despite the rancid smell of vomit accompanying him. Worried as that smell made them for his wellbeing, they had figured if he was sick enough for it to be his own vomit, he wouldn’t have the strength to be wandering around the wastelands… but that begged the question, whose was it? They approached with little hesitation as they picked out his silhouette in the darkness, getting something to eat could wait.]

Hey kiddo!!!!!! I was jusssssst about to visit, what…… uh…… you look rrrrrrough……

[Death’s sake, he looked like he’d just survived a tornado. As they approached, they almost felt the need to pick him up and carry him back to the school, given the way his body trembled with exhaustion. For now, they look him over for injuries… he wasn’t visibly bleeding at least, he probably didn’t get attacked. Was he actually sick, and just forcing himself to venture out? They would hope not, but given how they knew his survival instincts were, they would not be surprised if that were the case.]

Okay, if it’ssssss important……

[As Artie turned, they followed close behind him, sniffing him, trying to discern whatever the issue was that had him in such a worn down shape… they could pick up the smell of someone new to them all over him, the smell of old milk and… baby formula. Their eye went wide at the implication, could it be??]

[carrying-coins]

‘S that bad? <he chuckles quietly. He’s really not all that sure what he looks like currently, he’d been too busy to check for himself.. whatever. He doesn’t care what he looks like, he’s got a plethora of better things to be doing.>

<At their agreement, he offers up a silent, rather strained grin, before turning and leading them back the way he’d initially come. He’s far slower now, his walking speed drastically reduced from where it had been prior to his injury. He struggles greatly to run, and he’s got no weapon, nor a will to fight- he shouldn’t be out at all, but he’s quite a determined thing, so that all becomes an afterthought. He’d made it out here fine, anyways, hadn’t he?>

<it takes them all of twenty or so minutes to reach the chain link fence bordering the school, most of which he’d spent in absolute silence. He trails along the exterior of the barrier, until he reaches a small hole, just wide enough to fit his body, which he tucks himself through with a small series of grunts. He could potentially go through the gate instead, but he’s not sure who’s meant to be guarding it today, and he’d rather not show up with Pink and risk catastrophe. He figures they can climb the fence, though with how thin they are, they may be able to squeeze through the way he’d just done. He moves out of the way, in any case, allowing them to make their way past the border between school grounds and the expanse of deteriorated landscape, prior to moving forward again.>

<he clings to the innermost section of the fence, hesitant to pass windows and raise alarm, though luckily many of such windows have their curtains drawn, to shield from the light of when daytime comes around. He only begins moving closer to the school, once he’s certain he’s approaching the right window. He may be able to bring them inside, if the window is unlocked, only he can’t remember if he’d left the latch down or not…>

<finally, he stands before the window of his room, leaning his face forward against the glass. The smell of whoever he’d been around is far stronger now, along with the scent of somebody else entirely. Upon viewing, the sight of a teenager, perhaps sixteen, or seventeen, cradling an infant no older than six months greets the pair. Both are asleep, which comes as a shock to Artie, though a relief, considering how violent of a tantrum she’d thrown when he passed her off on Nemoy. He turns to pink anxiously, attempting to gauge their reaction before speaking.>

That’s- ah… she’s my-…. I don’t know. I call her a “her”, y’know, but I’ve not really got any idea what she is, actually.. an’ she’s not really my “daughter”, or anythin’, but—….. anyway, that’s Ettie— ah.. Amorette.

<he stands before them, awkward in posture, afraid to say more, until he gets some confirmation that they aren’t angry with him, or violent towards her.>

[feathers-sticks-and-bones]

Sssssure is, kid!!!!!!

[They laughed, but Death’s name, they’d have their work cut out for him later… his hair looked matted all over again, not to mention the state of his clothes. He could borrow a coat while they washed them and stitched up some of those holes, they decided, it’d more than keep him covered at least.

Fortunately for now, Pink serves as a good enough deterrent for anyone who may want to threaten Artie, the scary dog that permits him to walk alone and unarmed through the dangerous night. No visitor would touch a visibly injured human being followed by a thing like Pink, few humans would dare approach something like them in the first place, let alone challenge them, and all that leaves is FEMA… which they were certainly hungry enough to have a solution for anyways.

They followed behind him at a somewhat consistent two metre distance, their clawed hands folded in the signature neurodivergent T.rex pose, though they unfurled at a glimpse of Ilya guarding the front gate in the distance. They shot a glare their way, but they did not leave to look for some sort of rematch, one they were certainly going to win at this rate. No, all they did was follow Artie past the fence, not daring to try fitting through the gap after him when climbing was an option. They had gotten very familiar with climbing since becoming a visitor, both out of necessity and because of their claws making the process far easier. Even now, their claws allowed them to grip the links of the fence with ease, allowing them to scale the fence with leopardlike speed. Just like a big cat as well, they landed on their feet next to him with a heavy thud, the muffled jingle of jewelry ringing out from their many pockets.

As the two of them finally approach the window of Artie’s room, their breathing grows rapid, as they try to figure out by scent if their theory about who this new person is might be true, and though they did not want to get their hopes up, no other explanation would make sense. As much as they tried to keep themselves from fixating too hard on their idea of what might await them, their excitement was tangible in the flexing of their claws and rushed pace.

Only for their theory to be proven exactly right. Artie’s a father, and they’re a… grandfather? Grandmother? …Grandparent, they suppose. They immediately drop to their knees, pressing the beak of the mask against the glass, eye locked onto Amorette, all in an attempt to get a better look at her without opening the window. No, they would hate for the teenager, and especially for her, to wake up to a sight like them.

They remember now from their human life that they had always loved kids and always wanted children of their own, they remember vaguely the baby dolls they played with as a child, visiting adoption agencies, fantasizing about having a family, their own blood or otherwise… all of those memories came flooding back to them at the sight of her, the first baby they had seen since their death, since the cataclysm.

Her little face, her tiny eyelashes, her soft little head of hair, her itty bitty fingers and toes, Death’s name, she was adorable, she was perfect. Amorette, little love, that’s exactly what Pink saw when they looked at her, their granddaughter. They wouldn’t have named her any differently.]

Amorrrrrrette…… why didn’t you tell me about my granddaughter ssssssooner??????

[They spoke with about as much love in their voice as such a monstrous thing like them could manage, any other thoughts and emotions they may have felt washed away by overpowering affection as they looked upon her… well, all but one. The thought that Artie didn’t know what she might be… something long tucked away in the depths of their mind stirred at the thought.]

[carrying-coins]

<he sighs, relieved at their response. He hadn’t been sure how to tell, them or whether or not he should tell them at all- they have the capabilities to kill her in an instant, and he’s had no mention of how they feel about babies at all, so it wasn’t exactly out of the realm of reality that they ate her or otherwise. He figured he trusts them enough not to do that, even if they did end up not liking her, though he couldn’t help but worry anyways. He’s been worried lots recently, and she is always the center of his anxiety. He’s more worried about her, than he’s ever been about himself in all his life.>

Well, ‘cause I couldn’t leave her alone, for one, an’ bringin’ her out here sounded like a shit idea…. Ah.. I wasn’t sure I was keepin’ her, anyway, so there wasn’t any point in tellin’ you if I was jus’ gonna get rid of her a week later..

<except now he’s afraid he’s too attached to hand her off… and unfortunately for him, vice versa. She’d practically imprinted on him, far too dependent to let him leave for more than a few hours. It was hell to give her to Nemoy. She has his jacket, in the hopes that a familiar object would help her calm down, and signify that he’d be back eventually. Though, of course, babies aren’t clever enough to really comprehend the notion of leaving and returning.>

<he runs one clammy-cold hand over his face, wiping it of exhaustion to the best of his abilities, before continuing on.>

I think I will keep her, now… I don’t know. I go back an’ forth.

