closed | an empty crisis lonely and last

[burying]

Who: Kieren Walker & Eddie Munson, Holland March, Cornelius Hickey.
What: Kieren finds himself a victim of Guilty Party along with Eddie Munson. Later, there's discussions, more confessions to both Holland and Hickey over Kieren's situation.
When: Over the month of October.
Where: Various, Milton.

Content Warnings: forced imprisonment; forced honesty; supernatural beings; confessional themes; threat of death; possible themes of suicide; themes of zombie-related horror; possible discussion of zombie-related cannibalism

Comments

— eddie munson

[burying]

[ He doesn't remember falling asleep. Hell, he's not even sure if he was asleep, but there's nothing but a dim, buzz of a blur between two points of time. He was... at home, thinks. Well, the small cabin in Milton he... considers his home, these days. There isn't much more than that. But that blur seems to sharpen abruptly when he lifts his head to the cold damp that hangs in the air — where the hell is he?

And then it hits him, beneath the chill and rot. He knows that smell anywhere, remembers the feel of it on his tongue, how it still clings to him even now. Blood. It makes Kieren jolt, the sound of metal clinking in protest against him. He gapes for a moment, staring down dumbly at himself before comprehension sinks in: chains. He's... he's chained up...? Oh... oh, shit—

Kieren isn't alone either. Someone else is here with him, and he straights through the dim light before his eyes widen. He recognises the boy sat in the chair opposite him, chained up just like Kieren is. Shit, is that— ]

Eddie. [ It's hard to hide the panic in his voice. He hisses the other boy's name sharply, but doesn't dare raise his voice much louder than that. Whoever brought them here might be around. Why the hell are they here? What do they want with them? ] Eddie, are you— Eddie, wake up.

[satanicpanics]

Huh?

[ Eddie sounds groggy, shakes his head to wake himself up like a dog shakes water off of is coat. Between pain and anxiety, he doesn’t sleep particularly well on most nights, so the irony of him sleeping deeply enough to wake up someplace strange is not lost on him, because this is decidedly not his cabin.

He raises a hand to his face to rub the sleep away, but the clinking of the chains and the strain of his bindings stop him. He stares for a moment, hard through the dim light, until his brain finally catches up with his eyes. ]

Shit. What the fuck?

[ A note of panic rises in his voice as the metallic smell of blood churns his stomach, but a familiar voice in the gloom helps—just the tiniest bit. ]

Kieren? You alright, man?

[burying]

[ Oh, thank Christ. He's actually awake and not dead. It's something at least, although not a whole lot to make him feel much better about... whatever the fuck this is. Kieren swallows, still nauseously dizzy and starts to fidget against the chains that hold him. He might not feel them, but with how little he can actually move, they're pretty tight, he thinks. ]

Uhh— [ He doesn't know how to answer that. ] I'm— I'm okay? Are you hurt? I can... god, that's blood isn't it?

[ It feels like too much to be just a regular injury. How the hell is there so much? ]

Jesus fucking Christ— [ He lets out a shaky whine of a breath, his head flopping forwards. ] the fuck actually is this? I don't even know what happened.

[satanicpanics]

[ The smell of blood is strong, dizzying, but Eddie thinks he would know if he were hurt enough to spill that much blood. He closes his eyes, takes a hard swallow before trying to speak again. ]

It’s blood, but it’s not my blood, man…I think I’m alright.

[ He doesn’t feel any worse for wear, chains aside. ]

Same shit that always happens, right?

[ He can’t even bring himself to laugh. Instead, he peers down at the chains, wondering if there’s any way for him to pick the locks or to pull a Houdini and escape. He’s scared and shaking and his brain isn’t working particularly well, but all the same, he assures the other young man: ]

I think I can get us out of here. Somehow.

[burying]

Okay, okay— that's... that's good.

[ It should be comforting to know that it's not Eddie's blood. And it is, in a way. The fact he's not hurt or that maybe his injuries are all messed up again that he's in a bad way again. But it doesn't comfort him much, everything in his body telling him to run, to get away from the smell — knowing if he wasn't himself, he'd be desperate to get at the blood, driven by hunger and nothing else.

