dear all who've wronged me--i am a zombie(emmy)

[ebony leeland marks]

Ebony moved quickly and smoothly as she pranced through what was once the beautiful Ashton Park. Now it was a wasteland that only the bravest, dumbest, or swiftest entered. Of those three Ebony was the later, but one wrong move and it would be zombie chow out of her. That was the last thing on her plate, too, and let's face it. Nobody really aimed for that goal. She stopped briefly, taking in a quick breath of air and reaching her right hand to her shoulder, making sure that Hemingway was still attached. He was, thank God, but it was nothing out of the usual. Like Hell if Ebony would ever let him out of her site. The snake was a constant addition to her shoulder, and he was her own personal alarm, hissing violently if any danger-- particularly 'zombies' were in the area. It was a strange little habit, but it's not as if Ebony was questioning or complaining about it.

She gave the snake a light pat on the head, grinning briefly, before taking off again, avoiding any stray tree branches that would give her away. The setting sun, or what could be seen of it through the grey clouds, made this harder and harder with each passing second, but Ebony could handle herself. She stopped only to let her eye sight stretch to its limits and eye the end of the park. Her goal was to get to a building she had found the other day, stocked with untouched and glorious canned goods. Just her luck that she would find it. Ebony was pretty good at her 'job'. But it did have a problem. The only way to reach this building would be to take an unused path. The only unused path was the park. And the park, or what was left of it, was dangerous. But Ebony was smart, and Ebony had a plan, and a very simple one at that-- "Don't get caught." No big deal, right? She slowed her pace to a walk and began to catch her breath. The faster she got out of there, the better.

She looked up for a second, examining the grey sky. It's not as if this was anything different from usual. The sky was always grey. But damn her drifting gaze, Ebony just couldn't help but look at it, even for a split second.

'Stupid move, Ebony.', Evian would later snort.

Ebony had failed to notice the rather large tree branch directly in her path. When she failed she almost didn't notice that either (or the pain she was getting from her scraped knees. Why did she have to wear shorts today of all days?) because of the fear that immediately developed. She grunted and held herself up on her elbows, reaching for Hemingway as quickly as she could manage before pushing herself back up and listening. It was always better to listen before fleeing. She almost thought she was in the clear, before she heard the footsteps. Suddenly she was off, sprinting across the park, snapping tree branches left and right, looking behind her to see any slumping figures making their way towards her. She should have looked in front of her to notice the tall giant, looming in front of her.

Ebony crashed into him with impressive force, knocking the both of them down. Instinctive annoyance filled her and she snapped, "Why the hell would you just stand there!? Watch were you go, idiot." She grunted and glared at the boy. Who was he to just stand in her way? Bah. 'Idiot.', she thought, her glare reeking with annoyance and even a little bit of anger. She heard Hemingway let out a hiss, before she patted him on the head lightly. "Shush, you."

WORDS-- IDK, but I know it's above the limit.
NOTES

-- This post fails hardcore, man. I'm so sorry. D|
TAGS

[/color]-- KARINA/EMMY<3
MUSE[/color]-- FLOWING
STATUS[/color]-- DONE!!! LOLYAY.
CREDIT[/color]-- RACHEL<3

[/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote][/size][/color][/font]

[emory siinfel]

YOU'RETHEONETHATINEED

[/b][/font][/color]
_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx i'm the one that you loathe;;[/color]
YOU CAN WATCH ME CORODE LIKE A BEAST IN REPOSE[/color]
xxxxx'cause i love all the POISON away with the boys in the BAND.[/color]
[/center]

The movements of the beast are fluid; reptilian, almost, as he cuts through the brush. His hulking stature is put to shame by the growth here, and even the broad sheets of muscle beneath his skin are ineffective in forcing the bocage to retreat. His cynical mind perceives the trees dotting the park as tumors on the horizon; the wisps of the branches adhering to his neck as a particularly specious noose. He always reasons that you have to think like this, unless you want your blood to water these trees--

ouch.

