surviving

ooc: btw stars u still wanna introduce that dude character? maybe he and silver's character, ian, can encounter each other and then they encounter the group? so you can start using him?

ic: Asher felt a little sick with nervousness at Claire's panic, at her worry over seeing Jeremy's state. He realized he didn't know what to do, besides gently hold the kid, shushing her, trying to calm her down. He didn't know how to help Jeremy. He needed someone else to come into the door, someone who knew what they were doing. He knew that was silly, though. He would have to deal with this himself. He couldn't just wait for a doctor, or whatever, to come back with Brooke, stitch him up, tell them it would all be okay. Maybe he should wash Claire off, she was getting dirty. He had to wash the blood off of everything. God, that would take so long. He just wanted to stay still here, leaning on Jeremy, maybe until he died.

And then the door opened, and someone who knew what they were doing entered the room, and he knew it because she had been his doctor oh shit. And Brooke was here! He felt such a wave of relief that his eyes stung a little. "Dr. Rogers?" He said, before he could stop himself. "Blaze," she replied, and Asher visibly cringed. Oh, god, not that name. He'd forgotten about that name. Olive continued, "Brooke, did you not give the right na--"

"No!" Asher sounded sort of loud and embarrassed when he said that, unfitting for the situation. "No, I-I'm Asher now. That's my name." Olive raised her eyebrows. "Well, that's alright. I thought that other name was rather silly anyway." Asher rolled his eyes, forcefully, trying not to panic because if anyone thought too critically about this moment they might realize. "I-- I figured, you told me it was stupid about 20 fucking times. Can you stitch up my friend?"

Olive pulled a surgical mask over her face, and put on a visor. She wasn't risking infection. The cuts on his chest didn't appear to be zombie-related-- the redness was much more typical of just a bacterial infection. So was the shoddy stitching job. She wasn't even sure what was used to stitch it up. If it was a regular needle and thread from a sewing kit, she would scream. At least it wouldn't be as bad as that one time someone used yarn. She shooed Asher and Claire off the couch, and began setting herself up on the coffee table. She was pretty sure they had a bit of electricity, as it was warmer inside than outside, which was nice. She took a lighter to the needle, just in case, before muttering, "Hold still," and jabbing it into Jeremy's arm. She then repeated the process she had done with Brooke, testing the blood. As it sat in her centrifuge, she took out some numbing agent, beginning to apply it to Jeremy's chest. "This should make it feel less like you're in hell and the devil is being forward in his advances."

timeskip yo

Asher had laughed out loud in relief when he found out Jeremy didn't have the disease-- he wasn't going to turn, he wasn't going to die, he was stitched up and he had medicine and stuff to make him better. He shut the fuck up in order to let Jeremy fall asleep, and then figured he should clean the blood up. He grabbed a mop, he got a bucket, and he washed up all the evidence that there was ever someone almost dying in the living room. The couch he couldn't really get, it would probably be stained forever now, but he wiped the blood off the surface. And Claire was a mess, so he handed her one of his t-shirts, which was practically a dress on her, which was also a t-shirt for the Offspring, which was kind of really funny to him, and he shoved her shirt in the wash. There. Chores done. His depression was cured. Okay, untrue, but it felt satisfactory.

He found himself just sitting on a chair, cross-legged, once again bored. And also, the concern that had been assuaged by Jeremy's diagnosis had come back again. An infection wasn't great. It wasn't as bad as him becoming a zombie, but it wasn't great. Jeremy could still die, could still be really sick. They had antibiotics, sure, but what if they ran out? What if he lost them? What would they do? He got up, not sure what to do, and paced the living room, with nervous energy, with boredom, like the tigers in the tiny enclosures in the zoo. He leaned against the couch, then checked the cabinets, remembered he couldn't boredom binge eat because they had limited supplies, and so just stood in the kitchen, thinking. What the hell. He began checking the cabinets to see if he could find something alcoholic. His parents weren't here. Jeremy was asleep. Whatever.

Asher jumped a little bit when he heard Brooke call to him, and glanced behind him only to see her walking away. "Wait," he said, but she was heading outside. He turned and walked after her, figuring that what the hell, she seemed cool, and she probably wouldn't snitch to any of the other people who actually gave a fuck if they drank or not. He stepped across the room, noticing that it was dark out, and, opening the door, noticing that it was fucking cold. It hadn't snowed quite yet, but he was worried it would. He zipped up his leather jacket, hoping that it would protect him from most of the cold. He sat down on the bench next to Brooke, shifting uncomfortably because the wood felt goddamn cold on his ass.

