singillatim | closed | an empty crisis lonely and last

[ 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. ]

... 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.

[ 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?

Plenty of people back home would, if they had the chance. [ He exhales a little huff of a laugh. ] They hated who I was before even all of this.

[ Different. He was too different. The shy, quiet art kid who was definitely not straight and dressed up in ripped clothes and leather jackets.

Still, the promise of not being immediately stabbed let's him smile for the shortest of moments before he hovers for a few beats, trying to steal himself. Right. Getting to it, then. ]

I'm... not normal. I'm not... like a regular person. [ Even then, it's hard to really admit what he is. He's struggling through it, wringing his hands. God, he loathes himself — disgust creeping into his expression that he struggles to hold back. ] I didn't just hurt people. I, uh. I killed them, and then I—

[ He can't say it, he can't say what he did to them. He can't say that he ate them. ]

I did it because— I'm.. um, I'm a... zombie.

[ It says a lot about Hickey's 1840s sensibilities that when Kieren says 'he's not normal,' a part of him kind of hopes that by that, he means 'I'm a sodomite.' But liking men wouldn't involve hurting or killing people, yeah? So it's something else entirely.

Hickey listens, keeping quiet, letting Kieren explain things. It's obvious that this means a lot to him, that whatever he's confessing, he's held it down for so long that even saying the words is a struggle. So Hickey listens, trying very hard to tamper down the interest in his expression as Kieren confessed to being...

...something that Hickey has never heard of before.

His expression almost instantly changes to something confused. Zombie. Right, what context clues does he have. They kill people. People hate them. And...that's it. What's the difference between that and a regular fucking murderer, then?! He's not getting anything here!

Normally, Hickey would try to play it cool and keep things normal, oh yeah that doesn't matter to me, I totally understand, but his complete lack of information here, means that he just blurts out, ]

Mate, I've got no idea what a zombie even is. You're...what, Portugese?

[ is that the etymology of that word???? ]

[ You're...what, Portugese?

Of all the responses Kieren was expecting, which includes: fear and outright horror; getting stabbed; screaming about being some unholy heathen, an imposter — this was not on the list. Which means he's just frozen in some wide-eyed stare, jaw slacked and in utter disbelief and... sheer confusion. He doesn't understand how Cornelius has come to that conclusion and it clearly shows on his face. What does being Portuguese have to do with being a zombie?

(You know, of course besides the obvious: Portugese zombies). ]

... what...?

[ His eyelids flutter, and he takes a step back and— oh, Christ he doesn't have a clue what a zombie is, why didn't he think of that?! He utters a soft sound, like he wants to be sick and please let the ground swallow him whole, let him just leap back into his grave again— ]

N-no, no— [ He slips into a little bit of an anxious panic, as if the solemnity of the whole confession has been hurled right out the window and instead he's left to frantically explain himself. ] No, I mean— I mean I'm—

[ He has to stop himself, his eyes squeezing tightly shut. ]

I'm dead, Cornelius. [ Kieren swallows thickly, he feels dizzy. ] Four years ago, I died. And I was dead, and my family buried me— and I came back.

[ You know what, just stab him now, please. ]

[ Hickey's first thought, which he thankfully doesn't vocalize, is 'like Jesus?' He keeps that to himself, though, piecing all of this together like the world's worst puzzle. Kieren died and came back. This is apparently a big secret, something probably taboo where he's from—which yeah, Hickey gets that, he can think of a few people who might say some unfortunate things about a man who died and came back. But there are still half a dozen questions.

When Hickey talks, he makes sure to keep his voice, calm, reassuring, like talking to a spooked horse or a small child. Don't worry, Kieren. Everything's fine. Everything's going to be fine. ]

Obviously this isn't something broadly known in my time, [ no shit, buddy ] so when I ask you this question, it's not cause I'm taking the piss, yeah? It's because I honestly don't know. What does being a zombie have to do with killing people?

[ Those are the two dots he's having a hard time connecting. ]

It's not even something broadly known in my time, either. Well. I mean, not... not for real. Zombies are... fictional. Until it wasn't anymore. [ He is not like Jesus. Not a messiah. He doesn't have special super powers. He's just.... Kieren. Or something that was Kieren. Kieren stuck in a body that was once his but now it doesn't work like it should, now there's just disgust and loathing at what he is.

