permanent sadness

I r v i n Ness. twenty four. farmer. unwanted. "I have this dream that I am hitting my dad with a baseball bat And he is screaming and crying for help. And maybe halfway through it has more to do with me killing him Then it ever did protecting myself."

[harleyleighs-blog]

“Then what are you trying to be?”

[irvin-ness]

“Uh, nothing? Just doing my own thing.”

[harleyleighs-blog]

“You don’t seem to be of much company. I can’t imagine how incredibly interesting your alone time must be.”

[irvin-ness]

“Oh, just what everyone wants to hear. I’m not trying to be entertaining.”

[catchlovexgreta-deactivated2015]

“Oh don’t worry. I rather if we don’t say anything anyways. But if you are going to try and strike up a conversation, I’ll be more than happy to leave.”

[irvin-ness]

“Wow. Are you always this pleasant or is the attitude reserved just for me?”

[brookexcole-blog]

“Ever had to run for hours with pebbles in your shoes? I can assure you that you’re gonna have to pluck them out of your feet when you finally stop.”

[irvin-ness]

“Well, maybe not hours but that doesn’t mean I’m unfamiliar with the sensation. Why are we having a debate about this again?”

[ardenpaisley]

“Me? Nope, I have been on my feet for hours so unless you wanna offer me a foot massage, then I’m staying until they’re not aching anymore.”

[irvin-ness]

“Uh -- yeah, I’ll pass on that one. I’m sure you could find somebody desperate enough to be willing, though.”

[irvin-ness]

“You know, I usually prefer my own company, but as it seems you’re not going anywhere--”

[peytonxtaylor-blog]

– Do you guys realize how long I’ve been looking for this place?

[irvin-ness]

“No, but I’m sure everyone does now you’ve told us.”

[brookexcole-blog]

“You’re a farmer so while it’s a mild annoyance to you, it’s quite opposite for someone who has to run away from a bunch of clickers with a pebble piercing through your foot.”

[irvin-ness]

“Okay touchy. I guess you’re right in that aspect. Though you really think a pebble can be sharp enough to pierce?”

[hattie-dunn-blog]

“What, a girl can’t enjoy some warm weather now and again?”

[irvin-ness]

“Sure you can. I was just teasing.”

[hattie-dunn-blog]

“God, how I’ve missed this weather.”

[irvin-ness]

“Easily pleased, aren’t ya’?”

[brookexcole-blog]

“Deadly.” Brooke joked, a smile tugging at her lips for a short second before it fell flat again. “At least death has the courtesy to pump you up with adrenaline first. Pebbles just fuck you over… minus the nice orgasm.”

[irvin-ness]

“Mm, can’t say I thought of it that way before. Although pebbles barely hurt and are just a mild annoyance, so there’s still a huge difference.”

[chexxomacapagal-blog-blog-blog]

Friendship was not of a necessity to Chexxo Macapagal – at least, not anymore. Being on people’s good terms was, but not friendship. There was a slight difference, see. Friendship was something honest, something real, something raw; and these, he’d experienced before the outbreak, with those who were in school with him, and with those who worked with him as soon as he began to. He’d experienced it with Shiloh, with her friends as well; he’d experienced it wholly and truly, because he had been a man who could afford to trust and open up to others, a person who could afford bringing others into his life and sharing it with them.

Meanwhile, being on people’s good terms was a form of survival. It was a way of life now – a wretched, cruel way of life, but nonetheless, a way of life. If he wanted to survive, to live, to thrive, he needed to have people who thought he was useful to them, people he could trade and deal with just in case the time for it was needed. Even the people he had been with for the longest time, the bandits, were not friends. They were allies, yes; they were people he ran with and lived with, yes – but they were not friends. Friendship required laying a life down for another, and Chexxo could not afford to do that. After all, he only had one in his hands.

These days, the world was different; and thus, living required different means. Friendships were no longer an option for Chexxo. And thus, he was not trying to be friends with this man. However, he was being friendly. Again, there was a difference. Again, the former was for leisure, and the latter for survival. The man’s chuckle made Chexxo nod in that friendly – but, nonetheless, arrogant – manner that he did; the man’s next question, meanwhile, made Chexxo chuckle as well. “Rumpelstiltskin,” he said calmly, as though it was a true answer to a serious question. “And yourself, Irvin?”

A smile curved Chexxo’s lips as he saw that the man was digging around for a cigarette and a lighter. It was not an honest smile, as Chexxo could not afford or give honest smile these days, but it was close to happy. Close to genuine. Close to okay. That was as far as he could give. If anything, he ought to give it; he hadn’t had a smoke for months, and it was about time that he had his fill again.

