somethinghuman | (no subject)

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iron bull,
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He meant to hold out longer. He really did.

Back home, he could go weeks to months without feeding. The new hunger, no matter how strong, was easier ignored in a dead city. There may have been the occasional feral street dog or unfortunate pigeon to help sate it, but they were just a crutch. Something to help ease the churn and ache that came from something that knotted up in his throat and head and demanded he appease it.

Darrow wasn't a dead city.

There were living everywhere. Even alone on an empty street, he wasn't alone. Every building had humans behind its walls, the air itself was saturated with the smell of living pounding him between the eyes. It made the hunger rear and demand he do something. It made his teeth bare and clench.

He didn't want to hurt anyone. He'd promised. He'd promised himself and the people he'd met that he wouldn't.

But the new hunger demanded.

He was sitting at his open window when he smelled blood. Fresh, alive, cloyingly metallic. It made him dizzy, and even without making a decision for it, his feet turned to follow the smell out the door and out the building. It wasn't human, he knew that, but the smell of feral pain and fear was bright and hot, and he couldn't help it. It called him and he was so, so, hungry.

When he found it in the alley, he mostly just thought: That's really sad.

The cat had clearly been hit by a car. It's back leg was mangled, it's pelvis at an odd angle. There were drag marks on the ground from where it'd tried to take itself to safety.

It was in pain, and pitiful, and there was no way it would survive anyway.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I can't help you. But I can make it stop.

He made it quick. He owed it that much for the pain it was in, and for what he was about to do.

It didn't taste right. Not the way the new hunger wanted. But with blood slick lips and a mouth full of flesh and fur, at least the smell of living was easier to ignore.

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What's dangerous about it? R wondered. I'm already dead.

Shrugging, he considered the shallow stream before wading into it. The water wasn't very deep and the current rather gentle. He fell into an unsteady crouch where he tried to wash his hands and where blood had soaked into the fabric of his hoodie. Frowning, he looked down at himself. Blood spread from his face, throat, and down the tattered cotton of his shirt. That's not good.

Thinking, his shoulders slumped. Glancing to make sure Bull hadn't wandered off yet, he adjusted his stance and let himself splash down face first. Resigned to just let the water wash the majority of the mess away, he started counting down as he considered the rocky stream bed just below his nose. Like nature's washing machine.

Bull looked up when he heard a louder splash and he-- he laughed, startled, when he saw R face-down in the water. With a quiet grunt he got up and gently grabbed R by the back of his hoodie and shirt to haul him up.

"I don't know if you can drown, but let's not tempt fate."

The light was almost gone, but Bull got a decent look at R. "Well, maybe if you zip up your hoodie, you'll be alright. Do you have other clothes?"

If he'd had better reflexes, he'd have probably yelped. Instead, he just kind of hung there like a gangly wet rat as Bull pulled him up onto his feet and tried to ignore the water dripping from his hair into his eyes.

Shaking his head, he fumbled for the zipper and wrestled it up. If there were blood stains still on his hoodie, they weren't immediately discernible while the fabric was wet. And if there were... well. He'd picked the right outfit the day he'd died. "It's... a... g-good... thing... I... w-wear... rr-red. Huh?"

Bull chuckled and gave R a pat on the back now that he was on his feet. "Yeah, probably for the best."

Still, he looked R over. He needed alternatives, especially if he had a habit of getting blood on his clothes. Bull made a mental note to start looking for clothes that might fit R. He was tall, for a human, and a little gangly. "Come on, kid. Do you wanna go back to your apartment? I'll walk you."

This day has been surreal. With a nod, R awkwardly pushed his wet hair back and away from his face. The water in his eyes didn't sting, but it did make the world a bit blurrier than he preferred.

"Sure," he said, taking a few heavy steps thanks to wet denim and cotton. On the upside, at least I don't need to worry about chafing. "D-don't... want... to... h-hold... you... up."

"You're not holding me up, kid. You needed help." He looked R over and gave him a wry smile. "And you need dry clothes. Nothing Dorian or I have will fit you, though."

Anything of his would drown R; Dorian was closer to his size, but the mage's legs were thicker than R's. Krem was too short, Geralt-- well, that might work, but he wasn't sure where the witcher was, and he didn't want to scour the woods for him in the dark.

Frowning, R looked down and considered his clothing. Despite water, blood, mud, and one time standing under a flock of insanely rude pigeons, he'd never changed his clothes before. Not that he could remember. He'd never even taken them off.

