It's been a long time since Crowley had seen proper civilization, and since Blue and him had decided to stay in the area and scope it out, it only made sense for the young man to wander off on his own to check out what else lay situated near the massive walls of Stronghold. It was surprising when Crowley found an entire town nearby, rather large in size with winding streets through both residential as well as commercial neighborhoods — or, well, what used to be those areas. Now it just lay deserted and empty, with the occasional growl from an Infected that lurked nearby.
Being an Infected himself, Crowley had learned not long after his transition that it meant he was relatively safe from other Infected. They wouldn't actively hunt him, and there was no reason for them to attack him if he didn't present as a threat. Still, there was a sense of discomfort at knowing they were lurking nearby — considering he had been one of them not long ago. Crowley squeezes his eyes shut and presses the palm of his hand against his forehead, shaking his head a bit to try and get rid of the thoughts that threatened to creep up and overwhelm him. No, no, no, he wasn't going to let himself go there. He didn't want to remember what kind of monster lurked just beneath the surface of his skin.
Letting out a sigh, Crowley continues on walking down the sidewalk of what used to be the main street of the town. He has only a few supplies in the small backpack on his back; he left the rest of his stuff with Blue before he had left. It allows him to travel light and fast, which was a blessing as the sun beat down on him from where it sat high in the sky — unforgiving with its heat. Crowley wipes some sweat from his brow before he decides to dart inside the store closest to him, hoping the shade would help. It was only marginally cooler inside the store.
Grumbling in discontent, Crowley practically melts into the floor as he hopes maybe the dirty linoleum would be cooler, but something catches his eye instead. A fluffy cat plushie sits on one of the store's displays, still in its box. Dirty as it was, he can still see small flecks of glitter on the cat's fur. Oh, maybe Blue would like that? he thinks absentmindedly as he pulls himself to his feet once more and approaches the display. A hand reaches out to pull the plushie off the shelf, and he coughs as dust immediately explodes from the toy. Hacking and coughing, he accidentally squeezes his hand tighter around the toy and—
"PLAY WITH ME! PLAY WITH ME!"
The toy starts screaming at him and moving — how in the hell its batteries still worked he had no idea, but Crowley immediately starts to panic.
"Oh, shi—! Shhh, shhhh! Shut up!" he tries begging the toy at first — because that definitely would work — before he realizes it was futile and, in a desperate attempt to rid himself of the thing that was currently giving away his position, he chucks it full force to the other side of the store. It slams into the wall and slumps to the ground, and the cat plushie gives one last twitch before it falls silent. The young man stares at the toy with wide eyes, hoping he 'killed' it before it aggravated any nearby Infected.
Normally, the temperature would be bearable up here. Bearable, in the sense that Ares could scavenge with a shirt on his back, the only sweat elicited from physical exertion. However, the heat was evident and persistent today, to the point where, when Ares looked up, visible undulations in the air marred the horizon.
The young man wiped his sweating brow with his forehead and downed half of his canteen in a single gulp. The heat waves had come as a surprise to Ares. Just that dawn, it had promised a cool day, condensation collecting in shimmering dew drops on green grass. Worst than his compromised ability to focus was the fact that the Infected cared naught for the angry white sun above.
Thankfully, the Town was rife with shaded spots to hide. His shirt was tied over his waist and his torso was exposed, the fine, sinewy lines of his shoulders and chest glistening with sweat. He maneuvered himself over a heap of rusted metal, barely identifiable as a car, before his eyes locked with a potential target- a small shop, nestled between two brick buildings.
Ares entered, both hands gripping his pistol. The confines of the two-story building were tight, though remarkably, uninhabited. The youth found a suitable spot on the second floor, sitting against a metal desk and resting his sweat-soaked head back on the desk wall.
It was a couple of minutes of solitude before a shrill, soprano voice split the air.
Play with me, play with me!
The smart thing to do would have been to run, maybe break a window and leap out onto the building beside it. If the person eliciting the noise did not kill him, the Infected nearby surely would have. But Ares was Ares, and curiosity pricked his interest, far more than caution reigned his survival instincts.
