Posts by slimeclown
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Marcel swallowed, feeling anxiety prickle in his throat. It had been...too long since Rhea had left. He had thought maybe she’d come back to gloat or admit to being wrong, but there had been no sign of her. That’s fine. She mae her choice.
He knew, in some distant way, that he shouldn’t bother worrying for her. That nobody forced her, and that he shouldn’t sacrifice himself in search of someone so willing to be so idiotic. But this wasn’t for Rhea’s sake. Marcel would be lying if he said he hadn’t been aching to leave. It was a secret, one smothered by his more practical thinking, but it was out in the open now and he accepted that this was just something he’d have to come to terms with himself on.
I am leaving. I am doing this for myself.
But first, supplies.
Marcel had a bag with him, nabbed from someone else, big enough to cram in the essentials (he was hoping). He knew he had time before the shipment was to be brought in by the others, but he wasn’t sure how much time. The nervousness that rattled his bones was making it hard to think straight, or even at all. Just go, just get it, and go. Quickly.
Marcel walked over the earth as if he expected a hand to reach up and grab him, jumping when movement flashed in his peripheral vision. He stood still, very deer-in-headlights, before hastening his pace. Ignore it. Bigger things to worry about. Pack up and move.
//beg0ne formatting!
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Dumbstruck was a mild way of phrasing how Marcel felt in that instant. Just as he was moving on from water to preserved food, someone else just...just...
“Hey! Hey, wait!” He cried without thinking, shoveling whatever looked remotely useful into his bag until it was almost too heavy to carry on his back and then racing after the whoever.
This is a bad idea, he thought to himself, plodding after the stranger. What if it’s some deranged killer? But also, what if it was someoe who could help him? Marcel didn’t know the first thing about survival out here. Maybe this person did. Or maybe they’ll kill you!
But the prospect of maybe not kept him in hot pursuit.
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Marcel backed up several paces at the sight of the rats, which had been ignored in his haste to speak with the person until they were no longer ignorable because they were- well, that.
He stammered, breathless, eyes on the rats and then the skull and then Toby’s knife. “I- I’m- I was just...” He moved his backpack into his arms, holding it against his chest as if it would shield him from an attack.
“I’m...My name is Marcel, and I just...left.” He explained, not sure how else to put it. He doubted this stranger wanted all the details about his sister and the climbing tension and his own discontentment. It wasn’t any of their business, anyway.
“Do you live out here? Can you show me...I mean...Could you point me somewhere with...others?” Surely there were others, right? Marcel shifted from foot to foot, glancing around the dim landscape nervously.
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Marcel could hear Toby mumbling something - it was hard to tell with that macabre thing in the way - and wondered, briefly, if it was the right idea to be here, talking with this guy. He’s not hostile. His rats...are, kind of...but he seems fine.
He cleared his throat, nodding his head greatfully. “Seven or eight miles.” Marcel repeated. He tried his best not to look so daunted by that estimate. You knew this wouldn’t be easy. It wasn’t by any means undoable, but it was a big step from what he was used to after the vault. Marcel carded a hand through his hair, lost in thought until the stranger started moving again.
“Hey, uh,” He repositioned the heavy backpack and started after Toby cautiously, not wanting to risk an attack from the rats. “Where are you going, though? And what’s your name?” He wasn’t looking forward to that walk, and besides, how could he not be a little curious about the first person he had met out here?
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Marcel watched Toby with a kind of burgeoning fascination that waa beginning to take over in the wake of his trepidation over coming outside. A deep frown of worry colored his expression when the stranger referred to his equally strange mask as him.
Is that who you’ve been talking to? He didn’t ask it, on the off chance that that was offensive, but he was a tad bit apprehensive, now. He’s not aggressive. Not really friendly either, I guess, but what matters most is that he hasn’t tried to kill you yet. Marcel thought, watching the rats again.
Toby. And uh...Tarmin, Yam, Shoestring, Boris. He listed off, flinching when the little rat hissed at him. “Um. Pleased to meet you...all.” Marcel was glad he wouldn’t be alone, but...It’ll be fine. A little trust goes a long way. He just hoped it would go the right way.
Marcel fell into a tentative silence after that, looking around with saucer-wide eyes. “What are you doing out here?” He asked after a moment, speaking loudly so he could continue to keep his distance from Toby and, more importantly, his rats.
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Marcel watched the sky, the earth, Toby, the rats, all of it, blinking a few times and grappling with some indescribable feeling. He half wanted to cry just to have some way to release it, but no tears would come. It was all just...very overwhelming.
That’s nice of Tarmin. He thought distantly, picking at his clothes. He stopped to stretch, listening to the abundance of cans shift in his straining backpack as he did so. It’ll be enough. It was more than three cans of beans and some water, at least.