He can't laugh, either. There's just a small whimper of a sound. Kieren swallows thickly, he needs to calm down. He needs to stop panicking. He gulps down air his body doesn't need, nodding furiously as the other boy mentions some kind of escape. ]

Yeah? Quick, before whoever did this— [ He looks around and is cut off with a strangled cry at the sight of a figure in the gloom. They aren't alone.

The figure steps forwards, a hideous mask of a jackal staring down at them, glowing green. Kieren shouts, eyes wide, nothing but a garbled mess of curses, and noise. What the fuck is that?! ]

[satanicpanics]

[ Eddie doesn’t ask questions. He simply sets to work, squinting through the darkness to search the floor around his chair for something, anything he can use to pick the locks. All he can do is try, and it certainly doesn’t help that his arms are locked in a position that doesn’t help the lingering stiffness and pain in his torso. He knows he isn’t healing quite right, but there’s only so much doctoring you can get in a frozen wasteland.

But then Kieren shouts, and Eddie’s head snaps back up, breath hitching in his throat as he catches sight of something, or rather someone illuminating the darkness with a sickening green glow. ]

Jesus Christ—

[ Pain be damned, he starts to yank at the chains, pulling, trying to push back from the figure as it creeps closer. But then comes a voice, soft but somehow deafening over the frantic jingle of chains and Kieren’s swearing.

Wickedness lies within you.

Eddie considers this briefly. He’s sure it does, knows it does, but he’s never really bothered to hide it. He’s never tried to be anyone but himself, and that includes the less savory parts. He's not an innocent lamb, but he doesn't feel like anything he's done is terribly wicked to the point of being chained up in a blood-soaked shack.

Confess, the voice continues. Unburden your heart and be free. Be silent and carry it to the grave. ]

I don’t know what—

[ Then, in the gloomy green glow, he sees the sickle, blood still dripping from its blade. He shrieks and just pushes back harder, doing nothing but pulling the chains taut. ]

Shit! Shit! I don’t know, alright? I don’t know what you want me to say! I mean, I did stink bomb the principal's office in sophomore year, but that's all water under the bridge, right? Jesus Christ--Kieren! Kieren! You—you got anything to share with our visitor?

cw: mention of zombie-related cannibalism

[burying]

[ Wickedness lies within you.

It is, in one moment, the most seen he has felt in all his life. As if under some scrutinizing gaze and he can only wilt beneath it. He feels sick to his stomach, and the world's spinning around him. It knows, it knows. It knows all the fucked up things he's done, all the people he's hurt— killed and ate. The people who's brains he ate.

Kieren's quiet for a long time, staring in some frozen horror — eyes wide and mouth open, shrinking back in his chair. He barely registers Eddie's words, only flinching at the mention of his name being called. ]

No. [ He shudders violently, the sound ragged. He shakes his head. ] I can't. I— I can't.

[ He utters a strange sound, he's rocking slightly. His head still shaking. He can't say it, not in front of Eddie. He can't let him know, he can't let anyone know — and he's quickly dissolving into some horrible panic of a meltdown, his voice rising. ]

No, no, no— I can't, I— I can't—! [ He stares up at the figure, horror and pleading all at once. ] I can't say it. You... you already know, I can't say it. Don't make me, please.

[satanicpanics]

[ All Eddie can do is chuckle. Nothing is funny, not in the slightest, but anxiety is building up, and the only way he can relieve some of it is with a little bit of unhinged behavior as the figure and its sickle draw slowly closer.

Dude, don’t be a saint, just say you cheated on a test or something, he wants to snap, but one glance at Kieren panicking in his chair tells him more than enough. Whatever he’s hiding, whatever this figure sees in his heart, it’s a deeper secret than any of the petty crimes Eddie could possibly share.