<he huffs, exasperated. He didn’t ask for this baby. He doesn’t even know how to take care of one very well. Clearly, he’s getting better, because he’s had her for about a week now, and she’s still alive, but he’s not sure he’ll manage it that way forever. He hasn’t slept right in two days, for fear of rolling her over in his sleep, or her getting taken by a visitor, or somebody else with malicious intent. He can’t go outside anymore, unless somebody is watching her, and in fact, he can’t do anything he likes, unless she’s sleeping, which she doesn’t do often, because she’s busy crying or vomiting. Nobody else will take her, though. And she is a sweet thing, when she wants to be, and he’s afraid that he likes her now. He has other reasons, too, but they’re more convoluted, feelings mostly. Pride, and instinct, affection, and attachment, duty, and expectancy. He probably should’ve had a kid by now, in any case. His mother would’ve thought so.. carry on the bloodline or whatever. And she makes for a fine series of tasks, which makes him feel… useful, respectable. Not so much of a waste of oxygen, if he has somebody depending on him. He’s not sure these are very good reasons, but they’re the best he has now, and it doesn’t matter anyways, because nobody else will raise her in his place. Nobody wants a baby in the apocalypse.>

[feathers-sticks-and-bones]

<fuck, took him long enough. The silhouette of some towering animal, clad in the black of night, and recognizable nonetheless, with their oh-so-familiar narrowed beak comes as a fantastic relief to him. Mainly he was out to track them down. As a secondary task, so as not to waste his time just in case he couldn’t, he’d been out trying to find supplies for his recent predicament. He’s very lucky to have succeeded in his primary task, because unearthing exactly what he needs for this situation has proven…. Difficult.>

<well…. He’d found them. He’d found them, so what now? He hadn’t really thought about what to say. This makes him nervous, which is an odd thing to be, for him, because he isn’t nervous nearly… ever. He tries to think very quickly, because surely they can smell him now, which means that if he doesn’t come to them, they’ll only come to him. He hesitates, before moving towards them, resumed in his mission.>

Pink, hi- er- hey… <bad start. He inhales shallowly, hardly taking in enough oxygen to resettle himself.> Look, will you come with me? I really need t’ get your help with somethin’, ‘cause-…. Well, it’d be better if I jus’ show you, I think…. Ah… please??

<he talks very quickly, a certain stiffness to his tone. He looks distinctly… tired. Worn down, almost. He also reeks of something softer, and something acidic, adjacent to the scents of shampoo and vomit, only slightly off. Nothing that he’d smell of typically, worn like an awful cologne, to such a degree that his usual scent becomes more of an undertone than anything.>

<the delivery of his request came across more poorly than he’d hoped for, and he pulls at the strap of his bag, not dissimilarly to the way he had upon meeting them at the therapist’s house. He looks nearly ready to sink to his knees and either sleep or cry for some time, however, he does not. He only looks at them tiredly, and anxiously, waiting for some signal that they will not scold him for whatever he desires them for.>

—🪙 ( @carrying-coins )

[Pink had smelled Artie before they were saw him, his signature smell of coins still easily picked up by their nose despite the rancid smell of vomit accompanying him. Worried as that smell made them for his wellbeing, they had figured if he was sick enough for it to be his own vomit, he wouldn’t have the strength to be wandering around the wastelands… but that begged the question, whose was it? They approached with little hesitation as they picked out his silhouette in the darkness, getting something to eat could wait.]

Hey kiddo!!!!!! I was jusssssst about to visit, what…… uh…… you look rrrrrrough……

[Death’s sake, he looked like he’d just survived a tornado. As they approached, they almost felt the need to pick him up and carry him back to the school, given the way his body trembled with exhaustion. For now, they look him over for injuries… he wasn’t visibly bleeding at least, he probably didn’t get attacked. Was he actually sick, and just forcing himself to venture out? They would hope not, but given how they knew his survival instincts were, they would not be surprised if that were the case.]

Okay, if it’ssssss important……

[As Artie turned, they followed close behind him, sniffing him, trying to discern whatever the issue was that had him in such a worn down shape… they could pick up the smell of someone new to them all over him, the smell of old milk and… baby formula. Their eye went wide at the implication, could it be??]

[carrying-coins]

‘S that bad? <he chuckles quietly. He’s really not all that sure what he looks like currently, he’d been too busy to check for himself.. whatever. He doesn’t care what he looks like, he’s got a plethora of better things to be doing.>

<At their agreement, he offers up a silent, rather strained grin, before turning and leading them back the way he’d initially come. He’s far slower now, his walking speed drastically reduced from where it had been prior to his injury. He struggles greatly to run, and he’s got no weapon, nor a will to fight- he shouldn’t be out at all, but he’s quite a determined thing, so that all becomes an afterthought. He’d made it out here fine, anyways, hadn’t he?>

<it takes them all of twenty or so minutes to reach the chain link fence bordering the school, most of which he’d spent in absolute silence. He trails along the exterior of the barrier, until he reaches a small hole, just wide enough to fit his body, which he tucks himself through with a small series of grunts. He could potentially go through the gate instead, but he’s not sure who’s meant to be guarding it today, and he’d rather not show up with Pink and risk catastrophe. He figures they can climb the fence, though with how thin they are, they may be able to squeeze through the way he’d just done. He moves out of the way, in any case, allowing them to make their way past the border between school grounds and the expanse of deteriorated landscape, prior to moving forward again.>

<he clings to the innermost section of the fence, hesitant to pass windows and raise alarm, though luckily many of such windows have their curtains drawn, to shield from the light of when daytime comes around. He only begins moving closer to the school, once he’s certain he’s approaching the right window. He may be able to bring them inside, if the window is unlocked, only he can’t remember if he’d left the latch down or not…>

<finally, he stands before the window of his room, leaning his face forward against the glass. The smell of whoever he’d been around is far stronger now, along with the scent of somebody else entirely. Upon viewing, the sight of a teenager, perhaps sixteen, or seventeen, cradling an infant no older than six months greets the pair. Both are asleep, which comes as a shock to Artie, though a relief, considering how violent of a tantrum she’d thrown when he passed her off on Nemoy. He turns to pink anxiously, attempting to gauge their reaction before speaking.>

That’s- ah… she’s my-…. I don’t know. I call her a “her”, y’know, but I’ve not really got any idea what she is, actually.. an’ she’s not really my “daughter”, or anythin’, but—….. anyway, that’s Ettie— ah.. Amorette.

<he stands before them, awkward in posture, afraid to say more, until he gets some confirmation that they aren’t angry with him, or violent towards her.>

[polarmauling]

<he knocks, very loudly, very firmly, always with the cadence of somebody with somewhere to be, like a salesman. Except he’s got no rush, in reality, and he’s just very enthusiastic, eager to be let in.>

<set with the knowledge that they’ve got a working television, he’s been bringing in terribly dusty tapes he’d found around the school, varying greatly in topic, and begging to play them for a matter of curiosity. The other night, he’d brought a full box of them, which he’d promptly sorted by subject, then alphabetically, then by his interest in them. He’s also been returning frequently enough, only to watch Courage with it. He’s come to quite like the show, in fact, he’s even started taking comfort in it, contrary to his initial uncertainty. In any case, he’s back again, though his mission isn’t to force them to watch more middle-to-early-high-school educational tapes, fortunately. No, he’s here for an entirely different reason, and a little nervous that it’ll turn him away for straying from what he typically comes for.>

—🪙 ( @carrying-coins )

[Arseni's mornings were spent working. The evenings as well. But in the night time it rested in its room, listening to the TV mutter Little Bear. Another cartoon it was watching for the sake of Faina; just to make sure its content was up to its standards. That someone hadn't overwritten any inch of that tape with FEMA propaganda or something. But when the knock came it jumped, then growled. When it continued it knew it was someone who knew what they were messing with, and it stood.

The behemoth sauntered to the door a little awkwardly, still weak in it's right leg, and opened it with a grimacing face. However, seeing Artie's excitement made it lighten up, quirking a brow and leaning down.]

“ What've you got for me now? ”

[It drawled out teasingly, another full sentence which had become exceedingly common the more they spoke. It preferred few words in short conversations, but it could already theorize this was going to be more like a discussion.]

[carrying-coins]

<he moves past it, into its room without hesitation. If they’ve got the door open, he figures its invitation enough. He begins pacing, very full of movement for somebody who complains about his prosthetic or hip pain practically every moment he’s got the chance.>

Well… nothin’, this time, but that’s why I’m here.. I ah… need a favor. I need you t’ come with me, sso that I can get some stuff. Outside. Jus’ a little walk?

<He pauses his motion to give them a pleading look. He’d go on his own, but he’s been growing wary of the outdoors, primarily for the people it contains. The last few times he’d attempted going out on his own had gone quite poorly, and while he’s quite good enough at escaping rough situations, he’s discovered it more… difficult now that he can’t run as agilely. He does need some things from whatever abandoned store he can locate, but more than that, he needs out from the school… only, he’s afraid to go on his own as is, so he turns to Arseni as a lifeline. He’d forgotten about its own injury, though he figures its frame will be enough to drive away muggers or whatever other strain of trouble may arise. He doesn’t need it to fight, so much as an intimidation factor.>

I’ll pay you back somehow, promise, an’ it won’t be long- or- or it shouldn’t be..

[polarmauling]

“ Uhhh. Yeah.. ”

[Arseni looked around. It didn't have anything better to do, and it could use some physical exertion after such a hearty dinner of flesh. It shook its head, the shaking rolling through its body like a crack of thunder. It wandered over to it's bed, or nest so to speak, and picked up the bat leaned against the wall. It rolled the weapon in it's wrist and swung it shallowly, then grinned at Artie.]

