Red Anuscon (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
scubatankfilledwithfarts) wrote2015-10-29 02:46 am
scubatankfilledwithfarts) wrote2015-10-29 02:46 am
Entry tags:
Maybe I should've started with that.
Go deep, deep into the horizon until the poison water won't allow you to go any further, until it laps at your toes and tries to draw you in. He rarely ventures out for fun, so he's definitely there...it just depends on how much of a dickhead he's decided to be...otherwise you could be waiting out there for days.
Badou does not have days to wait for the creature to cave, because Pip does not have days. His breath is labored, causes his chest to go concave with every shallow wheeze, and even his braid seems to shrink in on itself, as if ready to sink into the earth [back to dust, we all become the salt in the end]. The trinkets he tied there, bird feathers and beads, are a rusty, rusty red and smears of brown come away when Badou checks a piece of stringy hair away from the other's mouth. His breathing isn't getting any easier, any quieter, and oh, how Badou longs for that stupid mouth to yammer away until his ears ring.
[because if there is only enough of him to draw breath, and not words over and over, stupid words that drive Badou mad, mad, mad, what is he supposed to do then?]
["You keep moving" is what he would say, and get a kick in the face for it, too]
Pip isn't worth anything dead, he tells himself, so he waits. And then he prays, to anyone who might be listening, curses anyone who dutifully isn't.
And then the next night, in a flurry of inky blackness thicker than the stretch of sand before them, comes a veil of eyes. Eyes upon eyes, all roving and twitching and crimson, blinking at him and somehow, Badou thinks they're hungry.
[It isn't only the chill of the desert and the warmth dissipating from Pip's body that sends a shiver up his spine, and he'll never, ever tell anyone how he turned and nuzzled his cheek into his shitty guardian's]
"So the Whelp had a whelp. Humanity's need to crawl and breed never ceases to amuse....you take provisions out of each other's mouths and fight like dogs, kill each other for the thrill of it--"
Summoning the last remaining, rusted scrap of steel in his spine, Badou sits up ramrod straight, holds up a palm and snarls [teeth curled back to clash against the ones he can see perfectly spread across the creature's mouth];
"Look, man, I don't got all day, and neither does he. So if you could just hurry it up with the speech, we'd all appreciate it." By some mode of Gods or most likely the glimmer of the moon above, its rays giving power to the teen, his voice is as steely as their scalped out vehicle.
Crimson eyes narrow, the creepy smile never wavers, [is that drool!? Mother of fuck--] and suddenly the giant of a man looms over Badou, one long limb reaching out for him.
Of course he flinches away-- who wouldn't? His single eye doesn't catch the way the man's arms seem to slither, how they seem longer than any human possible-- not until gloved fingers tug at a strand of his hair, hard.
"I could snuff out your flame as quickly as the salt renders your kind helpless, choked," the creature muses, head tilted to one side so inky black hair flames those beady eyes, like it's supposed to be charming, like he's supposed to be human.
[Badou will realize, much, much later, when his heart finally settles to the beat a normal human should uphold when wanting to live, that wasn't what he wanted at all]
There's a hum in the air that nearly has the teen swaying, that makes him want to sink, sink, and sleep for a long, long time--
"But it would be a shame. To end it there, when you already have such an interesting hole there, in your soul...in the shape of someone else," comes the purr, where it snakes and curls into Badou's ears, and, and and--
[and there's blood in his eye, in his eye, in his eye and he can't see and he's gone, gone, Badou can't hear his voice anymore--]
The teen shakes himself out of it quickly enough to slap the gloved digit away, chest puffed up to make himself look bigger in the face of bigger prey, like a good little predator.
"Like I said, nobody's got time for this. It ain't your business, not even to watch like some creepy ass voyeur--"
As if Badou hadn't said a word, the man-creature continues: "Blood begets blood out here. You know that as well as any dog and mongrel....and so blood returned." His jaws open wide, into an abyss Badou is going to be intimate with in about two seconds should he choose.
He glances down at the pale pallor of Pip's face, up at the shows that scatter across the night sky.
"Bite me, bitch."
[there's blood in his eye, his eye, his eye, and then the sky goes blacker still, oh wait, no that's his-]
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
The tires aren't going to hold out if the shit keeps driving over these rocks. It jars them, shakes them like the earth's yawning, caving in to take them down, down, down-- and Pip keeps cracking his forehead against the window.
He snuffles and sniffs, blinks away the dust and the blackness of unconsciousness, winces when a particular wound aches. It aches as if its partially healed, on the mend for days and days.
"Bout time. Glad you weren't expectin' a kiss, sleepin' beauty, cause your breath smells like the ass of Immortan Joe himself."
Pip takes stock of, well, the stock. He's still in one piece. The kid decidedly keeps his eye on the road, something he didn't teach him after all this time. And the sun has dipped low over the horizon.
[he wants to ask the fuck did you do, and snarl it wasn't worth it you stupid little fuck, to live another day you shoulda just moved on-- mutter thanks, for this old worn dog.]
"Seein' as you were cuddling my ass pretty tight the other night, you know a lot bout your research. I'll leave you to it," he says through cracked lips, lets his tongue poke out to nudge a cut that tastes of salt and life's blood.