Once Brooke had finished with her own sip, he took her from her, and took a large gulp. It tasted like ass. He did his best to swallow without gagging-- this wasn't something humans were supposed to drink, probably. But it got you really drunk, so like, whatever. He was already sort of feeling it, actually, but he was pretty sure that was the placebo effect. He hadn't drank that much before. He grabbed the packet of cigarettes from his pocket. He'd been trying to ration them, although occasional late-night cravings had resulted in them being wasted. He took one out for himself, handed one to Brooke, and lit them both. It took a couple of tries to get the lighter to click on-- it must be running low on fluid. He may have to steal another. He took a drag of it, and blew out smoke. It looked nice in the porch light. He looked over to Brooke. Okay. Be cool. He was used to feeling out of his league, because of the sort of people he hung out with at school. "Think it might snow?" he asked, glancing at the sky.

Oh, yeah, Christmas. He'd been worried about it before this whole thing happened. He was trying to think of how he could convince his dad's conservative side of the family not to keep calling him by his dead name-- he was considering pretending that no, no, she died, he was her long lost twin brother. Of course, they already knew of him, it wouldn't have worked, but he was seriously considering it. Now that seemed superficial. While he'd not want to talk to anyone there, he'd give a lot in order to be in a warm house with lots of food and the knowledge that soon he'd be back with his mom, driving back. She'd make fun of his uncle, who always talked too much about politics and got into fights with his kid, and they'd have inside jokes for weeks. He missed her, but every time he'd tried to contact her, trying to see if phones still worked, she never answered. Always went straight to voicemail. And she was too far away. He took a big gulp of of the drink, the right way this time, and leaned against Brooke as she leaned on him.

"I used to live near the city, with my mom." He paused. He was about to go off on a tangent. "Y'know, it wasn't a pretty suburban cul-de-sac, but it was nice. She got me nice things." He sighed, looking off into the woods. He was glad he brought his gun-- it made him less nervous about being outside. "The school was massive. Big ol' city school. We had police 'n shit. One time," he laughed, remembering something. "One time, my buddy Jack--" He stopped when he realized Brooke had said something. He took the bottle from her hands once again, glancing down at her. "Who's Todd? Are you okay?" She looked like she was going to cry.

Asher watched her as she spoke, slowly coming to a realization when she first mentioned she had a son. He wasn't here. She was upset. Oh. He continued to listen, but he put an arm over her, thinking that she probably needed a hug. He wasn't sure what it was about him, apparently, that made it so he could be trusted with people's secrets and dark thoughts, but hey, he was okay with it. If it helped them, he was okay with it. He felt anger when he found out what happened to him. An ache in his chest, his heart beating faster, fist clenching. If they encountered this guy, which they probably wouldn't, Asher'd kick his ass. He hoped he got bitten by a zombie and died slowly. But being mad about it probably wouldn't be helpful. Of course he was angry. But he didn't know what to say. He'd never dealt with... anything like this before.

He squeezed her real quick, in a way that was hopefully comforting and not weird. "Hey, it's okay," he muttered, then paused. "Well, it's not okay. What he did wasn't fucking okay. And if you aren't okay, that... that makes sense. That's really fucked up, shit..." He pushed his hair back from his face, staring down at the ground. Thinking what he could possibly say to that. "It'll... I bet it'll get better, though. I mean..." he laughed, bitterly. "It's p-pretty bad. Everything's pretty bad. But... there'll be happy moments. Good things will happen." He shrugged, feeling like it was a little weird for him to be so optimistic. He had to distract her. Change the subject. What the fuck could he talk about?

He was feeling kinda stupid, kinda like getting this whole thing out there. He unzipped his jacket. "Hey, lemme show you my secret scar...s." He lifted up his shirt from the hem like he was flashing someone, showing off the two crescent moon shaped scars on his chest. They were still kinda red, not totally healed-- it'd only been a month or two. He put his shirt back down, because it was cold, and also he was kind of self-conscious that he still didn't have much muscle definition, even though he tried to work out. "I had surgery a coupla months ago, to get a weight off my chest." That was a really funny joke. He'd made it to literally anyone who knew. "I haven't really... told anyone else yet. And, I mean, it'd not anywhere near what happened to you. But I guess s'long as we're sharing secrets..." He shrugged, with a sideways smile, feeling a little nervous, actually. Maybe it was a stupid idea, actually. But they would have to find out eventually. He doubted it could stay a secret with his actual surgeon here.

Cool, that went well. Asher had panicked for a moment there, realizing he wasn't sure what he was getting himself into, that he wasn't sure if Brooke was as chill as he assumed she was. But, when she hugged him, he realized with relief that it was alright. He wasn't going to be kicked out into the cold. He hugged her a little tighter, relieved, and then leaned back when she let go, not wanting to be too clingy or whatever. He wrapped his arms around himself, both self-conscious and cold. He sort of felt embarrassed when Brooke said she was proud. She didn't have to be. It was just who he was, or something deep like that.