He’s always assumed that he and Kieren are vaguely the same age, but he feels some sort of responsibility of protection over him. It’s the same way he feels about the kids in Hellfire: a shepherd watching over a flock of especially bizarre sheep, and he’d do just about anything to keep them safe. If Kieren won’t say it, maybe Eddie can rattle off just enough to get the creepy green glow away from him. ]

Alright, alright! I’ve got something. I, uh, I’ve sold illegal substances to minors. A lot of them. In ’84, I helped my dad with this whole…grand theft auto slash marijuana theft thing. Boy, that one’s a story. And I’m, uh…supposed to be dead. Pretty sure I did die. I don’t know how I’m the one who got lucky enough to be dropped in this winter wonderland, but, uh…yeah. Wicked as hell, man.

cw: mention of throat injuries, suicide mention

[burying]

[ There's a dim awareness of Eddie speaking through that panic. The words aren't quite sinking in but Kieren's hearing them, some quiet part of him deep inside recognising it for what it is: he's trying to just... say enough, confess enough so they can get out of there. And god, he doesn't deserve it, he doesn't deserve any one else taking the fall for him like this.

The figure looks to Eddie, listening intently for a moment before its attention shifts to Kieren — still in the midst of cowering and sheer panic.

He can't do it, he can't say it. He can't say it out loud, what he is, what's he's done. Eddie can't know, either. What's he going to think? Is he even going to look at him the same every again? What if he tells everyone, too? If they get out of this and Eddie tells everyone that he's a zombie and— fuck, they'll come for him and kill him and no one'll be able to stop it.

The figure turns towards Kieren fully, stepping closer. The sickle in hand raising and Kieren's eyes are wide. Oh, christ— he's going to die again. Well, worse— that sickle isn't even going to kill him, it's... it won't actually kill him and he'll just be still alive but with his throat slashed out or something. ]

No, no— [ He's kicking wildly, with as much good that'll do him, leaning back in the chair in some desperate attempt to get away from the figure. He can see blood on the sickle, and he knows his blood isn't red anymore and he doesn't know what'll happen— there's another movement, the beginning of a strike. ]

I'm dead—! [ He screams it, a strangled cry of a sound, his face all screwed up in horror and panic and disgust. The figure freezes mid-movement, the sickle so close to him. Kieren's shaking, and the words come spilling out of him before he can stop them. ]

I killed myself and I died and I came back and I'm a zombie and I killed people—! [ He sounds like a dying animal, his head slumping — dry heaving his way through sobs.

The figure steps back. ]

I just wanted to hide— I just— I didn't want this...

— holland march

[burying]

[ In the days that follow, he's keeping to himself. Laying low, somewhat. Revealing what he is to Eddie isn't something that sits comfortably with him, even with Eddie's reaction to the whole thing. The thought that someone knows exactly what he is makes him feel panicked, nauseous. He just wants to hide away. He can't pretend everything's fine, that he's normal to the outside world, even when he knows it's a lie. Not anymore.

But still, he desperately wants to. Eddie might be alright, but there's so much of him terrified of what might happen if more people find out he's a monster.

He wants to ignore the knocking at his door, but he knows it'd probably be worse if he does. So he answers it, finding himself slack-jawed at the sight that greets him when he pulls the door open. Kieren stands for a long moment, staring out at the man on his doorstep. He looks the palest he's done in weeks, with even less layers of his cover-up mousse than he wants but knows he has to resort to — a scarf wrapped around his neck to hide his natural skin there. At least he can keep his supply of contacts going for a while, as long as he handles them delicately and uses them for as long as physically possible.

After a beat or two, there's a weak, nervous smile to Holland. He's... not used to visitors. ]

Um. Hey. Holland. [ His eyelids flutter and he shakes his head a little. ] Alright?

[questioningmermaids]

[ This is Healy's forte, really, the niceness. The politeness. The wanting to help people. It's not that March doesn't want to help people, it's just that he's far too preoccupied with whatever liquor he can get for a buck fifty and hey, he fleeces old ladies on the regular in order to live, can you blame him if he's a little bit jaded?