But he swallows at the question, nodding. No, he's not taking the piss. He gets that. ]

When I came back— I was— untreated— [ The affirmations still ring in his head: I am a Partially Deceased Syndrome sufferer, and what I did in my untreated state was not my fault. Fucking load of shit. ] Zombies, rabids— they're— we're in a primitive state. We don't understand reason, or— anything, really. Just... hunger.

[ Hunt, kill, eat. Rinse and repeat. Kieren looks nauseous at the thought, clear that the simple driver of hunger whilst he was untreated is particularly difficult for him. ]

Doctors eventually found out a way to... make us how we're like now. Talking and thinking and feeling— we're medicated. [ He shakes his head slightly. ] I'm just... a walking dead body, pumped full of medicine, because I can't do it on my own anymore.

[ Can't heal. Can't physically feel. Christ, the Neurotriptyline makes him generate brain-cells because he can't even do that for himself. And he just fucking loves that for him. ]

[ Hickey listens, frown on his face as he takes this all in. This is a brand new world for him—the dead rising, the dead eating people, medicine making the dead...he doesn't want to say 'normal', but that is what it is, isn't it. It's not normal.

But then again, nothing in the past four years of his life have been 'normal.' ]

So that's why you said that you might need to be killed, [ he muses. Hickey keeps his tone normal as he points out, ] This place doesn't have your medicine, does it.

... No.

[ It's not in Milton. Hell, he doesn't even think it exists at all in this place. ]

I'm— I'm supposed to have it every single day. Only... ever since I came here, I've never had any and I'm still... me. [ He looks... incredibly uncomfortable, tentatively adding: ] I just... I just keep thinking if today might be the day I turn back, if whatever this is runs out and I go rabid again.

[ It's no wonder why he's such a nervous wreck all the time. He literally thinks he's a walking time bomb. ]

I can't... be like that again. Being like this is— [ It's bad enough, his nose curling. ] but... that's even worse.

[ He won't lie: there's part of Hickey that doesn't understand this. That doesn't understand Kieren's fear at changing, at going rabid, at being something different. He might be a murderous rabid zombie killing machine, but he would still be alive. And at the end of the day, doesn't that matter most?

Still, he knows what he has to do. He knows what he needs to say. And Hickey is going to take hold of any ally he can grab onto. ]

I mean what I said. The moment you go like that? Like what you're scared of? I'll kill you myself.

[ Would he, though? He wouldn't even be Kieren anymore. If he's not Kieren, is he even alive? That's the thing that gets to him. He's not Kieren, he's just the ghost of him and just... a monster.

He worries his hands and nods, his expression grim. ]

I want that. That's... that's how it has to be. [ He's so... quietly resigned to it. ] Better for everyone, I mean. I guess I'm... I'm still me for now? But—

[ The thanks is silent, and he can only nod again. ]

I know I can't keep hiding it. [ He gestures vaguely to his face. ] This is just... make-up and contact lenses, to make me look normal. But I know they're gonna run out eventually, everyone's gonna know soon.

[ Christ, he's already running low as it is. There's some days he doesn't even go out because at least that way he can keep it going just a little longer. ]

[ Hickey frowns, thinking everything over, taking in all the information and sorting it all out. Kieren is scared he'll turn into a monster. Kieren could literally turn into a monster any day now. People will know about the fact that he can turn into a monster sooner rather than later. And, in true Hickey fashion, he starts to sort all the information together into a plan, one that could make it where Kieren (and also possibly himself) could come out of this all on top. ]

Right. I know you think this is going to sound mad. But I think you should tell people about this. [ And before Kieren can protest, Hickey just bulldozes forward. ] You're still yourself right now, yeah? And like you said, everyone's gonna know soon. Get ahead of it, tell them about it now, while you still look normal, while you're still in your right mind. Tell them about your illness, that you've got a plan to manage it—and don't look so bloody scared about it when you do.

If everybody's going to know in the end, then make it so they know before it all goes to shit. Craft your story. That way, you're Kieren, that nice boy who had a condition, not Kieren the bloodthirsty monster.

[ You reconfigure. You rearrange. ]

[ It absolutely, 100% sounds mad, and Kieren's expression is quick to show it. It sounds like the worst idea possible. And he's protesting, albeit silently. His mouth opening and closing for a moment before everything just shifting over his face: apprehension, disbelief, outright fear.