Alright, fine, so maybe it’s a little late for that. So maybe that stupid tree branch nipped him this time, but it’s not on account of his train of thinking.

[/color]
“OW. Emmy. Emmy, canweslowdownjustabitplease? Branches huuurt.”[/center]

Mars, the one, the blonde, the only thing he'd ever tote around behind him; is throwing himself at his back and desperately fastening himself there---Emmy seatbelt, engaged!--all the while re-iterating what you might have thought was very common knowledge. But believe you me, it's more than possible for a dipshit to survive the apocalypse. “Or at the very least, we should get you a saddle.”

This is likely the third time the kid's suggested this, but as Mars continues to tremble and cling and try to clamber up and heft himself within petting range of the 'stallion's head--that's about when Emory remembers that both the weight on his shoulders and the leg scraping down his spine--ouch!--in an effort to scramble up and freeload a piggyback ride... belong to Mars. Who happens to be the entire fucking reason that they're crawling through this forest.

Y'see, the kid wanted to see the park.

Mars can't have Disneyland quite yet, but in the few hours they'd been in the vicinity of Fritch, he and his near-illiterate self caught eye of a sign announcing "Ashton Park ➔". Sure, like everything in this world, it'd seen better days and kinder paintjobs. The sign was gaunt from rust and stained with what you'll pray is dirt. But after about ten minutes of the blonde staring at it, he finally deciphered the word 'park' and in a flurry of excitement dragged Emory by the ragged, boney hand in the direction of the underbrush.

He should have said no.

Emory knows he should have. He's painted with layers of dust and weariness and has been living off of strawberry Kool-aid and Twinkies for the entirety of the last month (he doesn't think they have expiration dates, and fuck, he'd be pissed to die of food poisoning rather than a zombie attack) and still realizes he should have said no.

But when he'd thought of all the simple pleasures Mars had been deprived of, it seemed like the least he could do to show him a swing set.

[/color]
“I think I see it. I think that's it!”[/center]

Emory feels a tug on his follicles, and his entire braincase shakes as Mars decides that human hair makes a great pair of reins. He shakes his head, 'no', as Mars begins to relinquish his hairhold and slide to the ground--after all, out there be zombies--but even as he starts to turn and give chase, the guy is rushing off to certain death a possibly zombie-infested playground.

[/color]
“MARS. LIKE HELL YOU'RE GOING OUT THERE--”[/center]

Impact.

Timber.

The fact that she managed to topple Emmy the humantree is something in itself.

He's already locking on to serpentine hissing, first from a woman and then from her pet. And his first impulse is to shoot first, ask questions the fuck later even though the thing speaks. But you'd think if she really had intentions to start nomming his brains, she would have started by now--she'd walked into him, for Mars's sake. Were all those damned Twinkies affecting his reaction time? She should have been pumped full of lead far before she'd gotten this close. A wave of numbed shock washes over him when he realizes this is the first human thing he's seen for miles (other than Mars--but that doesn't count.) She is the first chick he's seen within a hundred clicks (a miserable distance on foot) with a heartbeat. With warmth pooling beneath her skin rather than decay.

But he is gladder still to find insults are her language of choice, because Emory's fluency in that language is second only to whorespeak. If she'd been looking for real conversation, he'd have been fucked--Emory had been treating people as zombies far before the infection hit.

[/color]“Just be grateful I didn't explode on impact. You do realize we're in a war zone, princess?
Would you have preferred to have bumped into a kamikaze terrorist?”[/center]

He's perfected the motherly instinct of watching a child with eyes in the back of his head, so for just a few seconds he devotes his attention to Hemingway.

[/color]“That would have been a shame for you, eh? Pretty little thing.”[/center]

His stance nearly instantly softens at the reptile. The harshness flees from his voice and leaves this parental note of concern.

He guesses they both have kids to protect in this world, and for just one second, the marble expression of his face erodes into something softer.

[/size][/color]

G I V E M E A S H O T T O R E M E M B E R .