“ There. We're good. ”

[The beast assured. It pat Artie's head and ruffled his hair, walking to the door and looking around. It peered into the hallway and looked for any danger, then nodded affirmingly to Artie. However, it wouldn't do this without some exchange.

It looked at Artie hopefully. A thanks would do ... Or good bear. If its eyes could sparkle, they would.]

[carrying-coins]

<he pumps his fist in a show of delight at its agreement. He really wasn’t sure that it’d play along at all- with how often it’s busy, another errand is likely one of the least preferable things it could take part in. He is beyond delighted that it’s agreed to come with. His head dips below the weight of their palm, though he seems rather satisfied by the gesture, if the brief slack in his features is anything to go off of.>

<he moves past it, out the door, only he bumps his hip against theirs as retaliation for the hair-ruffling. He looks profoundly proud of himself for it too. His eyes catch theirs, the plead in their expression, and a small bemused smile follows along.>

‘s that for?? Whatever could you want?

<he holds one finger over his mouth, as if in thought, before lighting up, as though he’d had some incredible epiphany.>

Ohh!….. Thank you. You’re a very good bear. <he huffs, amused, as though he’s any better. He’d do probably about anything for a few kind words.>

[polarmauling]

[Arseni could've melted on the spot if not for it's trained demeanor. It shivered happily and gave a thankful yip at the compliment, turning its head. It gestured for Artie to go first; protection was more efficient if the 'protector' walked behind, of course. It was a little comical, the slide in height between them making the bear a looming shadow over the brown haired coin lover below. They were hyper aware yet didn't seem to show it, eyes occasionally moving to slide it's gaze across the area they walked.

While it sauntered it was also becoming aware of Artie's prosthesis movement. Funnily, both of them had a sort of rigid walk, with Arseni's weak leg still bothering it occasionally. But a weak leg was nothing to one missing entirely, and they were making sure he wasn't going to trip, occasionally outstretching a hand to push him back to the center of the hallways when he idly began shifting left or right. It didn't mind doing this occasionally, it was more teasing than actually helpful. It was no doubt he was perfectly capable not to walk into a wall or trip, the bear seemed to find amusement in playing barriers.]

“ What are you getting? ”

[It asked quietly, lifting it's head in interest. They hadn't left the school yet so it still spoke lowly, since most people were asleep right now and those who weren't...well it didn't really want to alert them to it's location. It's grip idly tightened on the bat.]

[carrying-coins]

<its reaction to his mild praise elicits an incredibly wide grin from him, amused greatly by its giddiness. He turns out into the hall, slow in his in comparison to how quickly others get around, but relatively fast considering the circumstances. The fluorescent lights flicker overhead and his enthusiasm to exit the school only amplifies.>

<he huffs as it begins playing with him, like a cat with its dinner-to-be, allowing the teasing for a brief while. Eventually, he starts stopping when it guides him to one side, so that it runs into him, a gentle retribution to its banter. He’s astonishingly quiet as they move, paused in his usually incessant chatter to focus.>

Jus’ some..stuff. <helpful as ever. He flicks his eyes back at it for a moment, upon realizing that his response gives no information that it didn’t already know.> …for.. my cat. She’s around lots, I’m sure you’ve seen her- little orangey one… anyway, she won’t eat much sso I have t’ get..…whatever.

<he shakes his head, forgetful of what he’d been saying. finding food for his particular cat isn’t the only reason he needs out, but the other purposes are a little more personal, and take some explaining which he’d rather not get into. Keep an eye out for Arkadij, look for something for Lasha- he hopes very adamantly for a treat in particular for them, but he’s very well aware how low the chances are that he finds anything at all are. He keeps a short list in his head, which he repeats over, and over, so he doesn’t forget. If he had a functioning pen, he’d probably just write it all on himself, just in case, though really, his memory is quite good. He only repeats it to himself as a precaution.>

[carrying-coins]

They didn't planned to get back to that building, actually they really wanted to avoid it. Yet it was the nearest place where they could possibly get what they needed the most right now: anything which can be used to take care of their injury. They lost a lot of blood on their way here, their shoulder still hurts like hell yet somehow they're not dead..Hard to tell if it's a curse or a blessing that this strange man didn't killed them in that forest. Anyway, the school building did had the nurse's office, they definitely have some bandages here and something they could use to sanitize the wound.

They managed to enter the building, without encountering anyone they didn't wanted to see and quickly found the room they been looking for and then opened the door. Obviously, someone was inside. The cultist stared at him in silence for a moment as they standed in the doorway, holding a part of their veil closely against the wound to stop the bleeding (even though it wasn't really stopping it).

The cultist sighs and closes the door behind as they enter the nurse's office. "...Do you have any...first aid kit..here..? As you..can see..I really need..it.." They are fully aware of their voice slowly starting to sound like it did before, but does it matter? They wouldn't be surprised if Bee already told Artie about their meeting as soon as they left.

@veileddeathcultist-askblog

<he cocks his head towards the door, anticipating to see Lasha, or perhaps Ilya. Certainly, the cultist had been one of the last he’d been expecting to be posed in the door, least of all reeking of blood. He furrows his brows, immediately shifting to stand single-leggedly. With Lasha’s training, he’s really grown quite good at it.>

Y- The fuck happened t’ you??- hha- Jesus Christ.. Are you alri- nevermind. <of course they’re not alright. More of a reflex to ask, than anything.>

Sure- sure, sure, sure, somewhere.. around here- uhm..

<He gestures vaguely to the section of sheets he’d only just inhabited, offering somewhere for them to rest, before opening the uppermost drawer to the cabinet, directly parallel to the mattress. He fails to recognize their voice, more focused on their injury presently. In his defense, it’s also been a few months since their last encounter. He rummages vigorously through the innards of the drawer, eyes narrowed in concentration, taking a moment to successfully locate a small first aid kit. It’s really not much, but he figures it’ll do. He turns back to them, jaws clenched tight, supplies held to his chest, as he gets to closing the drawer and leaning against it for support.>

[veileddeathcultist-askblog]

"...I see that..you're getting better.." They seemed to look in his direction. Quietly hissed due to pain and pressed the veil fabric closer to the wound. Good to know that Artie is recovering well after losing one leg..

The cultist slowly sat down. "...I got..attacked by..some strange.. hippie.. man..in the forest.." They explained what happened as they showed him the wound. It looked messy, like if something severely bitten their shoulder. The injury looks more like something which a wild animal could cause rather than just 'a man'. "Ummm..do you...think that..I need to stitch it..or a bandage should be enough..?"

[carrying-coins]

Uh- yeah, I guess. <they mumble, opening the first aid kit as carefully as they can manage, avoiding spilling or dropping items out. He glances up again, at the sharp inhale from their direction, pleased to see them sat now… it’s a start, he supposes.>

Why were y— <he begins responding to their explanation, before abruptly cutting off at the sight of their injury, colour quickly escaping his features. He may as well have been the one with blood loss, with the whiteness in his face.>

‘s- m- ….. I… I don’t know. Ah- I’m not a doctor or anythin’… <he looks away after a moment, dizzied by facing the gored section. He figures… a bandage should be adequate? He’s not sure there’s enough skin to close it up, anyways… If only Ilya were here. Or Lasha. They’d know, surely? He shakes his head, side-to-side, ridding his conscious of the excess chatter.>

Take off your shirt. <they pause momentarily, upon realizing how that may sound to the poor acquaintance sat before them.> …Er- Please take off your shirt. <much better.>

<in his head it makes perfect sense. They won’t be able to hardly reach, let alone bandage their wound, so treating it themself is hardly in the question, and while he gets scared… well, surely he can manage? Really, as for now, it’s the only solution they’ve got.>

[veileddeathcultist-askblog]

"..." They stared at him confused and then looked away after Artie corrected himself. Do they really need to take off their "shirt" for that? They pretty much would have to undo their robe first, this includes the veil, and then take off what's underneath. The cultist was close to suggest Artie that he can leave and they gonna do it by themselves, yet the pain would make it too difficult..

They sigh deeply and start to undo everything with their other hand. Does it matter if he discovers who they are? Unlike Bee, he doesn't look strong, so he won't stop them from leaving. 'The cultist' took off their robe and veil and then placed it next to them, avoiding any eye contact after they done so.

Currently they're trying to take off the shirt they wore underneath it.

[carrying-coins]

<it takes him a moment, to recognize them, too busy sorting through the contents of the first aid kit, in an attempt not to seem perverse as they undress, to properly look. He only looks up once the sound of fabric shifting over itself pauses, meeting their eye, with confusion.>

Dima? But Arkadij said-?… why didn’t you tell me th-? Dima, what the fuck?