The last just at the right moment: —and don't look so bloody scared about it when you do. Wow, cheers for that, Cornelius. ]

You know it's not that simple, right? They kill people like me, back home. Doesn't matter if there's laws or not, doesn't matter if we're medicated, or nice, or kind. They find out what you are, and it doesn't matter.

I watched Bill fucking Macy shoot my neighbour in the middle of the street because she was like me. Executed her, in front of her husband.

[ It doesn't matter who Bill Macy is, or how Kieren's voice raises with a strange kind of rage at the mere mention of him. It doesn't matter that he's dead. He did what he did, and it's a point he has to make. Maggie Burton didn't do anything wrong.

But it's no wonder why Kieren's just so fucking terrified of being found out. Of people knowing what he is. ]

Because— because when you're wrong and different, and people are scared enough — you can be a sweet old lady or the quiet art kid, and they'd still shoot you down.

[ He puts his hands into his hair, gripping for a moment and pacing a little. He hates himself, he hates all of it, hates he's in this fucking mess. And yet part of him knows Hickey's right. He can't do nothing, and there's a tiny groan of resignation. His eyes closing for a moment. Honestly, fuck this. ]

I'll— i'll have to think of something to say. [ He says finally, scoffing. ] My life's already plenty of bullshit, what's a little more?

[ Absolutely loving his life right now. ]

[ He lets Kieren get it all out. All his protests, all his rage, all his anger and disbelief at the situation. Yell at him. Call him stupid. He doesn't care. Because in the end, Hickey knows he's right.

When you're wrong and different, they find any excuse to judge you. To attack you. So you do what you can and hide what you can in order to survive until you have no other options and no other way to hide. And if Kieren's as dangerous as he says he is? He'll run out of options sooner rather than later.

Hickey only speaks up when he can tell Kieren's done talking. After a moment, he nods, before pointing out, ]

Anyone gives you shit about this? Anyone tries to kill you? Move in with me. Safety in numbers, after all. And I'll give them shit right back.

[ It gives him pause, enough to make him stop from his pacing and stare with wide eyes for a long moment. His family would certainly never hesitate to protect him.

Christ, when they thought Bill Macy was coming for him they jumped right into it: Jem with the colt, his dad with a bat filled with nails, his mum with a bloody chainsaw. It's not the same, here. He doesn't expect it to be.

Which is why hearing it has him looking so stunned. Almost in disbelief. ]

... What, seriously?

Course I'm serious, [ Hickey says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

He needs allies. He needs people on his side, people willing to go to bat for him when the rest of the men, the rest of those from Terror end up deciding that it's too dangerous for Hickey to stay around. He needs people willing to say that Cornelius Hickey isn't too bad a chap, who won't instantly look at him in a worse light when some of the less savory details drop. Who would actually look at him as him, not the expedition boogeyman people like Goodsir and Little would cook up.

Plus, Kieren himself isn't so bad. Man's sensible. Smart. Got a good head on his shoulders and, unlike some others here, is planning for the worst. ]

Seriously. As far as I can see, you're not a problem until you end up murdering someone. Until then? You're just a weird pale kid with a condition. [ There's a moment's pause before, ] Yeah they kill people like you back home. But, and I'm pointing out the obvious here, we're not in your home, are we? Hell, I didn't even know what a zombie was until ten minutes ago.

So yeah. Anybody who gives you shit about this doesn't have their priorities straight. And I'm perfectly fine convincing them to rethink their choices.

[ .... Well, shit.

It's... touching. That he'll give Kieren the benefit of the doubt. He's not a problem until he kills someone. Considering he's already killed plenty of people, and it's something those back home aren't happy to forget. It's not even something Kieren is able to forget, either. He knows he's a problem; some huge, awful problem and now he's stuck here in this place. But he's not a problem to Cornelius.

His lips form a thin line, curling at the edges. Weird pale kid. Yeah, that's him all over. And yet he's not a problem. And maybe it should be a little scary to hear about "convincing people to rethink their choices" because Kieren hears it not so much as a threat, but a promise. It's... a bit 'ride or die', and it actually make him smile properly, his head ducking a little. ]

... Thank you. I mean that. I don't expect anyone to stick up for someone like me. [ Still doesn't, not with what he's done. But he appreciates it, more than he actually say. There's an exhale, his shoulders sinking.

