corpsc:
@mxrtcm
“.. hey, eli,” she mumbles, touching his arm to further get his attention. “ya got a last name?” she’s taken an interest in this particular newbie in their survivor group and with good reason. not only do they seem to share that everett pale complexion and blonde hair, but.. “i used t'have a brother named eli. er– still do, i guess. i dunno.” not to mention his accent.. her suspicion isn’t exactly subtle, but she’s also trying not to get her hopes up. "wouldn’t happen to have a lost little sister named athena, would ya?“ it’s a joke.. and yet.. he does.
Being around the other survivors... it wasn’t like he was walking around with other people. He felt like a dog, thrown into a horse corral. Waiting to be stomped by whoever he happened to piss off or spook. After all, he didn’t ‘join’ on the best terms. It was an impulsive, ‘let me say this to live another few weeks’ decision. And surely the ‘leaders’ he spoke to must have seen through it. It’s made him jumpy, ready to get the hell out of dodge-- all why he starts at her touch.
“Geez, girl, watch it.” She’s a ghost, obviously. Pale enough for it-- though, he isn’t one to talk. Although, now that he’s got his full attention on her and not chasing after his metaphors and fears, he realizes he’s kinda wrong. She isn’t a ghost. She’s a watercolor nightmare. Pastel in aesethic (the clothes are contradictory to that, but he’s taking artistic license), but her eyes aren’t right. They’re lit up, full of who knows what, but they’re harrowing. It feels like he’s been on the end of that stare before, sends a stupid chill up his spine and he wants her to leave. Go find someone else.
Of course, since he’s seen her around-- she ain’t the type to walk. People give her evil eyes all day long and she doesn’t freaking flinch. Doesn’t waver. Either admirable or stupid. There’s very little difference these days. “... Funny coincidence,” is what he says when he means ‘shut the hell up’ because he doesn’t think about Atty anymore. Which, hey is a boldface LIE, but he doesn’t admit to thinking about that blonde devil. Not since she was snatched up and taken, like she was never there in the first place. A figment of his wild imagination.
She keeps on going, though, since Eli didn’t actually tell her to shut her trap. He supposes he should, when she gets ‘lost little sister’ out-- he doesn’t want to rip the band aid off that cut (not even a band aid, really, but a gross scab over a never-healed wound that he picks at when he wants to feel bad). But, he still doesn’t; attributed to the fact she steam rolls ahead and that’s when his stomach drops. To where, he hasn’t got a fucking clue, but he’s bottomless. A void, a freaking black hole, opens up right inside in his gut. In that instant, he wishes he wasn’t spinning half-assed metaphors but an actual fact.
No body else would name their kid Athena. Not any sane person, these days. And the odds of her finding out somehow are astronomical. A literal impossibility. The truth, on the other hand, is less believable than that. Bosco, ever the idiot, decides now to lull his fat tongue out and lick a stripe up Eli’s arm. It’s a jarring sensation. The push he needed-- after all, he can’t stare at her forever.
The pit, still consuming, grows in his stomach. She’s got the hair, the complexion. The face. Older, yeah, but it’s a baby face. Like his own. Figures they’d get the baby faces. Still, he can’t. He buried that demon-- that wretched thing called hope-- a long time ago.
“Atty’s been missin’ since I was young enough to believe in Santa. You’re bullshittin’ me-- If you know me from somewhere, just say it. Don’t... pull that garbage. Would’ve figured that people would be a little more respectful of fuckin’ family.”