Reaction bade him to pick up the pistol resting beside him. Slowly, carefully, he got up to his feet. The second floor was molded tile and dusted carpet, making it easy to muffle his steps, as he descended down to the ground floor. The hallway leading to the main shop space was empty, though the door that divided the two was open, unlike when the looter first entered.
Ares approached, feet moving feline-like, one over the other. He pressed himself against one wall of the hallway before peering into the counterspace and display area.
He figured the source of the noise may have been a lower-level Infected- no Military personnel, drifter or looted would be errant enough to make such a mistake. His eyes drifted to wear the offending toy lay, bathed in sunlight like it were being praised by some mischievous God.
But that was not what drew his eye. No, it was the person standing, with his back at Ares' direction, and staring, frozen in place. A person, because their posture was straight and human Ares breathed out, his immediate reaction relief that it were not one of the Infected. Then, alarm, as the next, eerily silent seconds played out, marred only by the pounding of his heart in his ears.
There was not the telltale sign of an alerted Infected- none of that primal slobbering, inhuman clambering on walls or street. But Ares would not wait until it occurred. Nor would he leave the other here, gazing blankly at the stupid plushie.
"Psst. Pssssst," Ares poked his head out from behind the wall, green gaze on the other, body still poised defensively. "That's a cool toy and all, sir, but we gotta go. 'less you wanna be a sitting snack."
Crowley continues to stand there like a deer in headlights, acutely aware of the beating of his own heart — that stupid thing sure gave him a fright. When it was sitting there, he wasn't exactly expecting it to suddenly spring to life like that. Being so focused on the toy laying on the ground, he didn't even hear another person approach until the man whispered at him to get his attention. Crowley just about jumps at the sudden sound, and it takes him a moment or two to react. It's just long enough for the stranger to warn him that they were sitting ducks where they were, and Crowley finally turns around in the direction the voice came from.
"I don't think that's a prob— Woah!" he spots the gun, first and foremost, and instinctively reacts by putting both of his hands up the air. Probably looked more comical than anything.
Still, it's been a hot minute since he's encountered someone that was brandishing a weapon. Last time was probably when he was still a lowly mutated Infected, and at that point there wasn't such a thing as fear in his body anymore. But now... Crowley swallows as he glances down at the gun, before slowly lifting his blue gaze back towards the man's face — of course noticing the half dressed state of the man on the way up, and oh. Crowley liked to think he was good at reading people and while he didn't sense any ill-intent from the stranger, he still kept himself on alert.
It didn't help that the longer they stood there staring at one another, the more conscious he became of the human's beating heart — of the blood rushing just beneath his skin. Crow swallows nervously, hiding his thoughts by nervously rubbing the back of his neck with a hand, eyes falling away from the stranger — hoping it wasn't a mistake that would earn him a bullet in his chest.
"Er, haha, sorry for my reaction. It's been a while since I've seen someone else—" besides Blue of course, but he wasn't about to give away the fact he was here with someone else until he knew whether or not the stranger was friendly, "so you caught me a little off guard." The words from the other man suddenly caught up with Crowley and he glances around, as if looking to see whether or not any Infected had begun approaching them — it was fake though, considering he had a much better chance of hearing or even smelling them approach.
"You're right of course, that sound probably caught someone's attention! We should go... You won't shoot me, right?" he asks hesitantly with a nervous laugh, trying to keep the situation light.
The other was jumpy. Jumpy enough to make any trained soldier or veteran scavenger notice. But Ares was, subsequently, Ares and his eyes followed the stranger's gaze until it landed on the pistol, still wrapped in both his hands. They widened, as if he had just noticed he was wielding a gun.
"Oh, uh, sorry about that! Just wasn't sure if you were, y'know-" Ares lowered the gun and crooked the fingers of his other, raised hand. A grimace stretched across his lips, crinkled his eyes, his teeth flashing in the store's dusky light as he made a drawn out grrrrr sound, badly mimicking one of the Infected.
The raider returned the light-hearted mood, already feeling deceptively at-ease with the other, and the corner of his mouth perked in an involuntary smirk. "Not unless you pick up that toy again. I-"
A bang rang out in the dusty confines of the store. Ares' arms jerked up instinctively, gun held out in the same position as before, raised and poised ahead (though not aimed at the stranger this time), moss green eyes darting from one wall of the store to the other, to the windows broken in jagged, triangular edges.