[/size][/font][/color]
&YOUCANTAKEALLTHEPAINAWAYFROMME[/color]
your kiss and i will surrender, the sharpest lives are the deadliest to lead.[/center][/color]

________
LOL HE LOVES SNAKE MORE THAN HER D|
k umm sorry if this sucks it's late. i just wanted to have something up in case i didn't see you tomorrow.
THERE ARE PROLLY GONNA BE HUUUGE BITS OF THIS THAT MAKE NO SENSE. AIM ME AND I'LL CLEAR IT ALL UP SORRY ILY ;____;
sorry for weird chronological order there too D|

[ebony leeland marks]

“Just be grateful I didn't explode on impact. You do realize we're in a war zone, princess?
Would you have preferred to have bumped into a kamikaze terrorist?”

Ebony almost flinches at the word 'princess', but then she smirks, snappy reply ready. "Why yes, darling. Especially if it meant that I never had to deal with the pleasure", she stretches the word out, making sure it's dripping with sarcasm "Of meeting you." She stares at him for a minute, examining him. She can't get a clear view of his face (damn the gas masks) but she can see the dark heap of black hair on his head and the many tattoos up and down his arms. Ebony smirks and stands up, brushing the grass, dirt, and other grimy things off of her legs, clothes, and hair. 'What a punk.', the thinks to herself, almost disgusted with him. The way she stares at him practically lets him know what she's thinking. Although, she doesn't have much room to talk herself. After all, anyone who's seen Evian knows that Ebony has to at least be generally accpeting of those with an interesting sense of style.

Suddenly a yell. Ebony turns around, alarmed by the noise. She sees a young blonde headed boy on the ground.. crying? Ebony's eyes widen and she begins to make a move towards the scene before she stops midstep at another sound. Hemingway's hissing. Ebony's eyes dart side to side, alarmed. Who, or more accurately what, was with them now? Ebony's muscles tighten and her hand reaches up to pet the still hissing Hemingway, and she looks almost prepared to flee. But instead of fleeing the area, Ebony stays, relunctant to leave the two boys. Ebony certainly isn't a talker-- in fact the only one she carries a decent conversation with daily is Evian, so the human interaction is refreshing to a human deprived Ebony-- even if one of the humans happens to be an ass who so far, she hasn't looked at without glaring or smirking.

Slowly but surely, Ebony makes her way to the boy, not looking back to notice the horror struck expression on the black haired boys face. She is silent as she crouches down next to him, but she gives him a reassuirng smile to let him now that she's a friend and not a foe, and even lets him pet Hemingway (stop the presses now). She examines him carefully, making sure that he's fine and she notices a tear in his right pant leg. She rips the pant leg halfway, just enough to see this skin of his leg, finding that the his knee is only scrapped. Ebony clicks her tongue and grins. "Hey now. You're fine. It's just a scratch, honestly." She pats him on the leg and stands, helping him up in the process, still smiling. She lets the boy pet Hemingway once again and pats his messy matt of blonde hair before she turns too look at the black haired boy. The smile on Ebony's face turns into an icy glare, and it's almost amusing how much Ebony contrasts herself in that moment, but when Hemingway begins hissing once more Ebony starts to make her way away from the two boys, almost sad to leave the blonde one in such danger. She even contemplates taking him with her, but she knows she can't do that. As for the black haired boy--

She could care less.

WORDS-- 572
NOTES

-- I tried so hard not to write with your writing style but I gave in and just went with the flow. xD
TAGS

[/color]-- KARINA/EMMY<3
MUSE[/color]-- FLOWING
STATUS[/color]-- DONE!!! LOLYAY.
CREDIT[/color]-- RACHEL<3

[/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote][/size][/color][/font]

[emory siinfel]

BEFOREICOULDEVERLETYOUGO,

[/b][/font][/color]
_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx gonna beg until i drive you mad[/color]
SAY SOMETHING YOU COULD UNDERSTAND[/color]
xxxxxi'm a STATUE baby KNOCK ME OUT.[/color]
[/center]