As the man dug around his pocket, Chexxo decided to make small talk. Not for friendship, no, but for the other thing. “You been here a while?” For every question, he knew there must be an answer – not only from the man, but from himself. “I’ve been here like, two weeks. Can you say it’s worth it?”

[irvin-ness]

Friends had not really been much of a present thing during Irvin’s years of life, nor had he ever really desired them. Not many, anyway. His best friends had been his siblings, and then his girlfriend. Who still found a way to haunt him after meeting such a tragic end. He missed her, he really did. He just also couldn’t see the point of moping about it day after day when it would only bring him even further down. Although the man was convinced that nothing that happened to him now could possibly bring his mood up a notch, he still didn’t want it worsening. Sometimes he could feel himself slipping further and further down into the abyss of doom and gloom, never to return.

Some days it felt like the loneliness was threatening to swallow him whole, and some days it seemed like that was exactly what it was doing. He was ruined, and the enthusiastic boy he once was did not exist any longer.

All Irvin had wanted was to live a simple life, but it was clear by now that such hadn’t been destined for him. He was to experience life at its worst; tragic, intense moments that ate away at him bit by bit. There was nothing he could think of that could have warranted the world having to be so cruel to him. The redhead had been good from day one, yet most of what he had been offered had been shit upon a platter. Whoever said life wasn’t fair was one thousand percent correct in their statement.

Narrowed blue eyes focused on the man --  Chexxo; for a few moments before he began to answer his question. “No fairytale. However my mom was a big fan of unusual names.” The corner of his lips quirked up into a smile, quite a bitter one at that. “But yours, isn’t one I’ve ever heard of.” He wasn’t even sure whether or not he was trying to compliment the name or just make useless small talk. None of it seemed to matter when he eventually lifted the cigarette and lighter from his coat pockets.

“Here,” He spoke, handing the man the two small objects and sparing no niceties while he was at it. His brows immediately rose as surprise flooded in at the other man’s small talk. He didn’t seem like the type. “’Bout three months, and yeah, from your position? Probably not. Get yourself beat up?”

[from-another-country]

[xcaptainxmorgan]

“Mentha,” he repeated, giving a nod. He looked back up at the redhead and smiled. “You know the only difference the French put on that word is another ‘e’ instead of an ‘a’?” It was an irrelevant fact, but Rick felt like sharing. The Farmer seemed like someone who wouldn’t shut it down with sarcasm. If Rick was wrong about that, oh well. 

[irvin-ness]

The young man nodded. He had in fact heard something like that before; although perhaps in a different context. It meant the same thing, though. “I’m Irvin, by the way. Kind of forgot if I told you or not.” He gave a light shrug.

[chexxomacapagal-blog-blog-blog]

Though sitting up took its toll on Chexxo’s bruised body, he still tried to look as calm and collected as possible. The arrogant streak on his features and in his stance never left, so there it was despite his condition. It didn’t matter that he had just been in a brawl a day or so ago; didn’t matter that he’d been on the losing mark; didn’t matter that the person who had half beathim was someone shorter and smaller than him. And it didn’t matter that priorthat, he already had a wound on his left arm quite deep that said arm wasrendered almost useless. None of these things mattered to his arrogance; it carried on as it always carried on, used to fights, used to wounds, use to bruises, used to scars. Chexxo Macapagal would not be a bandit if he was not accustomed to these things already.

The way the man looked at him, and the rejection that came from the man’s lips did nothing to faze Chexxo. If anything, it made him tilt his head to one side, so as to look at the man better, almost as if to show that he was scrutinizing the man as much as the man was scrutinizing him. He mirrored the smirk on the man’s lips, though; it was, as ever, arrogant and filled with a hint of something cruel, something wicked – but, at the same time, it was not unfriendly. Chexxo was far too caught up in himself to be just unfriendly, after all. If he were to do such a thing, he would go all out – all out meaning murderous, meaning death, meaning evil, meaning monster. To be unfriendly was such a waste of time – and he was not that, ever; neither was he any of the previous mentioned attributes. For the moment, at least. ( Such attributes were never too far from him. )

The smirk, instead, was an understanding one. This man was smart; if Chexxo had been on the other end of this conversation, he would have done the same thing. Nothing came for free these days, and nothing should be given for free. It was only right that the man have some qualms about sharing a stick of his precious cigarette with a stranger like Chexxo. As he then concluded that he understood the man – not liked, no; like was too much of a strong word to go around in this hellhole – Chexxo’s smirk grew friendlier, more welcoming. With a shake of his head, he replied. “I’m not sick. Just wounded. Quite a difference there, you see?” He raised an eyebrow, then chuckled. “Sick men probably shouldn’t have cigarettes. Wounded men probably can. Does it matter, though? At the end of the day, we all die.”