It's just that there's a problem here, one that isn't the lack of smokes or alcohol. He'd ran out of his last pack last week and he's already a bit irritated about it, and the alcohol supply that Huaisang and him have outright bogarted dwindling. And despite--or inspite--of himself, in the back of his head, that inherent need to do the niceness and the politeness and the whole song and dance is coming back stronger than ever now that he's slowly losing all of his vices.

That's why he's here, to keep busy, keep his mind off of things initially, but yeah, maybe he's worried. He's seen Kieren wander into this particular house enough times to know it's where he's staying, so a-knocking it is. There's a few kids here, but the dirty blonde with the gibson bun and the sad eyes seems to have had the entire village adopt her right away so she's fine, but it gets him thinking about the other one.

Kieren, who seems to shuffle around like he hates his entire body but who at least makes an appearance in public every so often. Those appearances seem to be getting a little scarce, and yeah, everyone's got an eye on blondie, but who's got an eye on the one who's probably better at slipping through the cracks to begin with? ]

Yeah, alright. You find any cigarettes?

[ Kieren looks like shit. March wiggles his brows and looks pointedly behind Kieren so the other will invite him in. ]

Ken's starting to drive me up the wall without them. Too cheery. Relentlessly cheery, it's like he's snorted his weight in cocaine and forgot to get angry and paranoid during the process.

[burying]

[ Honestly, if no one had their eye on him — Kieren would definitely be okay with that. He doesn't want to be noticed, he doesn't want anyone to notice him. He'd rather the earth swallow him up and never be seen again. He knows he does have Edward Little keeping an eye on him, but then the Lieutenant does have some idea of Kieren's precarious situation, to an extent. Christ, Kieren practically asked the man to shoot him if he ever went rabid.

Which... has yet to happen, but Kieren still feels like it might just happen any day. It's like waiting for the other shoe to drop, he knows it'll happen sometime. It has to. It can't not happen. But... all he can do is wait. ]

Uhh, I— I'm sure actually. I was never really looking for them. [ He doesn't smoke. Maybe there's a pack stashed away in a drawer somewhere. But he gets at what Holland's hinting at and swallows with a shrug. ] ... I guess I could check.

[ He slowly, anxiously steps back and aside to let the man in. The cabin Kieren inhabits is much like the others of Milton, spartan and simply furnished. The main living area and kitchen is all one room: a loveseat and armchair crowd around a fireplace. The fire is lit, but it's kept to a fairly calm and small flame. The place is warm, at least. But certainly not as toasty as one might expect. It's hard for him to really... know how hot it really is.

But yes, everything looks very normal here. Not.. counting the mirror fixed to one of the walls that's been covered with a towel. We're going to ignore that.

The kitchen table is covered in an array of art material and sketches and drawings in various states of progress. They're all portraits, several of them are of people from Kieren's home: his parents, his sister, his friend Amy. There's a few Holland might recognise too, of fellow Interlopers from around the town. Kieren shuts the door behind March and pauses for a moment, trying to think where a forgotten pack of cigarettes might just be. Although: ]

What... that Ken? [ Yeah... he's met him. And belatedly realised the similarities in appearance between them. ] You're living with him?

[questioningmermaids]

Yeah. We look exactly alike.

[ they don’t. The same face, height, and beauty mark sure, but the accent differs slightly and Ken is platinum blonde and shredded whereas March is a dirty blonde barely functioning alcoholic. March says it with conviction anyway, hands idly on his hips as he glances around. His rose tinted aviators are actually pretty great for how bright the snow can be but he slides them off, looking for a mirror to see his appearance, frowning when he sees it covered. A quick glance to Kieren and his eyes sweep up to the art next, unable to help himself.

He picks up a picture of a girl with long hair and a carefree, if someone unsettling grin, and whistles. ]

Girlfriend? [ he'll hold it up for Kieren to see. He also has no problem poking around someone else's house like a cop, apparently. ]

[burying]

[ Kieren's going to pointedly not say anything with the look concerning the mirror. Really. Yep, we're not talking about it. Plenty of people cover up mirrors in their homes for some reason or another, right?