"I don't have any tattoos," he said, looking at hers. "Mom said she'd only let me get one drastic, visible body modification. I tried to ask her for a little one, but she didn't like that either." He laughed a little. "Th-that's kinda sick though. I was never really great at school, either..." His mom hated that he got only sort-of-okay grades, not the A's and B's she expected of him. He wished he could've gotten better before everything went to shit. He didn't know if he'd ever be able to get good grades-- if there wasn't a school, what was he supposed to do?

Had to distract themselves. They had to distract themselves. Asher turned to Brooke, and offered a half-smile. "You wanna play truth or dare or some shit?" Wait, he was like, way younger. Maybe she'd think that was kinda immature. It sort of was. "I mean, we already did a coupla truths..."

Asher thought for a moment. "Dare. Fuckin' dare me to do something." He leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on a table in front of them. His boots were untied, he remembered, because they took too much goddamn time to tie, so he'd just shoved them on. He glanced around the yard in the dark, not seeing any movement, but his vision was getting kind of fucky because of the alcohol so whatever. The shed was over in the corner, and it reminded him to wonder about Jeremy, if he was okay. Fuck... he hoped everyone was going to be okay. He felt a weird wave of affection for them. The little ragtag bunch. Just a load of kids, trying to not die.

"...hey, Brooke," he said, suddenly. "N-not sure if I ever thanked you for that sick shit you pulled before, with the whole... finding doctors and supplies and shit. But thanks." He grinned at her. "I... I got scared when you were gone, like, I was worried you'd just left, but... but i didn' think you would. So, thanks for not bein' the kinda person to jump ship which shit hits the fan." He knew that there were other people who wouldn't be as helpful, who wouldn't have brought the medical supplies back. Brooke wasn't one of them.

"I accept your dare!" he said, pointing at her dramatically. He realized his words were getting kinda slurred. Also, when he stood up to follow Brooke, the ground suddenly shifted like when he would climb hills in the woods and he'd step on an unstable rock. He grabbed the railing, feeling suddenly sick, and he had to take a second to adjust to standing up. Jeez, okay, yeah, he was a little tipsy. He took a second to enjoy the feeling of dizziness, like when he was little and he'd spin around a bunch in an office chair. He watched Brooke come back, leaning on the railing around the porch. He wanted another cigarette. Maybe in a minute. As Brooke came back, he realized something.

"I don' even know how to do a body shot." He laughed, finding the concept kind of funny. He had an idea of what it was but, like, he'd never attempted one. He noticed the bottle of vodka, heard her instructions, and felt a little sick. His stomach wasn't a big fan of more alcohol, but what the hell. It didn't matter. Whatever he did, it wasn't going to matter in the end, especially now. If he wrecked his liver, what would happen? Some people would be slightly sadder than they already are? That was fucking nothing. "Shit, I've got drunk 'n all, but like... not at some... sexy party. I'm a fuckin' loser, y'know? Fuckin' disgrace on my family." He laughed, loud enough to surprise himself.

Asher laughed at just the concept. What a fucking stupid way to get drunk. He was sure that some teenagers came up with it. He hadn't tasted vodka before, and he wondered what it was like. Probably fucking gross. It smelled like it was going to be gross. He knelt down next to her. "Too bad I'm gay. Think I can get Jeremy to do this?" He laughed at himself. Like hell he would do anything like that. He realized that he just revealed like, two more things about himself, but if he couldn't overshare when he was drunk, when could he overshare. He slurped the liquid, and gagged a little. Bad stuff. Real unpleasant. He drank it up anyway, and grabbed the lime in his mouth before getting to his feet. He gave two thumbs up, preferring the way the lime tasted to the way the alcohol did.

He took the lime out of his mouth, stumbling slightly, and put a cigarette in there instead, lighting it quickly. Again, low on fluid. He had to raid a convenience store. "A-alright, it's your turn." He tossed the lime off into the bushes, where the bottle was. Hey, they shouldn't leave that there, probably. That was littering. He wasn't sure where it was, though, so whatever. "Truth, or dare?" He took a drag of the cigarette, and blew out smoke, but like in a cool way. Real cool.

Asher reached his hand out when she took the cigarette from his mouth, and rolled his eyes at what she said to him. He accepted it back, leaning back onto the railing. "Think the zombies'll get to me first. If I get lung cancer I've done good." He laughed, and then thought about a good truth. He chewed his lower lip, holding his cigarette, staring up at the roof of the porch. Then, he got something. He laughed a little, and then asked, "Where's the weirdest place you've taken a piss?" He felt that was a good question. Had to lighten the mood somehow.