<their confusion quickly gives way to some more intense strain of upset, coming in the form of tears gliding their way across his margins of his eyelids, which he rapidly rubs off of his face. He can hardly blame them. He’d stayed hidden, tucked safely in his apartment for the first few days of the temperature’s exponential growth, hardly capable of knowing they’d disappeared from where he’d often find them at all. But no word from them for weeks, up until Arkadij.. he’d grown worried, though it remained a topic at the back of his mind by product of his constant endeavor in attempting survival. He’d considered Dima his first “friend” since some time in early highschool. At the time, it was a revolutionary thing, to have a friend, or to socialize. He’d missed Dima.>

<his flare up of frustration settles as he recalls his task, suppressed to consider later. More important tasks at hand. He comes to sit beside Dima, bringing some cleansing solution out to sanitize his hands.>

You should probably put somethin’ in your mouth to bite down on, so you don’t rip your tongue off. <stoic in tone, nearly perfectly monotone, hardly a hint of expression in his voice. Not with the intention to be an asshole, or make a point, but because he’s never all that good with his words when overwhelmed.>

[veileddeathcultist-askblog]

"It's..a long..story.." Dima still doesn't look at him or even in his direction, wouldn't even dare to. "...You must...be..very confused right now..but..I will..explain myself.." They finally decided to at least look at him as they speak, noticing that Artie looks pretty upset. They don't blame him for that, not to mention that he does deserve an explaination. "But first...let's...take care of..that injury.."

"..I don't think..that..I need it..went through worse pain..but.." They looked around, trying to find something which they could bite on. In the end, they picked up their robe and rolled the fabric so it was thick enough to do anything. "..Just..in case.." Then they put it into their mouth and wait.

[carrying-coins]

<yes, just a precaution. He’d probably need it, were he them. Then again, his pain tolerance is abysmal. He’d probably cry if he got a splinter.>

<he inhales sharply, trying to get air to his head, before checking the brutally gored wound again. He sits up on his knees, towering above them, to pour some sanitary solution onto a rag, that will surely sting like hell. Finally, with all the courage he can muster, he looks at the injury, teeth gritted, beginning to clean the dried blood around first… gradually, he guides the rag in towards the center of the gash, dabbing gently. He’s not sure that’s how you’re meant to do it, but he’s not got any other solution, either, so… he hopes this’ll suffice for disinfection. God, Ilya would have his head, probably. He reapplies the alcoholic liquid, mostly as a precaution, until it’s practically sopping, before dabbing all over again. That’ll do, he supposes.>

<he sits back down fully, allowing for it to dry some, as he catches his breath. He hates blood. Makes him sick. He feels nauseous, even now, though he manages to suppress it adequately enough that he can finish his job. What’s next?? Neosporin? Fuck, might as well. He applies that to a different rag, hesitant to use his hands, for fear that it’d be unsanitary, and he’s not got gloves… he finds bandages next.. fold some, press them to the injury, secure with…?? Not with medical tape. That’s cause rash, he assumes. He’ll just wrap it under their armpit for now, he supposes. It’s mighty hard to wrap a shoulder. Whatever. That’ll do until they can get real hope, he supposes. He sits back, hands shaking, with a sigh.>

‘ss.. ah, ‘s done I guess. You might wanna.. get someone else t’ do it better at some point, but that’ll do for now I guess.

[veileddeathcultist-askblog]

Probably making them have something in their mouth during the whole process was a good idea. The pain wasn't as bad as when that man bitten into their shoulder yet it still made them bite hard that fabric, wouldn't be surprised if they made holes in it by doing so..Oh well, they will take care of it later.

They patiently waited until Artie finishes bandaging the wound, watching what he's doing. When he finished, they pulled the fabric out of their mouth and took a look at their shoulder. This should he enough for now, they assume, at least it got sanitized and there's something wrapped around it.

"Thank..you.." They said while looking at him with a soft smile. "I'm sorry that..you had to see..this...I know that..you don't like the..view of..blood.." Dima reminded themselves about this tiny detail about Artie, feeling a bit guilty that he had to see something that makes him feel sick. At least he didn't passed out from that view but still..

They sigh as they stare at the wall. "...You must..have a lot of..questions now..am I..right..?"

[carrying-coins]

‘S okay. <except that it makes him want to vomit. No matter.>

Yes, I have a lot of questions, Dima. <certainly not the kindest tone he might’ve had the capability to utilize.> I jus’.. I don’t get it, ‘s all. Why wouldn’t you tell me? You were- you were right there. An’ I thought you were- a- a dog? A visitor?? Arkadij said—

<they wipe their face over with one hand, an attempt at resetting. No matter.>

<he’s not sure why he gets worked up, anyways. He supposes that they weren’t really all that close prior to Dima’s death. Dima was only….. a kind soul, helping the neighborhood stray cat. Surely. They weren’t really friends. Only the first kind person he’d had the pleasure to interact with since high school. It didn’t mean anything. They were only… acquaintances. Or maybe strangers, even. Ones who talked and laughed, but maybe that was only for sake of politeness. Nothing personal enough to grow an attachment to him, in case he should die by some stupid cause, but maybe enough to aim at a distant-but-friendly sort of kinship. He supposes they hadn’t been all that much to begin with. It felt like a lot then.>

[veileddeathcultist-askblog]

Dima is thinking about the response for a long moment. It's a long story, how should they even explain it? Without spending over an hour telling him about everything that took place and what made them make a decision to isolate themselves from everyone they knew and hide themselves underneath the black fabric...

"Yes...That dog-like visitor..was me.." They sigh, not wanting to remind themselves about that period of time right now. "I remember...chasing someone and then..I felt like I'm falling..asleep and then..woke up in some white room...looking like this.." Dima pointed at themselves. "...It appeared that.. FEMA got me..and done some experiment...From what I know..they were tested something...in that specific building.."

"...Without more details..I was able to escape...then joined the..new faith after..our leader helped me..when I had no..place to go.." Dima remembers that night very clearly. They tried to get as far away from FEMA Site 7 as possible, the soliders could be alerted at any time and go search for them. They had nothing, nowhere to go, not even knowing where to go or what to do..And then this kind man in long robe appeared to give them water and food, a place to stay and show them a way to reach the eternal peace.

"...Why didn't I..told you..back then..? Shame..I suppose...Didn't planned to let anyone..know that..I'm back to...'normal' let's say..." They sigh deeply, perhaps they should open up for once. Artie sounded angry before, judging on his tone of voice, maybe he will understand their decision..? Even though he has every right to be mad at them, like everyone else. "...I expected everyone I know to feel..hatered towards me..After everything I..had done..So I decided to...avoid them.."

"...What did..he..said..?"

[carrying-coins]

<he only listens in silence, uncertain of what to say. He’s unsure if they would prefer him to speak, and risk hurting their feelings with his inability to phrase things the way he intends, or if they’d rather he just stay silent. Finally, a sliver of his voice makes its way out of his mouth, a soft whisper of anything at all.>

…Well I don’t hate you. <he pauses, clearing his throat.> d’you know how you…. <died? He leaves the last word unsaid, afraid to upset Dima. Would that be rude to ask? He’s not sure how these things work, with visitors.>

Oh… ah, he.. Arkadij? He said he was.. mad at you, I think? <he shakes his head, he can’t remember right.. it’s been a little while since Arkadij talked about Dima at all..> Oh, he was gonna get rid of this- wait, hold on- <he opens his bag, unzipping one of the innermost pockets with some effort. At the grand old age of his bag, things stop working as well.. he draws out Arkadij’s old ring, handing it forward with a small frown.>

I didn’t mean t’ keep it.. forgot, y’know.. aha….

[wasp-hippie-ninah]

<they’d been wandering about, in search of Arkadij again. That asshole. Least he could do was… well… actually, his course of action was quite reasonable. Only they can’t help but feel frustrated regardless- Not so much at him, as at… everything else leading up to his disappearance. He hadn’t even said goodbye. That asshole… but not really. Their frustrated- or rather, petty spiraling quickly cuts off at the noise of a small twig snapping. Their posture quickly loses the slack slouch its before possessed, rather taking on an alert sort of stiffness. The fuck was that? They survey the area nervously, as though the action would really help…. No, they’d run into a tree branch not ten minutes ago, too blind to see even three inches ahead into the darkness. The remaining blood from their mishap clings to the space spanning from their upper lip down to their chin, red and rusted over. The lack of immediate response unsettles them further. Whatever it’d been had probably been attracted by the smell of blood. Goddamn it. Their leg hardly works, prosthetic or not. Unfortunately his rules and thought process are relatively equal-opportunity- if he’d gone searching for Pink, when they went missing broken ankle and all, they’ll go searching for Arkadij, lacking leg and all. He’d learned his lesson to a degree… only it’s been the wrong lesson. He’s meant to not go searching at all, but instead he’d learned simply to be more careful.>

Who the hell’s out there?