“Guess I just wanted to leave one mess for another.” He tried for a lighthearted tone, but hearing the way Toby talked about the outside soured his stomach. He pursed his lips at the other’s question. “I know it’s livable. If you think there’s anything else I should know, by all means, enlighten me.” He wasn’t too fond of receiving judgement from this guy.
You deserve it. The vault was getting worse by the day but at least it was clean and it didn’t have giant, hissing rats or strange boys talking to skulls on their heads. For a split second, he almost wheeled right around and marched himself back home, but Marcel kept following Toby. Nothing in there’s going to get better. They’re all gonna tear each other apart one day. You don’t need to stick around for that.
The thought calmed him somewhat. He wanted to point out how Toby never answered his question, but figured that was done intentionally and didn’t pursue the subject.
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“Why don’t you live in a city then?” He asked. They sounded almost nice. Nicer than out here, anyway. Marcel would’ve thought that anyone’s first goal would be to live around others. After what happened, they needed community. Look how well community’s turning out for your vault. Alright. Point taken. He wondered if there was as much dissent in the cities and prayed that that wasn’t the case.
He bit back a dubious noise. You think you saw it. Toby was a godsend thus far, but he talked to a skull and made company with a pack of rats, so Marcel wasn’t sure how to think of that claim. He decided - generously, in his own opinion - that it was a great big MAYBE.
“Uh, yeah. It’s at the bottom of my bag.” It had been one of the first things shoved in there once he finally worked up the nerve to get out. It’d be a pain to tug it free of all the food that was in there, but it was in there. “Are we stopping soon?” He asked, fighring that that might’ve been what prompted Toby to ask about the blanket. Marcel seemed to have been beyond the bitterness shown earlier already, more focused on understanding how to live out here than holding grudges. Survival came first.
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Every silence felt like a yawning void where that indescribable, overwhelming feeling could slip back in. This is it. This is life now. My life now. Marcel took a deep breath, blinking fast a few times. He could handle it. He was an optimist in that way.
“If it’s easier to travel at night, then we should keep going.” He didn’t want to be responsible for slowing them down, tired legs or no. Marcel already felt as though he had sometime to prove. Surviving in a post-apocalyptic hellscape was hardly a competition, but that wouldn’t stop him from treating it like one.
He made a mental note to wrestle the blanket up to the top of the bag for easy access later on and before another unsettling silence could slip between them, Marcel cleared his throat. “Thank you. For, um, this. I don’t mean to be a bother, and, I’m glad to have help out here.” It felt only right to try and foster a good relationship with Toby. It’d be his first one outside the vault, and connections were important.
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The offer to stop again came up and this time Marcel relented. His bag was heavy and his feet kept getting stuck in the sand and so far he felt pretty awful. You’ll get used to it. He did. Toby was also dirty and a bit strange, but who was counting out here?
He stopped finally at the top of the dune, setting his bag down and sitting with a heavy sigh, following Toby with his gaze when the other beckoned him to watch something.
Marcel couldn’t help but laugh at the sight if Toby sliding down. It just seemed so bizarre out here that one might still find ways to have fun like that. The difference between survival and living, I guess. He made his way down soon after, though not in the same fashion. Marcel didn’t want sand in his clothes. He staggered gracelessly down, holding the backpack close to him and slipping it onto his back once he was at the bottom with Toby. Marcel paused to shake himself clean, keeping a number of complaints about the desert landscape to himself. “Deal. Show me.” This sounded very important, so Marcel was all ears.
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Marcel seated himself near Toby, legs crossed and elbows pressed into the sides of his knees so he could cradle his face in his hands. It was only now that he truly realized how tired he was, even from such a short walk. Marcel burned from the embarrassment. You’ll get better.
He fished around in his bag, finding a corner of the blanket he had tucked away and pulling it free. Cans thunked against one another as it was brought out, and he held it around himself protectively. It was a small comfort out here.
“Careful.” Marcel frowned, witnessing Toby nick himself. “Do you want something for that? I think I grabbed some bandages.” He offered. It didn’t seem like a very serious wound, but he felt compelled to extend the courtesy, anyway. It was, he decided, the least he could do, so he got ready to go find the pack of bandages while Toby demonstrated how to cut into a cactus.
Marcel knew how cacti worked, but had he ever needed to extract the water from one himself, he feared he might end up wasting most of it. Toby’s work looked practiced and efficient, and he could appreciate that. Good to know the best way. He rubbed one cheek, at a loss for what to say. Thank him again? That’d be weird.
“That’s, uh, a good amount of juice.” Marcel observed lamely, scratching the back of his neck and watching the cactus bleed into the pot. He wasn’t actually sure what the average liquid yield was for a cactus, and he was positive that he had just said something stupid, but he wanted to talk.
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