"We should secure the perimeter," Ares said, a hint of authority in his voice, if only because that was a phrase Ettiene commanded constantly. "Check to see if that shitty kitty has drawn any of the Infected."
Ares looked back at the stranger, canting his chin forward as he asked, "Do you have a weapon? Tag : Crowley Wilde
The young drifter laughs nervously when the stranger imitates an Infected, commenting about how he only had the gun on him in case Crowley was one of them. While he appreciates the other man lowering his gun away from him, there's a stab of guilt that he feels deep in his soul — probably because he is one of those grrrr creatures that the other man was so concerned about. But at least that's not a topic that they linger on for very long, the mood lightening as the stranger tries to throw a joke in his direction — only to suddenly go on edge once again as a bang rings out in the deserted store.
Crowley flinches — although it isn't immediately obvious if it was from the sound or seeing that gun aim upwards once more — and he finally moves from where he was standing like a deer in headlights. He approaches the other man with a worried glance thrown over his shoulder. He's not worried about any Infected that might be lingering nearby, even if he knows that he should pretend to be. His blue eyes turn back towards the other as he talks about securing the perimeter and checking for Infected, and for a moment the young drifter feels his heart pick up in panic.
The gun, the way he spoke and reacted—
Shit, Crowley just ran into a Military officer, didn't he? Then again, he didn't see any Military garb on the other man, and he was certain they loved to make themselves known to others. His attention snaps back up to the stranger's face as he suddenly questions whether or not Crowley had a gun and he simply... Blinks.
Oh, right. That was a thing people had, wasn't it? He remembered getting shot at often as an Infected, and it only made sense that people that had to live on their own would carry firearms to protect themselves. It was something Blue and him had neglected to look for considering there... Wasn't much out here that could actually threaten them. He realizes now what a big mistake that was for them.
"Uh..." he rubs the back of his neck hesitantly, a goofy grin on his face as he tilts his head slightly, "no?" It's not a question, even if he phrases it at one. "I mean, I do, I just left it back at my camp. Haha, yup, I definitely have one, just not on me." He's backpedaling now, trying not to seem too suspicious. Unfortunately for Crowley, it's not like he was exactly used to lying anymore. He spent most of his time with his best friend, and they didn't have any reason to lie to one another.
"We should maybe just go? I don't think there's any Infected nearby, but no reason to hang around long enough to find out," he urges, trying to shift the conversation away from the fact he didn't have a gun.
Suspicion was written in the brow Ares arched at the stranger. "You.. didn't bring a gun?" He thought himself impulsive and careless but even he never forgot to bring a weapon when he ventured outside the Junkyard's gates. That was, like, adventuring 101!
Still, Ares thoughts drifted towards an unfortunate accident rather than to any deeper, purposeful intent. Ares shook his head. "Can't argue with that. Come, let's go through the back door." He then lifted his gun again in one dramatic flair, poised between two hands, eyes drawn intently forward as if a single step could draw the attention of the Infected. For, he was the one with a weapon, and the man behind him was defenseless and helpless. One foot, placed carefully after the other, gun poised with straight arms and swiveled toward any sound. There were two and none of them bespoke the menacing growl of an Infected. In comparison, his friend looked far more nonchalant than the young looter, who was half-determined to make a show of just how "skilled" he was to the other.
Confidence in their safety, and his awesomeness, blossomed as a rush of heat greeted them at the back entrance of the shop. Ares stepped out, boots crunching on the weed-ladened gravel beneath him. He glanced over his shoulder at the stranger, though he hardly relaxed.
"Stick close to me and stay alert. Biters love to just sneak up on you." Uneasy memories flashed in his head of the embarrassingly dozens of times it had happened to him. Shaking the thoughts out, Ares continued forward, quickly this time, darting between long shadows and behind walls. Unfortunately, in his shirtless state and his intense focus on detecting Infected (and impressing the other with his super badass moves, he only just realized something warm drip down his cool, sweat-drenched arm.
Ares canted his head down to see a perfectly horizontal wound on his bicep, blood welling up and dripping down from the cut in curtains. The sharp pain only just realized itself. Though not an intense hurt, it was grizzly enough to make Ares stop and grimace at it.