He feels her digging kitty-cat claws into him with her words and kneading , feels her encroaching him and scrutinizing him like a piece of meat. He smirks, lost in a brief moment in something akin to respect for her (you have to marvel how thoroughly a girl can attempt to tear you apart without laying a hand on you), and through the cracks at the corners of his mouth (heavily barricaded by the walls of his gas mask), a snort of amusement trickles through. Ebony marks the first human being, he thinks, to have stood up to him despite his hulking stature and the unspoken threat that he’d mow her down in an instant. He’s not sure how he feels about that. His cynical, Machiavellian mindset tells him that it’s better to be feared than loved--but she neither dreads him or adores him. She seems repulsed. He’s about to ask what her problem is (because no, it could never be his fault) when that unfortunately-too-familiar shriek fills the air and threatens to stop his heart. Little “Mars in danger!” alarms light up the back of his skull, even though it’s a little too late. Damn girl. He blames her for distracting him and runs to take his place by the blonde’s side and assure him everything’s fine--

but by the time he’s halfway across the playground he’s been replaced. This gasmask-wearing-princess has taken his place, crouched by Mars’s side. And oddly enough his blonde seems to accept it. Makes a minute nod as she tears his jeans to shreds and observes his leg. His blonde smiles and nods at the chastisement and reaches up to pat Hemingway just once by the scaled crown. His brother accepts a head pat from the very woman he loathes. His brother remains oblivious as she turns icy eyes on his overbearing, protective mother hen.

He wonders if it’s humanly possible for her to have dug her claws in any deeper.

Mars limps over, informs Emory of the fact that he wishes the snake could have kissed it better, and finally allows his brother to check the wound out for himself. It’s all Emory’s fault for not watching him properly--no, all this girl’s fault for distracting him.

The wound itself is tiny, a minute thing. It’s a mere puncture in his skin. Microscopic when you compare it to the limbs people have had chewed off by zombies or the bodies dead in a ditch but what if--

BUT WHAT IF IT FESTERS? WHAT IF THEY HAVE TO AMPUTATE?

He pulls the kid onto his back in an easy piggyback, and Mars, exhausted from having to put all of his worldly enthusiasm into meeting snakes and mysterious women and falling off of swing sets, rests his pale, downy, floatfro-wielding head on Emory’s and decides now is a great time to go to sleep and dream up triumphant plans for Team Dipshit. This leaves a mother hen torn by that all-consuming loathing for this damned princess--and unparalleled concern for his brother.

As always, concern for Mars wins.

“Hey.” He shouts, so desperately that you’d think he’d devised a way to use his gasmask as a megaphone. “If you hadn’t distracted me, he’d still entirely be in one piece right now. I think at the bare minimum you owe him a band-aid. Where the hell’s your First-Aid kit?”

Let it never be said Emory beats around the bush.

[/size][/color]

P A R A L Y Z E D B Y T H E S A M E O L D A N T I C S .

[/size][/font][/color]
BACKANDFORTHLIKESOMEWALKINGSPASTIC[/color]
how could a FIST FIGHT be ROMANTIC? [/center]

________
OVERDRAMATIC EMMY TO THE RESCUEEEE.

[ebony leeland marks]

As Ebony makes her way away from the boys, a state of what's almost like sadness sets in. Through all of the glares and snappy replies, she can sense a bit of longing. The human presence was, simply put, nice.

But she shouldn't get used to that-- after all, human is a dying breed.

So she walks away, ready to forget about these two boys, and ready to settle for just Evian as her human company, but then she is held back by a call from the black haired boy.

“Hey. If you hadn’t distracted me, he’d still entirely be in one piece right now." Ebony stops, mid-step, and her face contorted into some relieved, yet angry look. "I think at the bare minimum you owe him a band-aid. Where the hell’s your First-Aid kit?”

She whips around, ready to lash out at him, but the words get caught in her throat at what she sees. The blonde haired boy on the tall boys back, resting. He looks so peaceful, it would be cruel to yell and disturb him. And the way they seem to be so close-- it reminds Ebony of herself and Evian. She merely let's out a frustrated grunt. First aid kit? The only one she had a chance of even getting was back at Koios headquarters, and there was almost no chance of outsiders getting in.

