ArchivedLogs:Home Again
| Home Again | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2015-05-31 "He's got the world. I got /him/." |
| Location
<???> | |
The days are starting to blend, since returning from the future. They did return, didn't they? There's been heat and there's been rain and there's been heat again but there's been no robots -- (no cars, either; no buildings, no city, no people -- out here the lack of robots probably isn't much indication.) He packed for this. Somewhere in the back of their minds there's a memory -- plenty enough supplies. Food. Sturdy gear. But right now rain is splashing down onto his head, trickling down the back of his neck, soaked through all his clothes. Right now there's a empty hollow gnawing deep in his stomach and a feeling that somewhere along the way -- << This, >> a familiar voice cuts in, whipcrack-sharp, dry and unamused, << is not how this was supposed to go. >> Their eyes should open here. They try (he tries) but instead there's just a flutter, a sinking, a -- *crack* << No robots at home, either. >> Dry, again. Sort of musing. << Scuttled 'em. Remember? Cut the fuck out of their power. >> After a pause: << Just like what's going to happen to us if you don't get up. >> There's another attempt. Another flutter. When their eyes open it's only blur. Grey, bleary, water running down. He feels his hand lift to wipe the rain from his face, though he isn't the one controlling it. The water clears from his vision; enough, at least, to see that he's looking back into a familiar set of eyes. Sort of a familiar set of eyes. Sharp and narrow and more lively-awake than they have been in months, but it's not Hive looking back at him -- << /Hah/. >> This time, the scrubbing of hand against his face is of his own volition. As much as anything can be. His eyes are swimming again -- his /mind/ is swimming again, a storm of other voices churning through it. It takes long (too long, how long? He can't track. The rain has stopped by the time he manages) before he finds his voice in the swarm of millions of others. "... is he still in there?" Hive's body shifts. Tilts its head a little to one side, meeting Flicker's green eyes with his (far TOO awake) ones. << Are /you/? Been days. Didn't think you would be. Didn't think you could be. >> Flicker doesn't answer this. He struggles upright, leans back against a tree. Wraps his arm shakily around his chest, presses it against dripping wet shirt and thunks his head back against the tree trunk. His eyes close again, thoughts drifting back. Off. Away. Into the murk of the other voices (screaming)(crying)(calling) sounding in his mind -- -- tug. Tug-tug-tug-/tug/. There's a sharp yanking pull, dragging him back. Away from the din. Not-quite-Hive's gaze hasn't left his face. Reluctantly, his eyes open again. "... I promised," he answers, finally. Creaky, rough. "He's got the world. I got /him/." Shakily, his hand lifts, knuckle rubbing heavily at the side of his temple, as if they could force out the throbbing noise there. "... will you be able to get home?" A snort sounds from Hive's nose. << Who's to say we've got a home to get to? >> Bony fingers curl around a bony knee. << We'll get out of your head, though. And take our world with. >> "But you'll find him for me. First." Flicker's speech comes slow. A struggle not to just sink back down into the mire. His eyes stay open, with some difficulty, teeth gritting as his gaze focuses on the not-his-Hive inhabiting this body. There's just another small sharp exhale. << If, >> comes back, kind of noncommittal, << he wants to be found. >> | |