Suspicion. It's written across the stranger's face and audible in his question. It makes Crowley instantly panic inside as he realizes what a mistake he made, even if he's unaware at the moment that most people didn't yet know about Level V Infected. Thankfully, the conversation moves on quickly as the man agrees to Crowley's suggestion to move on, and the Infected lets out a soft sigh of relief that he didn't realize he'd been holding onto. He can't help the way he flinches again when the other lifts his firearm once more, even if it's clear this time that it wasn't meant to be done as a threat to him. It's almost... Instinctual.
Crowley can practically feel the distance between them.
Blue eyes make a quick scan of the area, even if his hearing alerts him to the fact there aren't currently any other Infected in their vicinity, but follows along behind the stranger anyway. He sees the way the man carries himself — sure of himself, yet still stealthy for caution — and Crowley follows suit. In the stealth department, at least.
If the man was trying to impress him with the way he moves so stealthily through the area with barely a sound, then it was certainly working. Crowley noticed it at least; he was more used to the guns blazing type of human. Still, as he falls in line with the other man, something begins to prick at the back of his head. Something that was warning him there was danger afoot, even if he momentarily passes it off as just the change in temperature screwing with him as they step outside the building. His eyes squint at the sun and he takes a couple seconds more to get used to the brightness again, his Infected vision screaming at the uncomfortableness of being exposed to such bright light. Definitely one of the things he hated about being an Infected. One of many.
"Yeah, definitely..." Crowley mumbles, almost as if in a daze when his vision focuses again on the strong, muscular back of the young man in front of him. It's a strange feeling as he slowly begins to become more and more focused on the way the muscles move in front of him, and the sound around him begins to dull as all he can hear is the ba-dump, ba-dump of a human heartbeat. He doesn't even realize just how close he had gotten to the stranger — the man was right, biters do love to sneak up on you — until the flash of red in his vision draws out his fangs.
In a panic Crowley twirls on his heel so that he's facing away from the man, a hand slapping across his mouth to hide the teeth that were now poking from underneath his lips. He knew his eyes had also turned an unnatural gold at that point, his hunger surging like an unwelcome guest in his throat.
"You should really bandage that!" Crowley exclaims suddenly, perhaps a little too loud, "it's going to draw out any fangs that are nearby." The irony of his comment. "Sorry I'm a little weak at the sight of blood... Not really my thing..." he continues to speak, mumbling practically incoherently now as he struggles to wobble his way away from the human and put some space between the two of them. He had to fight everything in his body that screamed at him to just turn around and feed.
Despite the sharp pain radiating from the cut, and the amount of blood, it was not a very deep cut. Ares sucked in his breath, as he dropped his pack and fished around for a bandage.
"I'm sorry, man!" Ares responded indignantly, arms shuffling to and fro as he attempted to find his first aid kit under a layer of ammunition and supplies, all the while sending bright red droplets of blood splattering. "I'm trying to find something to cover it, just, hang on!"
The other's statement of being wheezy of blood only brought waves of guilt on Ares and quickened his haste to find the kit. Never had Ares seen someone react so viscerally to blood, especially at a non-lethal wound such as this. His words came out mumbles, like any second he would retch, and he did not even glance at Ares as the looter struggled to wrap the bandage around his bicep.
"Y'know, I'm surprised you're out here, whether your a drifter or Strongholder or whatever," Ares said, his voice levels calmer now that the bandage was wrapped tightly around his arm and the blood was no longer flowing. He was in the process of taping it up. "People bleed out here all the time. Have you never gotten hurt before?"
With a satisfied tug of the bandage, seeing that it would not fall off, Ares returned his attention to shouldering his pack on and throwing an inquisitive brow at his friend. "Not that I'm judging you, dude. I'm, like, scared of lots of things! Heights, spiders...." Ares swallowed, discomfited at his next words. ".. stepfathers..".
He reached forward then, giving the other a tug on the arm. "C'mon. Let's get out of here, before the biters make a meal out of us." He didn't realize, in his celerity to escape the narrow alley, that he had left a robust, bloody handprint on his friend's bicep, or that his hand itself was glistening red, capturing whatever dim light filtered through the alcove. Ignorant, he once more resumed his post from before, head scoping the area with undeterred focus and then stepping out onto the blisteringly hot pavement.