[Ah, he'll corner him later. Noogie the hell out of him until he's screaming, until he can't escape-- and then squeeze him until they can both stop thinking about the almosts]
Mere seconds before the big screaming fit of teenage boy, in the moments it takes for him to inhale, Pip leans over and drapes an arm around the driver's seat headrest, until his arm brushes rusty red.
Badou does not have days to wait for the creature to cave, because Pip does not have days. His breath is labored, causes his chest to go concave with every shallow wheeze, and even his braid seems to shrink in on itself, as if ready to sink into the earth [back to dust, we all become the salt in the end]. The trinkets he tied there, bird feathers and beads, are a rusty, rusty red and smears of brown come away when Badou checks a piece of stringy hair away from the other's mouth. His breathing isn't getting any easier, any quieter, and oh, how Badou longs for that stupid mouth to yammer away until his ears ring.
[because if there is only enough of him to draw breath, and not words over and over, stupid words that drive Badou mad, mad, mad, what is he supposed to do then?]
["You keep moving" is what he would say, and get a kick in the face for it, too]
Pip isn't worth anything dead, he tells himself, so he waits. And then he prays, to anyone who might be listening, curses anyone who dutifully isn't.
And then the next night, in a flurry of inky blackness thicker than the stretch of sand before them, comes a veil of eyes. Eyes upon eyes, all roving and twitching and crimson, blinking at him and somehow, Badou thinks they're hungry.
[It isn't only the chill of the desert and the warmth dissipating from Pip's body that sends a shiver up his spine, and he'll never, ever tell anyone how he turned and nuzzled his cheek into his shitty guardian's]
"So the Whelp had a whelp. Humanity's need to crawl and breed never ceases to amuse....you take provisions out of each other's mouths and fight like dogs, kill each other for the thrill of it--"
Summoning the last remaining, rusted scrap of steel in his spine, Badou sits up ramrod straight, holds up a palm and snarls [teeth curled back to clash against the ones he can see perfectly spread across the creature's mouth];
"Look, man, I don't got all day, and neither does he. So if you could just hurry it up with the speech, we'd all appreciate it." By some mode of Gods or most likely the glimmer of the moon above, its rays giving power to the teen, his voice is as steely as their scalped out vehicle.
Crimson eyes narrow, the creepy smile never wavers, [is that drool!? Mother of fuck--] and suddenly the giant of a man looms over Badou, one long limb reaching out for him.
Of course he flinches away-- who wouldn't? His single eye doesn't catch the way the man's arms seem to slither, how they seem longer than any human possible-- not until gloved fingers tug at a strand of his hair, hard.
"I could snuff out your flame as quickly as the salt renders your kind helpless, choked," the creature muses, head tilted to one side so inky black hair flames those beady eyes, like it's supposed to be charming, like he's supposed to be human.
[Badou will realize, much, much later, when his heart finally settles to the beat a normal human should uphold when wanting to live, that wasn't what he wanted at all]
There's a hum in the air that nearly has the teen swaying, that makes him want to sink, sink, and sleep for a long, long time--
"But it would be a shame. To end it there, when you already have such an interesting hole there, in your soul...in the shape of someone else," comes the purr, where it snakes and curls into Badou's ears, and, and and--
[and there's blood in his eye, in his eye, in his eye and he can't see and he's gone, gone, Badou can't hear his voice anymore--]
The teen shakes himself out of it quickly enough to slap the gloved digit away, chest puffed up to make himself look bigger in the face of bigger prey, like a good little predator.
"Like I said, nobody's got time for this. It ain't your business, not even to watch like some creepy ass voyeur--"
As if Badou hadn't said a word, the man-creature continues: "Blood begets blood out here. You know that as well as any dog and mongrel....and so blood returned." His jaws open wide, into an abyss Badou is going to be intimate with in about two seconds should he choose.
He glances down at the pale pallor of Pip's face, up at the shows that scatter across the night sky.
"Bite me, bitch."
[there's blood in his eye, his eye, his eye, and then the sky goes blacker still, oh wait, no that's his-]
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
The tires aren't going to hold out if the shit keeps driving over these rocks. It jars them, shakes them like the earth's yawning, caving in to take them down, down, down-- and Pip keeps cracking his forehead against the window.
He snuffles and sniffs, blinks away the dust and the blackness of unconsciousness, winces when a particular wound aches. It aches as if its partially healed, on the mend for days and days.
"Bout time. Glad you weren't expectin' a kiss, sleepin' beauty, cause your breath smells like the ass of Immortan Joe himself."
Pip takes stock of, well, the stock. He's still in one piece. The kid decidedly keeps his eye on the road, something he didn't teach him after all this time. And the sun has dipped low over the horizon.
[he wants to ask the fuck did you do, and snarl it wasn't worth it you stupid little fuck, to live another day you shoulda just moved on-- mutter thanks, for this old worn dog.]
"Seein' as you were cuddling my ass pretty tight the other night, you know a lot bout your research. I'll leave you to it," he says through cracked lips, lets his tongue poke out to nudge a cut that tastes of salt and life's blood.
[Ah, he'll corner him later. Noogie the hell out of him until he's screaming, until he can't escape-- and then squeeze him until they can both stop thinking about the almosts]
Mere seconds before the big screaming fit of teenage boy, in the moments it takes for him to inhale, Pip leans over and drapes an arm around the driver's seat headrest, until his arm brushes rusty red.