Instead, he's going to start rooting around in little chest of drawers — mostly filled with papers and random bits and pieces, some kind of junk drawer, he thinks. But he'll look up at the question, his eyes shifting to the drawing then to Holland. ]

Friend. [ Yes, a friend who's a girl. He likes Amy, cares for her a lot. Just not really in that way, he doesn't think. ] Amy. She's uh— well, we went through a lot, together. She's a really good mate.

[ It's not like he can say 'we hunted together' out loud to him. But, yeah. Christ he misses her. ]

Kind of like if you mixed the sun with a hurricane.

[questioningmermaids]

Friend. Okay. [ It's a quiet confirmation, half active listening and half in case he needs to be corrected again. He sets the paper down, moves to the mirror and lifts some of the fabric up with his pinkie finger, gaudy gold ring flashing in the dim firelight. He frowns when he looks and sees nothing out of the ordinary. ]

What'd you go through together? Exams? Prom night?

[burying]

No— [ Although the second one of those earns Holland an incredulous frown. Prom night? What the shit—? He's still not entirely sure how to answer the question, though. And there's a long silence as he works through what to tell him. ]

We both went through a rough patch. [ Not like a relationship, and he's quick to correct himself. ] Not like that. I mean, like... we were both going through something really rough at the same time. It's... complicated.

[ There's a pause and he manages a half-smile. ]

She's been coping with it all really well since, though. [ A beat. ] ... Getting out of 'survival mode'.

[ 'Survival mode' could mean anything, he supposes. But that's what Amy called it. And she holds no worries or guilt about the whole thing. He can't say the same about himself. Ironic that the zombie feels like it's eating him alive.

Aha. He manages to find a pack stashed away in the drawer. He shakes it: it's not a full pack, there's maybe about half of them left. He holds them up and out to him in a gloved hand. ]

It's your lucky day.

[questioningmermaids]

Hey thanks. [ It's quick, to the point but sincere if March's smile is anything to go by. He reaches for the pack, pocketing them almost immediately and pulls out the crumpled one that's currently on him as well as his lighter. March pulls one of them out as he makes himself at home, sitting on a nearby chair. ]

What's survival mode?

[ He's guessing exams or something. March grabs his gold zippo and flicks it open, looking at Kieren expectantly. He's curious. ]

— cornelius hickey

[burying]

[ It's almost the end of the month when Kieren finds himself on someone else's doorstep. Cornelius Hickey said he'd kill him, if it came to it. Stabbing him in the back wouldn't kill him. Maybe in the head, it would. But the offer was given, even with the other man not knowing the truth of Kieren's condition. And that... means something, and maybe it's that that makes the thought of keeping the truth from him all the more... wrong, somehow.

The place has forced his hand. Part of him thinks it'll happen again, and he doesn't want that. He wants to come clean on his own terms, even if this doesn't really feel like it's really his own terms, in all honesty. If Kieren could never tell a soul, he'd be more than happy with that. He wishes he could just... hide away forever.

But... maybe Hickey's owed the truth, he supposes. He doesn't know if he'd consider Hickey a friend yet, but he likes him. Even if he's a bit... weird, sometimes. And maybe if it's not perfect, it's as close to 'his own terms' as he can in this stupid place.

Kieren can only hope it's... not going to go to absolute shit. He knocks on the door, leaning in close to the wood to call through it for a moment. ]

Cornelius, it's me. [ There's a beat. His throat feels tight, he takes a breath to try and steady himself. ] It's... it's Kieren. You in?

[friendsfordinner]

[ It is objectively weird being called Cornelius. Maybe people from the future were more casual with first names?

Still, Kieren's there. Kieren who's a good bloke. Kieren who's got secrets that Hickey wants to know. Kieren who's interesting. Hickey likes interesting. ]

Give me a moment! [ he hollers. It takes him a few seconds to open the door, which he does with a grin. The hoodie and blue jeans provide an odd contrast to Hickey's still rather Victorian facial hair. He looks over at Kieren and instantly frowns ]

Mate, you're looking pale. C'mon, get inside.