But the tall boy looks so concerned. Even with the angry look on his face, she can see the worry hiding in the back of his eyes, trying not to be seen. But Ebony's smart enough to notice it. She struggles with a reply and finally manages to get an

"Well don't just fucking stand there. C'mon."

And she turns around, walking forward with more speed than usual. If he couldn't keep up now, then there was no way he'd make it in the Koios headquarters, especially with the blonde kid on his back like that. She ducks through trees and shadows. It's getting dark now-- not good.

Ebony looks behind at the boys and slows her pace just a bit. Enough to speak clearly and be heard. "My name is Ebony, by the way." She looks forward again and picks back up speed. Why even say her name? It's not as if she planned on talking to this boy again. But she supposes she prefers 'Ebony' over 'Princess' and drops the thought.

When the reach the camp Ebony stops, holding her hand out and placing it on the black haired boys chest, as if holding him back. She scans the area, which is heavily guarded. 'Damn.', she thinks, disheartened immediately. It would be damn near impossible sneaking these two in. She sighs and looks back. "He'll have to walk, you know." She twitches her nose lightly, a sign that she is thinking, and looks forward again.

She almost gives up, but suddenly the guards outside that are watching oh so closely leave. Ebony let's a grin erupt on her face before she grabs the collar of his shirt, assuming that he has a grip on the blonde boy, and sprints forward dragging them along, most likely choking him. She makes sure to avoid people (something Ebony's rather skilled at) and eventually brings them to her bunking quarters (which happen to be empty), leaving them there for five minutes. Before she walks out she leaves Hemingway on her bunk and gives a stern "Dont. Make. A sound.", to the two before walking out and rushing to the storage room.

She quickly rips off the gas mask as she walks out of the room. There's nothing Ebony hates more probably, than the gas masks. She hangs it loosely on her arm, taking in fresh air as she walks towards the storage room. She nabs a can of corn from an occupied fellow scavenger (she didn't need to get in trouble for not doing her job today) and smiles as she walks in. She looks around, placing the can down and locating a first-aid kit. 'Oh joy', she thinks, opening it quietly and grabbing a handfuls of what she can and stuffing them in her pockets. She walks out, her eyes down, avoiding the almost accusing glares of the guards. Ebony had never been good at hiding guilt. She keeps her hands stuffed in her pockets and rounds the corner, picking up speed and making her way back to her bunk.

Ebony walks in and closes the door behind her, before reaching in her pockets and throwing whatever was in them at the black haired boy. She sighs and rubs her jaw as it gets used to the fact that there is no gas mask there. Ebony would never really know.

"Happy now?", she says, the weariness in her voice, clearly. Why the hell was she going through so much hell for these two strangers?

WORDS-- 800
NOTES

-- funtowriteplz. umum, LALALA.
TAGS

[/color]-- KARINA/EMMY<3
MUSE[/color]-- FLOWING
STATUS[/color]-- DONE!!! LOLYAY.
CREDIT[/color]-- RACHEL<3

[/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote][/size][/color][/font]

[emory siinfel]

AND WHEN HER EDGES SOFTEN,

[/b][/font][/color]
_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx her body is my coffin[/color]
I KNOW SHE DRAINS ME SLOWLY[/color]
xxxxxshe wears me down to BONES in BED.[/color]
[/center]

H OW HE HATES ASKING FOR ‘FAVORS’.

He hates the way that asking for something makes you automatically indebted to someone. How it gives people the right to judge you and hoist the opportunity above your head for years to come. But mostly he just hates having to rely on a human nature so different from his own; because he can never tell exactly what they’re thinking.

He’ll never know that she saw something in him that day--that scrap of ‘mother hen’ leaking through the gasmask-camouflaged voice and cold, slate eyes--that made her change her mind. He’ll always assume it was his amazing stature; the way he cuts the silhouette of a stallion; the way his body, so lean and taut, can cart a 6’something” frame around on his back without his joints creaking in complaint.