It hurt. Everything hurt so much to fight against every instinct in his body screaming at him to pounce like the predator he was. Crowley could still remember the day he 'woke up' from the haze of being Infected like it was just yesterday — and it practically was. Being a Level V for only a month or so meant he'd had no time to properly train himself how to handle his urges, and doing so now was much more of a struggle than he could realistically stand. Crowley doubles over and crouches near the ground, arms wrapped around his midsection to try and distract himself from the taunt of feed, feed, FEED growing in his mind.
He can hear everything, as well. The polite apology from the stranger — the shuffling as he looked in his pack for something to take care of the blood with. Even the pounding of blood flowing through his veins, his heart working desperately to shoot it around his body. Crowley wanted that, he wanted it so bad, and he had to keep his eyes and mouth shut to ensure the man didn't accidentally see the telltale signs of him being Infected showing. He knew he was currently more monster than man.
Crowley perks up when the stranger begins to speak again, and he tries to focus on the sound of his voice — focus on anything other than what his body so violently craved at that very second. Strongholder. The word sits heavy in his mind, even if he's not sure what it means. It feels important however, especially when used in conjunction with drifter... Which he at least recognized being what he currently was.
A vagrant with no home.
"Uh— heh," Crowley tests out his voice with a small laugh, and when it doesn't come out strangled like he was choking on air, he continues, "not really? I mean, I try to be as careful as I can be... The scent of blood isn't ever a good thing, right? I'd hate to be a woman out here." He stops, realizing what he said as soon as it comes out of his mouth, and he immediately tries to backtrack with a jumbled mess of words and rapid hand waving, but thankfully the stranger moves the conversation along to talk about his own fears instead. Crowley laughs, thankful for the distraction. He frowns slightly at the mention of 'stepfathers', but before he has a chance to ask about it, he suddenly feels a tug on his arm that pulls him to his feet — almost too fast.
"Woah!" He stumbles, and catches himself on the man's arm, but swiftly looks away — from the outside, it looked like he was perhaps just shy. "Yeah... Let's..." Once more his focus isn't on the present as the stranger walks away from him, the flash of red on his hand like a beacon to a creature whose sole purpose was to seek out said red and feed on it.
He doesn't move. He doesn't follow. He stands there, limbs limp, staring unabashedly at the blood. His gaze wavers only when he scents something close by, and he glances down to see blood had somehow been smeared across his bicep. Not good, so not good!
"Uh oh," he suddenly speaks, loud enough for the other man to hear him, but strikingly monotone for the warning in his voice now. "I think we're in trouble." He covers his face with a hand, but otherwise doesn't move or expand on what exactly the danger was.
He turned his head around, just as the toe of his boot hit the light that stretched over the main street of the Town. His companion hadn't been the most open or conversational, but he had been acting a lot stranger the past five minutes. Concerned furrowed his brows, as he tilted his head to the side, inquisitively peering at the man who's name, he realized, he had not learned.
"You okay?" he asked, before his eyes drifted down to the man's upper arm and the blood struck red against peach colored skin. The lids of his eyes retreated as his pupils grew wide with surprise and alarmed. He rushed forward, all sense of care and showy discipline abandoned as guilt rushed over him and he realized his mistake.
"Oh man, I'm so sorry!" The stranger had covered his mouth, no doubt to keep himself from retching at the sight of blood, as misplaced as the disgust might seem so far from civilization. Ares grabbed the man's arm, held it out as much as he allowed and, with lack of anything else, began wiping away the substance with the back of his hand with hysteria.
"I didn't realize I still had it on my hand, dude. I'm cleaning it up, right away! I'll be more careful next time, I swear." Words nearing on gibberish as he panic-cleaned the side of his arm. The area was slick with sweat and the blood only began to streak more, soon coating the entirety of his compatriot's arm. Ares stepped back. His now bloody hand planted itself on his forehead, hair pushed back slightly, struggling to figure out a solution.
Ares, second plan though of and in motion, crouched down and slipped his pack off before his feet. He threw back the flap and rummaged through the contents, searching with fury as his supplies had gotten tussled and misplaced in the search for his kit.