—🪙 ( @carrying-coins) //sorry this took forever & ever to send my motivation was terrible 💔

[Footsteps could be heard, soon, a figure came from behind a tree.]

[It was… Bee? Or at least someone that was eerily similar to him. The face, the build, even the hair was identical. Just how it was styled and what he was wearing was different. “Bee” frowned, immediately rushing over.]

“Oh.. oh my, are you okay? You’re bleeding! C’mon, sit, sit..”

[The man said, carefully bringing Artie to a tree and gently sat them down before crouching in front of them. Not wasting any time as he immediately began to look over them.]

[carrying-coins]

GGHO, SHIT- FUCK-!

<they flinch back rather violently, nearly stumbling to the floor as he emerges, only caught by the elbow of a tree. They stare at him, nose scrunched uncertainly, clearly shocked by the appearance of this man.>

Wh- Bee..??? Ha- who the hell’re you??

<they can tell by his distinctly calm nature and the absence of his signature alcohol-hairspray-citrus smell that this isn’t bee… or they don’t think so? They don’t object very lordly as he guides them down to the base of the tree’s roots, only cringing back like a frightened cat, still startled by his abrupt entrance.>

W- I’m fine. Happens all the time- Why’re you jus’ out in the middle of the forest? ‘S creepy as fuck- Jesus..

<they sigh, left wrist going up in an attempt to rub off the excess blood coating their mouth, as they analyze him in return. It hardly budges, too long dried to be removed.<

[wasp-hippie-ninah]

“Oh! No, no, not Bee.. I’m Wasp!”

[Wasp said with a soft smile, immediately rummaging through his tote bag with a huff.]

“..I live here! I have a camper van and everything! Much better than living out in society.. much more safer too.. breathe, yeah? Pretty sure I have something that can help you..”

[Wasp murmured sweetly, pulling out a couple of things such as a clean rag, bottle of water, some containers.. Wasp opened the water and began to dampen the rag with it.]

“Say.. who are you, stranger? Not safe for someone who doesn’t know the forest to be wandering out here..”

[carrying-coins]

<they stare at him blankly, confused. Had they hit their head too hard? Bee, Wasp, Bee, Wasp.. Bee… Wasp??>

M- uhh.. Right. I don’t need h- whatever.

<they survey his face from their position a few inches below, relaxing ever-so-slowly. I too quick to trust, easy to convince. They shift their gaze down towards his hands, glancing briefly at the new objects, before deeming them safe enough to not mind.>

…My name’s Arthur- Artie. My name is Artie. I think I’ve got it, thanks. ‘S jus’ a bunch of trees an’ shit, I’m sure I can figure it out.. aha…

<their objective is quickly forgotten, more occupied now by Bee’s near-perfect lookalike. Does he have some long-forgotten-twin? Or… a brother??>

[wasp-hippie-ninah]

“Artie.. that’s something I haven’t heard before.. stand still.”

[Wasp instructed, gently wiping the blood off of Artie’s mouth, humming some song under his breath— probably something from The Beatles. It was unclear.]

“…I’ll try to make this quick, alright? Then I can take you to my camper van.. real dangerous out at night, especially with the visitors..”

[carrying-coins]

<the only response they offer is a high squeak of surprise as his hands draw near to their face. Their face, already pink, only reddens further as contact is made, eyes screwed up shut. The rag is much gentler than they’d anticipated, though they still shy away, head slowly turning away, until he’s finished.>

Ssure.. fine. Er- how far’s it? <they’re beyond tired of walking. Too much exertion for somebody as legless as they are. They fail to see the potential danger in following a stranger back to his home, unfortunately.>

[wasp-hippie-ninah]

“Not far! Only… five minute walk? I can carry you if you’re hurting too much..”

[Wasp offered, he pulled the rag away and placed it in his bag along with other things. He slowly stood up, stretching his arms out a bit.]

[carrying-coins]

’s okay, I’ve got it boss.. thanks.

<they huff, rolling their eyes, before getting rather clumsily back to their feet. They’d rather not seem weak… they use their right forearm to run the excess moisture from their face, after having been bathed clean like a kitten beneath its mother’s tongue. At the sound of movement, they glance back, watching him get back up to match their height. They shift almost uncomfortably, shoulders shrugged up momentarily. They feel there’s something undeniably off about him, though they quickly dismiss it as a general discomfort- maybe the temperature is off, or they hadn’t slept all that well the previous night. That’s all.>

[wasp-hippie-ninah]

“Alright! C’mon.. follow me, little raccoon!”

[Wasp said warmly, he gently grabbed Artie’s arm and began to walk off towards the direct he came from, easily avoiding any low branches.]

[carrying-coins]

<they mouth the words “little raccoon” in response, lips pursing thoughtfully.>

<they follow along behind, failing to dodge the lower branches as effortlessly as he manages. They manage to duck below a majority of the thicker ones, though smaller outstretched limbs swipe at their face aimlessly, leaving thin strokes behind. They’re fortunate that he’d chosen to direct them more firmly, guiding them through touch, lest they lose their sight on him and become lost.>

[wasp-hippie-ninah]

[After a long while, well, felt like a long while but was a little less than five minutes; Wasp approached a camper van. Bare feet lightly walked on the carpet set on the ground as he go in the van, helping Artie in.]

“Hm! Sit, sit..”

[Wasp insisted, sitting Artie down on the small couch. Wasp took off his bag and placed it on a counter.]

“Need anything? Water? Towel?.. something?”

[carrying-coins]

<they struggle their way in, largely refusing his guidance, or support, much too stubborn to allow for help to be offered. However, At his request, they sink to the well-cushioned couch, clutching their bag close. They’re not entirely fond on new environments. They take note silently, of the variety of colour displayed about the innards of his home, eyes narrowed in an attempt to better filter the brightness they perceive.>

Ah…. Huh?.. Oh- no, I’m fine- ‘s a lot of colour isn’t there? Aha…

<it comes out more insulting than they intend it to, though they hardly seem to realize it. Sounds mostly like they’re being a loud asshole, to their host… oops.>

[wasp-hippie-ninah]

[Wasp paused, blinking as he looked at Artie.]

“Sorry! Should’ve warned you.. at least it’s night, yeah? Won’t mess with you that much.”

[Wasp said, chuckling softly as he gently patted Artie’s shoulder.]

[carrying-coins]

oh- oh, I didn’t mean.. never mind. <he laughs a little awkwardly, picking at his clothes. Not that his choice of decor was… bad, only… bright. Unexpected. Slightly painful, but nothing he can’t handle. They try to redirect the conversation.>

So… you ah, live here alone? Isn’t that a tad dangerous now? <or at least the news says it is… then again, it doesn’t really look like Wasp has a TV. Or at least, they can’t see one. They can’t see much of anything.>

[wasp-hippie-ninah]

“I do live alone! It’s not that bad.. I got the occasional squirrel keeping me company! Animals listen way better than humans. Plus! They can sense danger better.”

[Wasp shrugged, pausing before quickly grabbing a small bottle of water and placed it on Artie’s lap.]

“It’s really only dangerous if you turn on your lights at night, alerts things that someone or something is actively keeping a small area to themselves!”

[carrying-coins]

..Right… <they’re becoming increasingly uncertain of their choice in following this man to his home. He seems perhaps a little… off. Animals? Whatever.>

<they take the bottle gratefully, unscrewing the cap and taking a small sip to pass the silence in less awkwardness. If you’re doing something, instead of speaking, then that’s okay… if you sit in complete silence with no task, then it gets awkward.>

I guess so. Oh- oh, I meant t’ ask-.. uh.. you haven’t seen ah.. a dude with long black hair, an’ kinda ashy skin, have you? He- I was told he was injured, too, so…. Maybe bleedin’?

[wasp-hippie-ninah]

“Oh! Ark! Him, yes… he came across me! Thought I was.. a ‘Bee’ guy. Patched him up with some medicinal clay and bandages, fed him.. oh! He’s fine now I assume. We took a nap together and he was gone when night came.”

[Wasp simply explained, dusting himself off a bit before sitting beside Artie.]

[carrying-coins]

Yes! Yes, him- Arkadij! Yes, yes, d’you know where he went?? How long ago was this? Was he okay?? No- well, haha, clearly- if you had t’ bandage him..

<there’s a nearly frantic tone to their voice, worked up so nightly that their face goes red, like a child after crying. He gets to his feet, nearly the moment wasp sits down, pacing back and forth before him with their hand cradling their face, eyes searching the floor, as though Arkadij might have just been lying on the carpet this entire time.>

[wasp-hippie-ninah]

“Arthur.”

[Wasp simply said, he grabbed Artie’s arm.]

“…Calm down, he’s fine, okay? If I was the one bandaging him up, he’s quite alright. I made sure of it.”