There was a truth in this fact that Chexxo did not like, but it was the same one that he had had to face since the start of the outbreak. He did not allow this sadness to show upon his features or his tone.

Instead, he averted his gaze from the man in a moment of deep thought. However, this only lasted for a few seconds before he met the man’s gaze again. “There’s always a for what around here, isn’t there? But I don’t blame you.” Chexxo licked his lips. “The name’s Chexxo – and I’m an engineer. I’ll do you a favor one day, outside of these walls. Cash in now, take the return later? I’ll owe you one, and that means something.” And it did. To Chexxo, at least. Not because he particularly liked keeping his word, or not because he was still a man who followed through, but because he did not like owing anyone anything. If it was only because of this reason that he saw things through.

[irvin-ness]

Already preparing himself for a snarky reply, Irvin watched the other man as he tried his best to sit up. Just by a glance, it was obvious to anyone that he was hurt. With the redhead being the observant man he was, the slight wince didn’t go amiss to him, nor did the effort to keep it hidden. Although it really did take someone exceptionally keen to notice something that small. Realizing people’s weaknesses was something he had gotten extremely good at; unfortunately only after the lethal run-in’s with his stepfather. Considering that the other seemed to be quite bruised and battered, Irvin was half convinced he must have gotten into that state from getting into a fight. Or perhaps too many of them. Not that the brunette looked to be particularly violent or subject to roughness, but he supposed that was just one among many things that you weren’t able to figure out until too late.

Though even so, there was a little something about the stranger that sang to Irvin of recklessness and pride. Apparently you could find people with traits like those for miles at the haven, which was quite odd. Under his own tough and unreachable exterior, the redhead himself was actually quite a softhearted man. Or, he had been. Inklings of it were probably still there deep beneath his skin, but most of it had no doubt been ripped away with the cruelty that life had offered him so far. It didn’t take a genius to see that he was rather broken -- a man hellbent on destroying himself or willingly letting the world destroy him.

For some reason that came yet unknown to him, Irvin felt more of an urge than usual to keep up his tough act. Usually around the more humane folks he could risk the chance of letting his guard down every once in a while. Although with every stranger he would act this way until he got to know them. If he ever got to know them. God only knew he would avoid it if it was possible. Less people to care and worry about meant there would be less of a burden on him, and he’d had far too many of those already. Even as the other’s smile grew, the redhead felt the inexplicable need to shield himself from it. Nothing had happened this far that told him the other would serve as a threat, so why was he so tense all of a sudden?

Irvin quirked a brow. “More morbid than I’d have put it, but sure.” Wandering further into the infirmary, the man came to a stop at the end of the other’s hospital-like bed. “’Fraid so.” He responded, the smirk threatening to come back to settle upon his lips once again. “Chexxo?” He echoed; knocking back the chuckle that immediately wanted to spill from his mouth. “What fairytale did you crawl out of?” A moment passed of him narrowing his eyes, before he finally made up his mind and strolled around to the side of the bed. “Irvin.” He mumbled in what was possibly the most humble greeting ever, as he dug around in his pocket for a cigarette and his lighter.

[brookexcole-blog]

I can’t decide what’s worse, clickers or pebbles in your boots.

[irvin-ness]

“Are you being serious? That’s like choosing between death and a simple novelty.”

[xcaptainxmorgan]

Rick smiled, understanding that a man’s work could bring up harsher reactions when threatened. Though the smile faded as soon as he was told he was too late, and a sigh left his lips. “Damn,” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. “He was supposed to wait around for me, the brat. Anyway, I’m not gonna go look for him. At least not yet. What was it that I nearly trampled?” He glanced down at the plants, vaguely recognizing the leaves—but the name wouldn’t come to him.

[irvin-ness]

Irvin gave the man his own version of a sympathetic smile, even if he didn’t look too worried by the fact that he’d missed his brother. Instead he just gave a simple shrug, as there wasn’t much else he could do. His brows raising abruptly at the random question, he too glanced down at the plants lining his part of the field. “Oh, Mentha. Uh -- mint leaves.”