I did see a naked Corpse shuffling around once. That was an unpleasant experience.

"They'll... dry," he pointed out. It wasn't that he'd mind new clothes, he just didn't really see the point.

"Will you mold in the mean time?" Bull asked, half serious. He was curious. Would R start growing moss? Mushrooms? "Those will start to smell, eventually. That they aren't offensive yet is luck on your part."

Blood didn't smell terrible when it dried, just slightly tangy, rusty. But viscera did not smell good; mud might not smell great, depending on where it was from and what it was mixed with.

If R didn't want to stand out too badly, being able to change clothes was something he'd have to learn to remember.

R hadn't actually thought of that. He couldn't really smell himself, and rainwater and sunlight had done enough to keep him relatively clean for as long as he could remember. But did he smell? Would he? Oh god, is that something I need to worry about now? Being the weird zombie with the BO?

Picking at a crusty stain on his jeans, he wondered if Julie had thought he smelled. If she had, she'd been nice enough to not mention it. See, even if she'd been willing to overlook the dead thing, no girl is going to to overlook bad hygiene.

"Good... p-point." He conceded. "Never... th-thought... about... that."

"You don't smell like you sweat the way other humans do, maybe that's part of the disease. So there's that, at least."

Bull tried to sound reassuring, but he was pretty sure he'd just thrown R for an uncomfortable loop.

"More than anything, you need clothes that aren't covered in bloodstains. If I've learned anything, it's that humans take some exception to seeing other people wander around with blood all over them. I don't want someone trying to hurt you over a misunderstanding."

R was clever, for an undead kid, and while he was articulate, there was no way he could explain anything in a hurry in his current state. Bull knew there were plenty of shoot-first-ask-later people in Darrow, from hostile worlds. He liked R, he didn't want to see anything bad happen to him.

Okay, he definitely has a point there. R tried to imagine himself walking through downtown in bloodstained clothes, and the image was immediately met with some pretty suspicious and gun happy humans. Grimacing, he nodded.

"It's... a... g-good... idea." He agreed, still a bit thrown by the idea of wearing something new. Maybe new clothes would add to his camouflage. Humans might be more inclined to think he was just awkward and sickly, instead of awkward and dead. "B-blend... in... m-more... y'know?"

"Exactly. We'll get you taken care of, kid. I like you too much to see a crowd mess with you because they don't understand. I know what that feels like."

The only advantage that Bull had was that he was huge, and most people had to think very hard before they started with him. But crowds had a way of making people bold.

"If you can lay low for a little bit, I'll bring you things that should fit. Only question is, do you have the dexterity to change clothes?"

Whatever flicker of warmth R felt at being told he was genuinely liked was immediately swept under the rug by the question of his ability to change clothes himself. Which was.... well, a valid question, but still one that made him wish he could properly squirm in embarrassment.

It was obvious Bull didn't mean it in any way that wasn't honest curiosity, but still. I'm a grown dead man, and I'm not even sure if I can change my pants properly. How sad is that?

Shrugging, he picked at the crusty jean stain again. "P-prob... ably." He hedged, because it was neither a yes or a no. Given time he probably could. He wouldn't be speeding through any makeovers in a dressing room any time soon, but given some patience and privacy he could probably fish flop his way into some new jeans and shoes.

Shoulders sagging, he realized he might need help with the laces, though.

"We'll figure something out," he assured R, who looked a little down about it. They would figure it out, just like the whole feeding thing, and they would try to give R a fighting chance at survival here. Bull didn't know why he'd taken to the kid so much. Maybe because R was a strange stray, one that this world might not take any pity on. Bull felt compelled to at least try, like he had with every core member of the Chargers. He could already hear Krem's arguments about having an undead kid in the ranks.

Didn't really matter here, though. There were no Chargers, other than him and Krem.

Bull's easy confidence was oddly uplifting. Yeah, R might not be entirely sure of what his actual limitations were when it came to the strange rituals of everyday life for the living, but it made him think he might be able to power through it. After all, it had taken him months to figure out how to set up and work his record player, but he'd done it.

If patience and hard work had managed that, then maybe pants and shoe laces would be an easy challenge.

And if not, maybe I can find some of those shoes with the velcro.

"Y-yeah," he agreed, a bit more sure of it. "One... st-step... at... a... time... rr-right?"

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