[Wasp said softly, eyebrows furrowing a bit as he offered a comforting, small smile.]

[carrying-coins]

<they shakes their head after a moment, frozen in place at wasp’s hold. Finally, they sit down again, rather stiffly, beside him.>

….Well, I still gotta find him. When did he leave? Er- how many days ago? An’ you don’t know which direction he went?

[wasp-hippie-ninah]

“…Dunno. He came into the camper the day of when he found me, then, After taking care of him and all of that, when I woke up, he was gone. It was night, so I assume he left when night came… don’t know which direction he went.”

[Wasp explained, rubbing Artie’s knuckles with his thumb.]

“Do not worry, he’s capable of taking care of himself. Listen, just stay the night.. and stay in the morning, due to the sun being a huge enemy during a time like this… and when night falls, I’ll lead you out the forest, yes?”

[carrying-coins]

<they sigh, frustrated with failing to find answers, let alone a trace of Arkadij, outside of wasp’s words. For all they know, he could be lying. They move their hand away from his, shoving it instead, between his thighs.>

I know that, I jus’ wanna see him. Whatever. Sure. Thanks for your… for lettin’ me stay.

<he sighs lowly. Best that he does stay, seeing as the sun will be up in less than an hour, and with the condition of his mobility…. He’s not getting back home in less than an hour.>

[wasp-hippie-ninah]

[Wasp’s eye subtly twitched, seeing Artie move their hand away from his. Wasp simply hummed and put a pleasant look on his face.]

“Of course, of course.. it’s the bare minimum for me to do. Would you like anything to eat? I do believe I have food left.. or would you like a blanket? Really, I’m the host, I want to make sure my guest is comfortable.”

[Wasp stated, leaning back a bit as he raised an eyebrow.]

[carrying-coins]

<they consider his offer very quietly for a moment. They’re really not hungry, but food is scarce enough that they’ll take a meal where they can.>

…Yeah, sure. Thanks. <he sighs, resting his head on the palm of his hand, elbow jammed into his thigh.>

…So you’re.. A twin, or somethin’? Or jus’ a coincidence? <he really can’t let go how similar bee and wasp look. It’s an incredibly odd correlation, and he doesn’t recall bed ever having said anything about a brother, let alone a twin…>

[wasp-hippie-ninah]

“Oh! No, only child.. but I might meet Bee when I have a chance, yes?”

[Wasp teased, chuckling as he stood up and went over to the mini fridge; he crouched down and opened it, grabbing a bowl. Wasp went back over to Artie and placed it in his lap.]

“Bowl of grapes. The purple ones. Good for the body and soul! How about you tell me about Bee, hm? Seems like you have quite the relationship with him..”

[carrying-coins]

<he receives the grapes rather gratefully. Fruit is difficult to come by, now, and he wonders vaguely where wasp might’ve come across them…>

Uh… ‘Kay, what d’you wanna know ‘bout him??

[wasp-hippie-ninah]

“Anything, really! Anything that comes to mind.. tell me about him. Hobbies, music taste, how he feels.. how he sounds. Anything!”

[Wasp explained, tilting his head to the side like a curious animal.]

[carrying-coins]

<they eat the given food thoughtfully, considering the question in silence for a good while, before finally offering response.> He… likes music, I guess… I, uh.. can’t remember any of the band names or anythin’ now, but he’s got ‘em on a Walkman, I think. He doesn’t like rats, an’ he’s got a few tattoos, but they’re all covered up ‘cause his shirt’s in the way. He smells nice, but I don’t know how, ‘cause everyone else smells pretty shit.. me, includin’, I s’ppose. I don’t know….

<they shift in their seat, exploring the contents of his home with his eyes, considering the worth of every item in silence. They look nearly awkward like this, a child sat in the principals office, answering questions they aren’t sure they have good answers for.>

[wasp-hippie-ninah]

“..nice?.. hm.. oh! So that’s what the citrus smell on you.. it’s really faint, Arkadij had that on him too.. so, you’ve been around Bee.”

[Wasp said, leaning in and lightly sniffing Artie, clearly unbothered by how Artie smelled.]

“..fascinating.. and tattoos? Hm. Tainting the body Mother Nature gave him, shame… but! Enough about Bee, I’m starting to sound fixated on him, hehe.. tell me about yourself, it’s always nice knowing more about a guest..”

[carrying-coins]

<he moves away, nearly uncomfortable in expression… what an odd man.>

Well, sure I’ve been around bee…. Ah… About… me?? I don’t know. I like coins. My mama’s a visitor, but I sure as hell ain’t.. My cat’s gonna be needin’ t’ be fed around now, but I’m not there t’ feed her, so I hope bee remembers…

<they frown, shifting awkwardly about the couch, an animal weary of a potential predator.>

….What ‘bout you?

[music-lover-ninah]

PARTY EVENT!

Small sticky notes were left around the building in slightly poor Russian— most likely Bee’s doing, but he did include small translations at the bottom from German, to broken French, and to English.

“A “Goodbye World” party is happening! Bring drinks, food, and whoever you want! Quitters are visitors.”

The large room had already been decorated— thanks to Host and Bee. There were at least three stacks of nine vinyl records beside a vinyl player, one song already playing.

Drinks— going from soda to alcohol (there was some juice.. just to be safe) neatly arranged on different tables, cups stacked on said tables, and there was a snack table pressed against the wall near a window.

There were chairs at a couple of empty tables, a couch that somehow got in, and four packs of poker cards on one of the tables.

Bee was already pouring himself a drink, pausing a bit before turning around, he simply waved at everyone and gestured for them to come over.

“C’mon! Party’s gonna be boring if you don’t join..”

( @radio-host-taking-calls , you know what to do!)

[radio-host-taking-calls]

*Host found everything they could around town, beverage and decoration wise, even sacrified a personnal stash for the sake of "making friends and kissing satan's ass for this apocalypse".

The room was filled with banderoles and colorful balloons, but the star of the show was the rock music playing in the background : good stuff. Some american music... Wich was kind of rebellious for Russia.

They correctes some of the sticky notes in passive agressive red pen, like a teacher would do.*

- Everyone welcomed. Let's have fun. Chill visitors allowed. Or not. LoL.

*But for good measure, they tried to recruit some other people more directly, either by voice or by sliding them notes, like in school.

Those lucky few were :

- @hymntheotherpunkgirl, @thefemarookie, @thetroublemaker-askblog, @digging-up-ghosts, @carrying-coins, @spiraling-thoughts-and-hope, @flash-in-the-crucible, @lover-boy-ninah, @ask-the-awkward-girl, @asking-the-ex-reporter, @enerjekaguy, @ezekithescavdoc, @red4tee-disbanded-fans-dni, @that-ferris-visitor, @idk-i-forgor , @sug4rfreak (Kitty), @greyorgrayheart, @homeless-jackass, @lungcancer-onitsway , @creepinnothintosee , @neverbelievepropaganda, @necrophagous-salesman , @not-quite-a-hermit , @bugeyed-alarm, @veileddeathcultist-askblog, @asksinsnakeman, @burned-alive and that's all I can think off right now but EVERYONE is welcomed !!! Multiple threads allowed ! Invite people if you'de like ! Multiple characters by person allowed !*

[carrying-coins]

<it’s a wonder he dragged his miserable ass of the floor at all. He doesn’t like parties all that much, but for the sake of not being bored… worth a shot, right? He came prepared in any case. Stolen headphones, from bee, of course- he really doesn’t know anybody else with a Walkman now- for the sake of lowering the volume of the surrounding party, should he find it necessary. For now, they rest around his neck.>

<he really can’t make distinctions between faces, and therefore identify the partygoers, especially with all the movement, but with host’s vibrant appearance… they were bound to catch his eye. He comes to them, like a dog summoned, roughly as stiff as a board, some intrigued grin playing across his lips.>

Say, you put this all together? ‘S a goddamn feat for the apocalypse! Aha… I don’t think I’ve seen you before, ‘s your name?

<he’s tucked into himself quite oddly, almost diffident, as though afraid they’ll bite him. But by the the small charmed expression he holds in his grin, he might not even mind it all that much>

[radio-host-taking-calls]

- Hmm ? Oh. It's you.

*Host turned when they realised they were spoken to, and they answered as if they knew Arthur all their life. They gave her a nod of knowledge and appreciation, before reaching for another glass. They looked quite... Not-Thirsty-Anymore-If-You-Know-What-I-Mean.*

- Glad you came, mistery patient... Call me Host.

*It's not a name at all. It's just a job title ! But much like "The Hermit" or "The Vigilante", Host wanted a title of their own... Something to make them a legend.*

- I was helped by the dude with the wild red hair. Bee. You know him ? A nice block, helped me with the music...

