Casualty of Migration

[eternalhost7.livejournal.com]

~It's surprising how losing your hair suddenly makes you realise how vain you once were. As the final clump comes out in his hand (rather be bald than have a stupid-looking fringe) and his skin start splitting along its newly-healed seams he briefly considers lying back and letting whatever else is in this Level take him. But escape is necessary and he won't let a little thing like being too weak to breathe stop him. God he was glad he wasn't with anyone right now. If anybody saw what was happening... downstairs... they'd never take him seriously again.

Making it through Seven had been difficult and his feet were nearly bloody stumps from all the sharp garbage, but pain was something he had gotten used to. The dull heart-wrenching ache was worse than a stabbing- at least that would have been something he could appreciate- and he had wanted to tear off his own feet to stop it, but gritty resolve won out and he had made it to Six, wearing nothing but a threadbare smock and linen trousers, found among the sewage of the lower level.

The first thing he does upon arrival is sear his own feet on one of the more hidden bulls- anything to distract from their pain and the nausea and the general brain-freezing depression of suffering through a Hell worse than anything he did to his boys. It's pretty much all his body can stand and he crumples against a wall, allowing himself an unhappy groan. His insects crawl over his body as if he were already a corpse and he doesn't bother to slap them away; like a dying wildebeest.~

Comments

[wetandbothered5.livejournal.com]

That's a horrible lie.

[madlymirthful9.livejournal.com]

*Barty looks wounded*

I've never been anything but honest with you.

[wetandbothered5.livejournal.com]

I'll be honest in return: wouldn't you say that it has been quite a long time since you've walked?

[madlymirthful9.livejournal.com]

Fortunately.

[wetandbothered5.livejournal.com]

I like it when you walk.

[madlymirthful9.livejournal.com]

I can't when my footflesh is peeling. At least you found some shoes. *indicates the scraps strapped to Reg's feet - a very loose definition of shoe*

[wetandbothered5.livejournal.com]

Yes well they pinch.

[madlymirthful9.livejournal.com]

Well I offered to make them out of those dead lizard things we found. You refused. They were oozy, not pinchy.

[wetandbothered5.livejournal.com]

Oozy is never preferable.

[madlymirthful9.livejournal.com]

Then you've forfeited your right to complain.

[wetandbothered5.livejournal.com]

You can't say that until you've had to wear pinchy shoes.

[madlymirthful9.livejournal.com]

And you can't say anything until your feet are bony, blackened horrors.

[wetandbothered5.livejournal.com]

I would much prefer to have horrorfeet and ride in a cart than have feet nearly as bad and have to pull this thing. It won't move, Barty.

[madlymirthful9.livejournal.com]

*crosses his arms* Then we wont move.

[wetandbothered5.livejournal.com]

I am pulling, I am.

[madlymirthful9.livejournal.com]

*Barty pauses to retch over the side and the entire cart gives a threatening metallic moan*

[wetandbothered5.livejournal.com]

*Regulus looks away to avoid a chain reaction sort of situation, he's vomited pinkish fluid onto the pavestones enough times without being egged on by Barty*

[eternalhost7.livejournal.com]

*Andrew looks up with difficulty at the comical, surprisingly goofy conversation. Humour? In this place? Surely not. It's enough to almost make him crack a smile. Small miracles can be a blessing.

He pulls himself up in an attempt at greeting, despite how much it hurts.*

Do you need any assistance at all?

*His eyes quickly flit over the two men, and linger just slightly longer on Regulus. Young, attractive (or would be under different circumstances), and certainly submissive from what he can see. Maybe old habits needn't die hard after all.*

[wetandbothered5.livejournal.com]

*Regulus lets go of the cart's handles and straightens, alarmed that this man had gone unnoticed (as well as by his appearance, even when you're expecting everyone you meet to be a rather horrible-looking version of themselves the shock of seeing someone reduced to a bonebag of cracked skin without even hair to hide it never really goes away)*

No, thank you, that's quite unnecessary...

[madlymirthful9.livejournal.com]

*Barty, eyes wide at a spotted opportunity, stands in the wagon and leans over to whisper in Reg's ear*

[wetandbothered5.livejournal.com]

[madlymirthful9.livejournal.com]

What?! Don't tell me you'd feel bad. Bit late for that.

[wetandbothered5.livejournal.com]

That doesn't mean I am going to make a habit of imprisoning people to drag rusted wagons all around Six. Be quiet and stay in the cart...

[madlymirthful9.livejournal.com]

*ignores this bit of advice, leaning on Reg's bleeding back, putting a terrible strain on the old cart, his voice ringing out across the alley very conspicuously, his face a picture of misery, bloody vomit frothing from the corners of his mouth melodramatically*

Please sir. We're broken and vulnerable.

[wetandbothered5.livejournal.com]

*he catches the handles of the cart so Barty's shifted weight doesn't topple it over, but he looks supremely unimpressed both by Barty's plan and lack of self control to just stay silent in a cart for a couple moments while doing so*