He saw it, tucked between a cardboard box of ammo and rubber wiring. With a resounding tug that sounded to have ripped the fabric, Ares pulled his shirt out of his pack. He looked up at the man then,
"Found it! Just wipe-" his words were strangled when he saw that the stranger's eyes had changed colors. Even in dingy illumination, the contrast in hue was apparent, and after blinking once, twice, to confirm that it was not a trick of the eyes, Ares stood up and stepped back. There was a shift in body language, as he tensed up defensively, hands inching towards his holster, though not making any obvious attempt to grab it.
Crowley could barely register the stranger speaking to him. He heard the words — the deep reverberations in the air that indicated the man was speaking to him — but he didn't actually hear any of it. All he could hear was the thudding of the man's heart as it pushed blood around his body. It called to the Infected, desperately crying out for him to tap into that gusher and take a long, delicious sip. His own mind is a fog as he still instinctively tries to hold himself back, and hide the monster that was slowly beginning to reveal himself. And it hurt.
His entire body screamed at him to do something. His muscles convulsed and tightened, his mouth growing dryer by the second as his vision started to swim on him. Feed. He heard the voice at the back of his head, even if he convinced himself he was just hearing things. But it was so damn hard—
A hand pulling on his arm yanks him out of the deep end and he just about lets out a scream from the feeling of warm heat against his skin. The smell of blood is stronger still now that his hand suddenly drifts away from his mouth, and eyes focus in on the splashes of red in the environment. It's almost as if everything else goes grayscale, his eyes only able to take in that beautiful, smeared crimson. I want it, he cries internally, and slowly he realizes his humanity beginning to shut down. But it's too late to backpedal now. The stranger is on the ground in front of him now, neck exposed.
"Wh-why are your eyes that color?" He hears the man, he really does, but he struggles to form a sentence as his vision focuses on the frightened face in front of him, all too familiar. Anxiety floods his body as he begins to remember the little girl crouched before him in a similar position, eyes wide and terrified as the last thing she was about to see was yellow eyes gaining on her.
"I'm sorry." It's all he can offer as his mind finally shuts down and, with his human restraint finally gone, he lunges at the man like a feral animal. Fangs are fully extended from his gums now as he grabs hold of the man's arms and pin them to his chest, his momentum causing them to crash on the ground with Crowley pinning the other man beneath him. He's nothing more than a savage beast, eyes glowing gold as he attempts to bite the man somewhere, anywhere.
He realized he did not want to believe his guess at the other man's nature, when the drifter lunged with a strength that knocked the breath out of his lungs, and he was slow to react. Normally, when he saw that feral shift in the drifter's eyes, the vibrant turn from calm blue to a vibrant yellow, he'd be ready, finger teasing the trigger of his pistol. But since he'd met the other, he'd consider him a companion, a potential friend, and the thought of putting a bullet in him was as hard to allow as shooting an innocent animal. He'd hoped it wouldn't come to this, and even as his arms were pinned beside him and the drifter's mouth cracked open to reveal sinewy, pointed fangs, he still believed the other could be saved.
"Snap out of it!" Ares exclaimed whilst dodging the his frenzied bites. There was only so far he could go in this state, and the man's, or beast's, or whatever the hell he was's canines came dangerously close to Ares' neck. So close, he could feel the air disturbed by the drifter's motion rush over his throat.
This was not a situation he was unused to. Normally, he would use his knee or foot or whatever else was free to jostle or kick off the Infected, just enough so their grip would loosen and Ares could either roll out or reach for his gun and dig a bullet into their brain. But when Ares' looked up, even as he gazed into different eyes, where before they were kind now hungered and inhuman, he hesitated. And hesitation was dangerous.
The pistol had been knocked from his grasp, but close enough where Ares could wiggle his fingers forward and grab the holt of it. Then, he cocked his wrist up and pulled the trigger.
Instead of going into the humanoid's brain, the bullet sailed upwards into the string of gray clouds above. The sound was unforgivably loud and made Ares' head ring. But he hoped it would do the same for the other, using his knowledge of Infected to guess that the other might have been even more sensitive to startling noises. If it worked, Ares' would kick him off and roll himself out of his grip to stand up. Then... well, he'd figure it out.