*Soft Rock. Artic Monkeys very first albums. A feat for Rural Russia !!!*

[carrying-coins]

Host… Host. Right, okay. I’m Artie. Pleasure t’ meet you.

<he offers them a wide smile, stupid-looking, though it’s got a little charm to it, should they take the time to observe more closely.>

Oh, sure I know bee. ‘S good music. He knows ‘bout good music.

<obviously. Or else he wouldn’t have been recruited to help put the party together. He chuckles awkwardly, shifting so that the entirety of his weight is rested on the better of his feet.>

I ah… like your eyes. How’d you get ‘em done?

<there’s a certain sincerity to his tone- he means it as a compliment, though as per usual, his expression looks far too condescending by nature to come across as entirely genuine.>

[radio-host-taking-calls]

- Artie... Artie. Right ! Pleasure shared. Want a drink ?

*They mocked, like a parrot. Of course they already knew her name. They did their own little research, after all, and could not forget such a squeeshable face ! They smiled with little pointy teeth... Shark like.*

- I know you know him. "Roomates", riiight ?

*Who the hell was this newcomer ?! And what were they implying ? Black sclera made their eyes harder to read...

As they accepted the compliment on it with a surprised look on their face, Host answered quite simply, moving their shoulders up in the air as if this was a very stupid question. But heh. Poor little thing looked all shy and anwkard ! It was cute, tho, and Host felt like being a little mischivious.*

- Ink.

*They smacked their forehead as if they suddenly remembered something important, clearly playing dumb.*

- Wait ! No ! Sorry, I meant... I ate a virgin's heart at midnight during a satanic ritual in an ancestral forest with my cult bros and we managed to summon a demon from the 4th circle of hell, who pluckered my eyes out, ate them, and when I woke up I had eyes again but they were like this. Cool, no ?

*They smiled smugly, thinking they were hilarious... But seriously what else where they supposed to say to not be boring as fuck ?*

[carrying-coins]

Unless you’ve got.. water, I think I’m set.. aha…

<he smiles still- really, he hadn’t stopped smiling, since beginning their conversation- but there’s little joke in the way he says it. Palate of a twelve year old.>

Yeah- w- uhh.. <he hadn’t caught the sarcasm in their voice initially, the quiet implication, though the moment he does, his face flushes pink, nose scrunched at one corner in either confusion or some diluted form of disgust. Had they really figured him out that quickly?? Or… maybe bee had told them. He resettles his ruffled feathers, relaxed again.>

Well, obviously, I jus’ meant…. <he trails off as they begin recalling their epic tale, amusement scrawled across his narrow face.>

Right. You’ll have t’ take me some time. Hhaha..

<he crosses his arms over his midsection, still slightly nervous in his demeanor. Probably anybody would be a little nervous speaking to Host.>

Sso, d’you keep tabs on all your partygoers, or am I jus’ interestin’ an’ beautiful an’ funny enough t’ get stalked?

<he smiles wider. he thinks he’s funny.>

[radio-host-taking-calls]

- Water ? Yep. Right away.

*No mockery, no teasing, no "cooome ooon it's a party !" Nor "are you sure ? There is enough for everyone dont be shy !" Or not even a "Real men start the night with vodka." That some others in the school could say... Host was not like that.

And they looked happy with it. More alcohol for them ! Huzzah !

... And oh such a party made them extroverted and LOUD.*

- BWAHAHAHAHA look at your faace ! Don't blush like thaaat it's alright ! Pffftt... poor little thing. All flusthered over nothing !

*Big arms gestures, almost theatrical, kicking their glass away... The vodka stained their pants and they did not even seem to notice. They laughed a bit more. If usually they were stern, serious and even grumpy, turning people away, this was the perfect moment to break the ice around them.*

- Yeeeah I'll ask my demon pal if he can do something for your leg...

*All eyes on it. Their pointy little nose all up Artie's business. Host smiled like the devil itself, offering a glass of water to their victim of the night. A glass they should be drinking themselves, if they didnt want to pass out a bit too soon in the evening...*

- That must be a nice story... Maybe even better than my eyes...

*Their voice, all honeyed, silently prayed "tell it to me". They leaned their bony body forward...*

- Snrk, arent you the jester ! Option two, obviously. I just couldnt let such a cute face anoymous ! And Bee was my first friend here... So it helped quite a lot. Lots of stories around here... You know what I mean.

*All of their shark teeth are showing. They look friendly in demeanor, maybe a bit more than that, but the uncaniness of their face makes it all so hard to decipher. Artists would love to scrutinize such sharp and skinny features for reference...*

[carrying-coins]

<their immediate acceptance comes as something of a relief to him. He gets “gently persuaded” enough, a quiet nudge in the ribs to get him moving along, like a cow prod. Gets him pissy. He doesn’t need persuasion. Luckily for everyone, he’s hardly any pushover, more than happy to stand his ground.>

<their commentary only eases his face into a further shade of rouge. He tucks the lower half of his face behind one hand, with a quiet exclamation of embarrassment, maybe an “oh my god”, or “fuck’s sake”, whispered and muffled to such a degree that it’s nearly indecipherable. Bashful animal around them, too shy to say anything louder. Or maybe only bashful to be so easily read, and so easily outed.>

<he drops his hand back to his side, with a sigh that’s been held in for a moment too long, released at long last. The pink in his face subsides, as they retrieve the glass, basking in the sound of their laughter, scratchy and loud against their throat, surely..>

Much appreciated.. <whether this is in appreciation towards the glass or their efforts with the demon is difficult to decipher. He offers them a courteous little nod as he receives the glass, too formal, but clearly intentionally that way, like a princess’s curtsy to a prince.>

<he sucks his teeth, almost thoughtfully..> ..twisted my ankle one time, so they jus’ had t’ take the whole thing off…

<he shakes his head, almost sadly, though his false demeanor only holds for a few seconds, before his grin inevitably returns, amused, once again, by himself. He seems satisfied enough by his response, failing to add more to his clearly inaccurate story, and rather taking a sip of the water they’d just given him.>

<he preens beneath their attention, some small silly bird with its feathers puffed out proudly, brightly coloured and hopping around to keep their engagement.>

Oh, stop it! Hha.. you flatter me! <he smiles big, like a child on picture day, charmed by their compliments.>

[radio-host-taking-calls]

- OH no ! Poor you ! The whole leg for a little bruise ? This new world is a cruel, cruel place.

*They mocked and teased with a smile, bitting into the bait. Playful joking around, no need to pry further for explanations. Host would find out soon enough. Nothing escaped those onix eyes.

They laughed some more, a bit more quietly, but still making some head turns, when the poor Artie acted so shy and charmed. So even in this rural, boring city, someone like Host could have a little fun ?*

- Flattering is not in my habits. Blame it on the alcohol. Or blame it on your pretty face.

*"Pretty". Not "handsome", not even "cute". Pretty, like a girl. It was just so... Obvious for Host. The way Artie moved and spoke softly, those outgrown hair, the manerism in the face, the princess salute, blushing so easily, the way she hide her face under her hand, even the nickname, "Artie", not "Art" or keeping what they assumed was "Arthur". The odd fashion style, so outdated, how queer...

Host met dozens of people just like her. Aware or unaware yet. But when they saw them again, after some months, some years, oh, how magnificent those blooming flowers were !

A little time and encouragement could help this shy button to grow and, one day, grace the world with it's true colors.

But that was getting a bit too abstract for a drunk they at the end of the world.*

- So we kiss or what ?

*It could be a joke. In some parts of Europe, such idioms mean "what are we doing now with this conversation", rather crudely, but used a lot inbetween friends. Hell, it could even be cruder ! In France, and surely other countries, "Shall we go or shall we fuck in the ass ?" Was an everyday saying. Yes. Even with coworkers or family. Yes. But here in Russia, the humor was... Dry. And sometimes even ... Just dead.

But of course, Host being Host, smilling so proud with their weird teeth, was mostly teasing, poking harmless fun at the red faced girl. She was so sweet, with her little glass of water, but the Radio-Host meant only to play.*

[carrying-coins]

Yeah, ‘s a real tragedy, isn’t it?

