Oblivion waiting || Gage and Ray
☽ - — He couldn't work.
And if he couldn't work he couldn't eat. Hands shaking, sweating, vision flickering and blurring... Things jumped into and out of clarity at will and without and rhyme or reason. And everything hurt. No injury or wound to tend, Just a deep, constant, ache... Something threading deep through muscle and sinew, embedding in flesh like iron nails, corrupt and corroding to spread -- an unseen sepsis, a creeping, lingering sickness.
Breaking more than he could repair, a scale from his soldering iron as it slipped from unsteady grip. And at that point, he gave up. If he couldn't work, then he could scavenge. Could set foot to ground and seek out the broken and discarded, the unwanted, the small things -- little objects that no one else saw of any use or value...
...Or -- that had been the plan at least... Staggering through the alleys and broken back streets, but there'd even less focus here, and by the time he was within the city proper, Gage felt as though his legs were going to give out from under him.
Had never been 'weak', though many saw him as such. Always self reliant. Always ready and willing to help -- a hand of kindness or comfort where needed. A few dollars for a meal or something handed over for free. No expectation of return, no need for gratitude or a debt owed... Just a smile.
There was no smile here.
There was simply a burning, seething, lancing pain, something beginning at the base of his spine, reaching up and out -- stumbling again... Hand hitting the filth ridden wall closest to, skidding, sliding... Hitting the ground with a hardness that jarred his bones.
'Fuckin' junkie scum'.
A hiss of words from a blur of a face, someone indistinct, but followed by a sharper, blunter pain -- a heavy boot to his ribs that he didn't even see coming.
He might have said 'please'... If he had the breath left in his lungs. Might have said 'help'... If he had the strength left in his body.
There was a number in his phone to call, but right now he couldn't remember who it was to... Just a fumble in his pocket which had a few things spilling out onto the ground, landing in grimy water, a handful of change...
...And a single, indistinct coin, rolling off into the gutter.
-- -A sheen to it beneath the disturbed water, something to catch the eye. Something which might be picked up, might be taken home, might be kept... Where he would not.