[burying]

[ ... Probably about the same kind of weird as knowing someone called Cornelius in Kieren's time. It sounds like a name of a kid who goes to a private school down south, and their parents have an off-shore bank account and a yacht.

It takes everything in him to try and not to cringe at the 'looking pale' comment, and yet he still does it anyway. He is... painfully aware of the fact he's having to ration out what little cover-up mousse he has these days. He can't layer upon layer it like he wants to, and he's had to stop using it on his hands and neck almost completely — choosing to keep his hands gloved and a scarf around his neck at all times. ]

Yeah, thanks. [ He nods, a bundle of anxious nerves as he steps inside. There's a thin smile — Hickey's new get up is definitely a good distraction from those nerves. ]

I see you're... uh, proper embracing the whole... future fashion choices, then?

[friendsfordinner]

[ Hickey moves away from the door, gesturing for Kieren to come in. As big as Hickey's house is (three bedrooms!), for the moment, most of the living is in the main living room. A bedframe and mattress has been dragged in there and an impromptu drying rack (basically multiple dining room chairs) has been set in front of the fire. It's the house of a man with grandiose dreams forced to settle for reality (heating up an entire house sucks).

At Kieren's comment, Hickey can't help but laugh. ] D'you know how long it takes wool to dry? I'll still wear my coat when I've got to go out and about, but as long as I'm inside? Might as well focus on something comfortable.

[ Today is obviously an inside day. Aside from the drying clothes, Hickey's set up every pot, pitcher, and bowl this house has to offer (and some that he stole from other houses), all of which are filled with water that's slowly starting to melt. ]

[burying]

Yeah, I get it. I used to drive my mum up the wall sometimes with wearing jumpers. [ Definitely needed in Roarton. Perpetual damp and cold, especially in the colder months. They'd take forever to dry on the radiators. ] Fair enough. It's good, it's— very modern.

[ Kieren smiles a bit in amusement, shaking his head. The moment fades and the smile at his lips and he wrings his gloved hands, trying to soothe his anxiousness. ]

Listen, I— [ He doesn't even know how to start this, how to even broach the subject. Even mentioning how it all came about sounds so fucking unreal in his own head. ] I need to talk to you about... something.

[ It's not spoken, but it hangs in the air: something important. ]

You, uh— you heard about people getting kidnapped by this... weird person, creature-thing—? Getting forced to confess to things?

[ Yeah. Three guesses who got caught up in that whole mess, lately. ]

[friendsfordinner]

[ Three guesses and the first two don't count. Hickey's eyes narrow, his expression shifts, he can't help but frown as he asks, ]

Shit, were you caught up in that? Are you alright?

[ He's very visibly giving Kieren a once-over, as if he'll be able to spot if he's bleeding or wounded or anything like that. ]

[burying]

... Yeah. [ There's a little anxious nod. He really fucking hates this place, although that's pretty much the understatement of the year right there. ] Scared the shit out of me, but—

[ He's fine. Not physically hurt. Particularly because of... well, the confessing. ]

It was me and another lad. It... made me talk about some things, about me. [ Thankfully, mercifully, Eddie wouldn't go blabbing. But the fact is someone now knows what exactly Kieren is. ] And I— I don't know, I got forced into saying shit about who I am and what's to say it won't happen again? So... I guess I have to try and make it my own terms now.

[ There's little in his voice that suggests this is 'his own terms', his face screwing up for a moment. He runs a hand through his hair, huffing slightly. He really doesn't know how the other's going to really... take all of this. ]

If you could maybe not immediately stab me, that'd be really fucking great.

[friendsfordinner]

[ Hickey's just got to point out, ]

Starting a conversation with 'if you could maybe not immediately stab me' is a pretty strong sign that you're about to confess to an offense most find worthy of being stabbed.

[ He's just saying! But Hickey's watching Kieren, listening to what he's saying with an expression of pure interest. He has no idea what the fuck this kid's going to confess to. Murder? He can't see it. But, then again, Kieren did say he was dangerous, that he might need to be put down. This is all a baffling mystery that Hickey would love to solve. ]

But nah, I can keep my knife to myself. What d'you want to say?