And then, because he has to ask. Because this whole thing oddly feels ridiculous and he feels like he'll either laugh or cry. ]

.... Why'd you think being zombie meant I was Portuguese? [ Did he think... he was Portuguese. Did he... honestly think that. Cornelius, please. He's is so pasty, even when he was alive — so, so pasty. ]

Portuguese people look... I dunno, Portuguese? And I'm—

[ He gestures at himself. A skinny white guy. ]

[ Yeah. Not expecting anyone to stick up for you. Hickey gets that. Story of his life, isn't it? The least he could do is stick up for Kieren.

That being said, he's perfectly fine sassing and giving Kieren shit right back. ]

Yeah, but it sounds Portugese, doesn't it? Zombie.

Oh? Didn't realise you were such a linguist. [ His voice is deadpan. Does zombie even sound like anything? Kieren doesn't know. He thought it was... y'know, an American thing. Comes from the movies and all that. ]

Definitely not Portuguese, for the record. Just... undead.

I'm a well-traveled man of the world, [ teases the man who never stepped foot off England before joining up with Her Majesty's Royal Navy. ]

And yeah, I know you're not Portugese now. But you gotta admit, it's a much more logical assumption than being undead. [ A pause before, ] At least in my time, it's a much more logical assumption. Fuck, when did this whole zombie thing get started? Am I gonna have to worry about it if I somehow go back home?

[ Kieren raises an eyebrow. Cornelius you've been to the Arctic once. That's not all that well-traveled. He sighs and shrugs. Maybe it's more logical to think Portuguese over undead but... really? ]

I mean, the dead being brought to life as an idea was kind of invented by you guys. [ Sort of. Frankenstein. It was bits of dead people being put together and then brought to life, but it.... it's kind of the same thing. ]

They were always just in comics and movies and stuff, before. Like, over the last thirty years or so, or something. [ He is... not well versed on his fictional zombie history. ] But it being real? It's only been four years. The Rising was a one-off anyways. One time deal.

It brought back a lot of people who all died in the same year, but it's not like we're biting people and turning them into zombies. It doesn't work like that.

You keep forgetting I'm from the bloody 1840s. I've got no idea what a 'movie' is either.

[ just saying! ]

Still, good to know that it was a one-time deal. Again, I'm coming at this blind. I've got no idea if it's an event or a plague or a contagion or what. [ Hickey shrugs, not at all bothered by the fact that some of his questions are kind of invasive to begin with! ]

Can't blame a man for being curious.

Right, yeah. Sorry. [ Kieren closes his eyes for a moment, gently scolding himself mentally for a minute. ] Uh, basically: moving pictures. Sort of like... watching a theatre performance in your living room?

[ Kind of? Trying to be helpful and explaining stuff, even in the midst of 'zombie secret getting out'. That's Kieren. But anyways—]

Yeah, it's... nothing like that. Just a... freak act of nature. You're not going to get sick or anything just because I'm here. I can't... turn anyone into something like me.

I'm just... here. [ He spreads his arms, palms open. ] The weirdo.

[ Hickey raises an eyebrow. The weirdo. Yeah, this whole zombie thing is weird. But Hickey knows how people work. He knows that Kieren might want to hear a word of wisdom, a little bit of commiseration, something to reassure him that he's not a complete weirdo, not a complete freak act of nature.

Or, at least, that there are others more weird than he is. ]

D'you know what I saw back home? There was this bear—something close to a god. Tuunbaq, they called it. It tore off the top of a man's head. You could see his brain—could even touch it if you wished. [ Hypothetically speaking, of course. Not like Hickey would poke the brain. Nnnnnnnope, not him. ] But he was still alive. Man with his insides showing the world, not talking, not moving, but still alive.

As far as I can see? A living dead boy's no weirder than what I've already seen. You're certainly more of a conversationalist than that Marine was.

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burying - 2024-01-06 15:11 (UTC) - Expand

cw: slight period appropriate racism

friendsfordinner - 2024-01-07 04:59 (UTC) - Expand

closed | an empty crisis lonely and last

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cw: mention of murder

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cw: slight period appropriate racism