Like a ravenous animal he's upon the other man with no hesitation, fangs itching to dig themselves into some human flesh and feed. His mind is blank, acting purely on instincts now as he feels a warm boding humming and wriggling beneath him. It excites his predatory side, and he continues to push the attack. Unfortunately for him, the human appears to have experience in fighting off Infected, as he always seems to just barely miss his mark with the thrashing of the other's body. Irritation. It fills him, his eyes wild as they bore down into the human staring up at him.
There's no humanity left in him — he feels absolutely no pity for the person about to become his lunch. He sees an opening and lunches his head down, fangs ready to dig into a meaty jugular vein—
A gunshot goes off by his ear, loud enough to sound like an atomic bomb to the Infected's primal hearing, and he lets out a shriek of agony. It gives the human just enough time to punt him off from on top of him, and Crowley rolls to the side with hands clasped over his ears. Ringing fills his senses and he shakes his head angrily, spending just enough time incapacitated for Ares to roll back onto his feet and prepare for another assault. But it doesn't come. Shaking his head, Crowley pulls himself to his feet as well, his once-wild eyes now sharp with intelligence.
He feels drool flecked across his lips and chin and he casually wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve, his eyes not once leaving Ares.
"Heh," he offers a laugh once finished, but it's unfamiliar in the wake of his usual tone. It's cruel, distant — lacking the mirth that had once been there along with his humanity. His golden eyes glow as he looks the young man up and down, tongue just barely peeking out between lips now to lick over his fangs filling his mouth. They disappear in an instant — too hard to speak with a mouth full — but his eyes don't change in colouration.
"Not one to just roll over and give up, hm? That's fine, that's fine... I can play this game too," he speaks now, lucid, but in a much different manner of talking than before. "Most humans freeze when they catch sight of me, but you're different. You're different, not afraid... Why is that?" A question, a pause — then he takes a step closer. "Oh, no, you didn't get attached to me, did you? My weak side? My human side?"
Ares scrambled up to his feet, barely having time to get his pistol re-gripped in his hand and to re-adjust his stance so the barrel was pointed at the creature before it regained its senses. By then, Ares had been sure to keep his backside open, so that in case he could not fight the man-creature off, he could turn tail and run out of the alleyway.
Out of the alleyway! Ares remembered the blisteringly hot day, to where he swore he could hear the concrete sizzling beneath the soles of his boots. If there was anything Infected hated, it was the sun. If he could inch himself out into the sanctuary of white light, he would have the upper hand. It would limit his own vision, but would not hurt as much as discomfort him, not like what it would do the creature before him. Ares was still has not sure if the man was Infected- but those eyes that screamed predator, that had changed so violently from blue to yellow, it was the closest that Ares got to understanding the situation.
He would just have to keep the stranger occupied, distracted, until he could slink his way out of the alley and hopefully disappear into the light of day. Ares could have fought, and if he were younger and less experienced, he would have tried for the infantile want of glory and heroism. But his teachers, Etienne and his mother and elder infected and drifter sherpas, they always told him to err on the side of caution, that if he could run, he should.
The man-creature stepped forward, and Ares stepped back. He kept the muzzle of his gun trained on his opponent, ensuring that he kept the bleeding side of his arm, that had managed to leak through the bandages which became misaligned from the scuffle, towards the man-creature. To entice, to distract in his retreat to the sun.
"I wouldn't be out here if I didn't know how to fight monsters," Ares retorted, his voice stronger and clearer than the trepidation he felt. He took two steps back, with the shake of a prey animal seemingly cornered. "Now, answer my question- what the hell are you?"
Was it possession? Ares recalled, briefly, the more superstitious of the Eclipse, the ones that would feverishly read small, recovered Old World books in private and muttered strange sayings to themselves. They had a word for it in the Old World, but "superstitious" was the closest Ares could think of in the tense moment. He had learned of things called "demons", evil souls that would implant themselves in the mortal shell of creatures, or so the ramblings of Cynthia, an old and (Ares believed) crazy woman told him. It sounded insane at the time, but as Ares stared into the striking unnatural eyes of the man-creature, some semblance of sense to that came.
"I admit I liked him a lot better than you," Ares spat, drawing back further. "We don't have to do this, man. Jus-just let me go. I know you're better than this."
Hello Neighbour
Posted 07-08-2021, 04:37 PM