EMORY THINKS THAT HE’S INTIMIDATED HER.

WHEN IT’S THE EXACT OPPOSITE.

“Well, don’t just fucking stand there. C’mon.”

Despite the words, he finds a beckoning finger in her voice and he supposes (for the sake of Mars’s tattered knee) that it’s best to heed it. He wonders if it’s possible for him to ‘sweettalk’ his way into a new pair of pants, too (NO, NOT LIKE THAT. FOR MARS, seeing as the current ones are now in shreds.) It’s only a matter of time before he can find out. With these goals the tank lurches into motion, and it’s easier to imagine the belts of a coldblooded machine leaving these grand indents in the earth than his own veteran scamps digging in their heels and leaving FUCK YOU marks where they may. He walks with mechanical determination, clanking and groaning; his components obsolete but built to last. Mars is but a dormant turret lolling on his shoulders, out of place in the anatomy of this deadly machine.

She turns and gives him her name, and a bout of intense social awkwardness claims him. Flusteredness, maybe. It’s been so long since he’s seen something he could possibly sneak into bed with and the introduction throws him completely offguard. Bashfulness, (perhaps? not as if he’d ever admit it) draws his gaze to the dank, dejected earth. “Emory.” He creaks, his ‘friendly’ tone dulled from neglect. She might as well identify him by name than by ‘asshole’, he supposes. But maybe he wants to prove he’s human under those sheets of steel.

He grits his teeth as they are lead through more branches; these ones willing to ricochet off of his arms and legs and leave only angry cracks in the steel of his skin as they try to ensnare him and keep him here. The tank continues on; its only motive to protect its cargo, and miraculously they arrive at the headquarters without a scratch marring his precious blonde. Emory questions the legality of what she’s doing. If he can trust her, even. What if this is a ploy--leading the outcasts to a base so that they can be lined against a wall and fired upon at a later date? Paranoia claws its way through the gears and pipes and terrible mechanical insides of the tank and threatens to bring him to his knees about the same time he feels a palm against his chest, and he grins in nostalgia and longing.

The giant missed touch and in the back of his throat, a well-oiled purr threatens to emerge. He crushes it in an instant and concentrates on what she’s asking of him--which is to let Mars walk on his own two feet. He obliges, refusing to let him out of an arm’s reach away. Mars is tired, he leans, sways like a palm tree and constantly rubs his eyes, but somehow gains consciousness as he is put on his feet. And before Mars knows it-- HIS T-SHIRT IS LEAVING WITHOUT HIM. He follows his collar and Emory himself follows suit, not sure if his brother is being run off to a secret torture chamber and no way in hell wanting to find out the hard way. They’re thrown into... sleeping quarters? The walls are cold and bare and have all the welcoming qualities of a meat locker, but he decides that this is the pinnacle of human kindness in these times and beyond the barricade of his gas mask the tank lets loose a chuckle and a meager grin. He sits on an empty bunk, turns to his brother--the one that still sways on his feet, makes meager yawns and mutters about Team Dipshit--and frees him of the gas mask with all the carefully calibrated motions of a real parent. Mars is permitted to breathe in ‘fresh air’ (as fresh as you get in a meat locker) and decides to make the most of the bunkbeds by curling into one, but Emory affords himself neither privilege.

Because paranoia’s still brewing in the tank’s obsolete innards, making his stomach curl. He leans into himself in a rare, uncharacteristic moment of weakness while trying to calm his stomach--and suddenly a handful of band-aids are flittering around his face, like snow. His hands dart up and snare as many of them as is possible, and he turns, disinfects the kid’s wound and afixes one, two, to the sleeping Mars’s leg, forming a wasteful but aesthetically pleasing ‘x’ germbarrier over the cut. You can tell how many times he’s had to do this in the past, probably. Weary eyes lock on Ebony and when she asks, happy now? he is finally honestly able to nod. He’s still breathing gasmask-filtered air but puts all of his effort into forming the words,

“Th-
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx than
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxk
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxthank-"

Struggle is obvious in those slate eyes and ivory eyebrows. He tries again, through another deep breath of stale air.