<he continues to giggle his shrill, loud giggle, infinitely amused by everything around him. An easy audience, if there ever was one. Best of luck, to Host, in pinpointing the real cause of his injury. He’d still yet to tell a soul anything even bordering the truth, Pink and Pearl would never tell a human something like that, and he doesn’t intend to spill his secret to a soul any time soon. Maybe a good thing he avoided drinking, lest he get even chattier and make a mistake…>

On m- on- <he stutters very awkwardly, giggling like a school girl, but also cowering so avidly that he looks nearly ready to flee and hide himself beneath the nearest bed. He hadn’t been to enough parties as a teen to know how to react in these situations. He’s usually the one flirting (or trying to, anyways), but very rarely is it reciprocated, and when it is, well… usually it’s a man, so he’s got a little more confidence in the matter. Lasha he hadn’t really flirted with, they were more friends, and then… whatever. This is entirely new territory to him. He stares at them dumbly, like an animal caught in a snare.>

<pretty, too.. he’s a sucker for compliments, most especially feminine-leaning ones, though he’d never admit it. Far too embarrassing…>

P- ‘s probably the alcohol.. hhaha.. <they seem…. A liiiittle out of his league… he pauses to take a sip of his water again, an attempt at calming his nerves. He feels incredibly foolish, stood there, tall and dry, like a tree with.. water. Flustered over nothing, like some terrible, awful romcom movie girl-protagonist, oh fuck, it’s really quite worthy of his shame.>

<and then they take it even further! He chokes on the water he’d just sipped, rejected very brutally, forced into a wet-sounding coughing fit, so violent it brings tears to his eyes. He skims their face, once his vision’s cleared, searching vainly for any sign that they’re serious, or contrarily that they’re joking. Except he’s already very bad at reading people, and their face only makes it more difficult. Is poking fun at him what they’re doing? Are they bullying him? He’s very afraid that they are, because he can’t tell these sort of things. He watches them with almost hurt eyes, clearly confused, and also stiff like a taxidermy, frozen in place the way a deer alerted to danger might before bounding off, with its white tail flared up.>

[radio-host-taking-calls]

- Oh shit.

*The tattooed woman immediatly got up on wobbly legs, and then stumbled toward Artie, a bit too drunk to really stay on their feet. Poor girl was chocking because of their little joke ! Accidental murder attempt ! Woopsie !

Host began patting Artie's back, helping her get the water out entierly. But to be fair, Host was also mostly leaning on her, not very sure of their feet, and trying not to fall... Truly, it looked like a hug, or some anwkard dance, something a bit strange and esoteric !*

- Didnt mean to kill you, sweetheart ! It was just a saying, come on stay alive, the party just started.

*They grined, making it easy to read their expression. It was genuine, and they laughed again, sensing Artie so flusthered and... Ankward ? Oh.*

- Sorry, sorry, letting you go, poor thing.

*They sayed, noticing how tense and bad Artie could be feeling, and not wanting to make it worse. Consent queen. They gave a pat on her shoulder and departed. And dying laughing, as, taking a step back to go back to the table where they once sat, Host... Fell on the ground. And stayed there, laughing their heart out !*

- BWAHAHA ! Whao !

*They gave... Fingerguns ? How old was this weirdo ? Wher planet did they come from ?*

- Guess you are to fall for !

// Hundred reblog yay !!! I will soon post... A post for everyone.

[carrying-coins]

<he coughs the remaining liquid from his throat, gasping for air like he’d been strangled. Stupid. He holds them in his arms for a moment in hesitant silence, quite strong in his grasp lately, as a result of having to drag himself around to compensate for his missing leg. Wow, they reek of alcohol. Hardly like he’s any better, though, with his heavily metal-antiseptic-and-smoke-tainted aroma. Like some rock band’s name, or a description in a book about war. Bad all around, but telling of his preferences, both in activity and interests. He lets them go as they move away, water splashing from his cup at the sudden movement. He sets it down on the nearby table, wiping his wet hand on his shirt with a small frown.>

Pff, you’re one t’ speak, you’re ’bout drunk enough t- <a self-fulfilling prophecy. He tenses as they hit the floor, moving quickly to check that they’re okay. Upon hearing their sustained laughter, however, he relaxes, grinning wide.>

<he lingers above them for a moment, some looming silhouette, though finally, he offers a hand forward, to help them up. Paying his dues, an equal exchange now! He laughs very loudly once they’re back on their feet, perhaps drawing minor attention, though whatever eyes may have been turned towards them at the spectacle quickly lose interest, busy with their own partners to talk to or drinks to finish.>

[radio-host-taking-calls]

<he knocks very firmly, though the motive behind this action could be questioned, because he comes in before receiving a response. He’d forgotten that he was meant to wait…. Oops. He looks quite… miserable as a whole. In expression and in general. His hair is shorn abysmally short, perhaps three or four centimeters in length, excluding some tufts that had been missed, and in such inconsistent layers they could safely assumed he’d done it to himself. And it had gone very poorly, if the scabbed over clip in his ear is anything to go off of. With the length so drastically reduced, a great deal of cowlicks and scars in his scalp are revealed, and he looks a deal younger, like an awkward high school student with a buzz cut. Though, contrarily, the expression in his face is so deeply miserable that he could be nothing but an adult, somebody who had seen enough of the world to know true distress.>

<he’d done it all the previous day, on an impulse. An act of frustration, an attempt to drive away fantastical narratives, unrealistic chimeras in his head, self-punishment to correct behavior. He cut the first segment and it was difficult to stop himself from there. And then he’d cried so hard over the matter, he drove himself to throwing up. Which could be largely attributed to the heat of daytime, when he was meant to be sleeping. He’d been living in a box, all his life, and to question what could be outside was nearly sacrilegious. The box is likely safer, is it not, than outside? He doesn’t know what could be outside. He’s too afraid to check. That would mean a change, and a change is death, to a creature like him. No, it’s much safer to lie with the option you know, and fantasizing about what could be, and dying of oxygen deprivation in your familiar enclosure.>

<he offers them a very small, mostly false grin, standing in the doorway like a scared animal.>

D’you… uh.. can we do somethin’?? Please? <to distract himself. Though he hopes that from their perspective it only looks like an attempt at socialization. He is quite embarrassed, looking like a shaved bear, but he’s afraid that if he’d stayed sitting, alone, without a task in his room any longer, he’d have died.>

—🪙 ( @carrying-coins )

- And that concludes today's report. Thank you for listening to "Another beautiful day in hell". Stay tuned for more survival tips. And remember : Trust no one in uniform of any kind. That's today's wisdom. Goodbye, every-ear, and stay safe.

*A radio headset on her head, Host was just closing her showtime when she heard knocks at the door. And then the door opened while she put her headset down... And grabbed a baseball bay !

The weapon was laying right next to her at all time, in case someone wanted to invade her little makeshift radio tower. On the highest ground possible, window opened, a radio and a long antenna, a microphone, a headset, and papers, lots and lots of research papers... Her own little information heaven. It had to be defended !

She turned with her baseball in hand, ready for a swing, black eyes full of darkness when...

When she recognised Artie. She dropped it, and sighed in relief.*

- Shit Artie you scared me. Wait at the door next time, would you ? Impolite ass...

*But her little face all contorted in sadness softenes quickly the tattooed woman, who sighed louder.*

- Who the fuck is your hairsrylist, so I know who to avoid ?

*As she stayed at the door, like a vampire uninvinted, Hodt gestured the woman-to-be to come in. This was soooo typical. Fighting it. Gender sticking for the sake of convincing yourself. She saw so much of it already...*

- Yeah we can do something. Try to improve what the fuck you attempted for exemple...

*As if their own green and purple, bluish hair, one side both shaved AND long in the back while the other side was a bowlcut with a fringe... Host had nothing to say about weird hairstyles...*

[carrying-coins]

<he’d been lucky enough to locate this place before sunup. His navigational skills are… mediocre at best. He’d done some nosing around prior to meeting them the first time, out of curiosity. The information came in handy after all!>

<he flinches back at the sight of them, broom in hand, wound up like a wild animal defending its territory. He holds up his hands in surrender, before releasing a small sigh of relief as they drop their weapon of choice, tentative grin making its way to his lips.>

Whoops…. <he shrugs very neutrally, as though convinced this is more of a suggestion than a rule. He really had forgotten to wait, hence his hesitation at the border between inside and outside, but he’s also very prone to doubling down on… less than savory decisions. With some difficulty, he begins working his shoe off, at their invitation inside. He gets back to his feet with a grunt of effort, free hand going to the back of his neck, cold without the insulation he’d become familiar with.>

<their joke earns a more genuine smile from him, short-lived as it may have been.>

I don’t know, I think ‘s pretty good… not much t’ improve on, honestly… <he’d cut his own hair before, many times, actually, except this time he’d done it without a mirror…. Even still, it’s not half bad for being as blind as he is, and lacking any way to visually check how it’s coming along.>

<despite his banter, he nods to them, almost timidly. He’d have gone along with whatever they suggested as an activity probably, in his current state.>

[carrying-coins]

Do you... Uh, do you think the homeowner will ever come back?

Ah….. sure. Maybe. ‘S a chance. <he’s been working on his ability to comfort others. However, he looks heavily unconvinced of his own words…>

[carrying-coins]

Kept forgetting to post them oops it’s been like two months 👀👀 I think I’m forgetting someone but I. Don’t remember. So I’m very sorry if I missed somebody. please tell me if I did 😇