“Y-
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx y-you.”

[/color]

Words you will never hear from an Emmy often.

There is a pause and he looks up to her for permission to stay--because Mars’s soft snoring has become the soundtrack of the room; and his little staccato snorts the chorus.
[/blockquote][/blockquote][/size]

M U S T B E T H E S I G N O N M Y H E A D .

[/size][/font][/color]
THAT SAYS, "OH, LOVE ME DEAD!"[/color]
LOVE ME DEAD.[/center]

________
HE DOESN'T KNOW ANY NICE WORDS IN ENGLISH.

[ebony leeland marks]

Ebony grins as she listens to the words come out of his mouth, chopped up, pitiful, and just sad. Sad because someone like Emory just shouldn't be polite, let alone saying thank you. Eventually the words come out to be a barely understood

'Thank. You.'

And Ebony is surprised. She shrugs halfheartedly and let's her wild grin fall into an almost kind smile. She sighs and lets the gas mask drop to the floor, tired of lagging it around all day. She watches it drop, and even just stares at it for a bit, reluctant to look back at him, but she does, and she almost cringes at the pleading look on his face. It practically screamed--

'Have pity on our souls, for we need a place to stay kind lady.' (cue Mars' snores)

If Ebony had been acting herself at the moment she would have kicked them out, no problem, but god damn it-- something was allowing her to be just... strange. And Ebony did not like it. One bit. Okay, that was a total and complete lie, but you get the point. Ebony grits her teeth in a truly desperate attempt to drown out the snoring coming from the blondey, but she's unsuccessful, only earning herself a nice little tooth ache.

She looks from sleeping Mars, to pleading Emory, to the floor, to her feet, and then back to Emory. Her nose twitches once more and she bites her lip. If they got caught in here then Ebony would be fucked, and surely killed. The last thing she needed right now, honestly. But the pleading looks, the snoring blonde, it was just too much for her to refuse all of a sudden. So, slowly-- and I do mean slowly, but surely, Ebony nods her head in agreement with the unasked question. "You-- you can stay. But only for tonight. And you have to leave early in the morning."

She stands there, arms to her sides, head and gaze facing the floor, as if she's just been defeated in battle. Which Ebony has in a way-- losing a fight with herself on what's wrong, what's right, and what's nice. Woe is her, the wounded soldier. She eventually looks back to Emory (she plays with the name in her mind. She likes it for some reason), and shrugs once again."I guess I'll just sneak you two around again. Eh... ", she let's out a weary sigh and makes her way to her own bed, making sure not to sit on Hemingway. She sits down, the relief of being off of her feet crashing into her like a wave. She looks from Hemingway to Emory. "I can handle it."

Ebony kicks off her worn down shoes and lays back on the mattress, her legs still dangling off the edge bed, and stretches her arms over her head before sitting back up. She looks at her legs and sighs remembering that she had scraped her knees after falling twice in the park. She winces at her clumsiness and rubs them lightly, wincing at the light sting. She looks back up at Emory though, and cocks her head. She examines him for real now, without the gas mask, and Ebony kinda likes what she finds. He's certainly not that bad looking-- meaning he was actually pretty easy on the eyes and, dare I say-- handsome to Ebony. She hasn't had this much alone time with one person directly (please exclude the sleeping Mars?) in months-- maybe even a year. Ebony just isn't used to the human contact, so she's curious, to say the least. She almost has the urge to get to know this Emory character-- almost being the operative word.

Suddenly, out of no where, the Ebony word vomit begins, and you'd better hope that Emory is prepared for the flurry of words and questions that come spilling out.

"So it's Emory, hm?"

"How old are you?"

"Your accent is ni-- different. What is it?"

"Is the blonde kid your brother? That's cute.. I have a brother."

"Where did you two come from? Are you guys outcasts or in an alliance?"

"How old are you? Twenty-three? You know-- you're really tall. Just saying."

and the icing to top this amazingly disastrous and burnt cake--

"Can I call you Emmy? Or maybe, Emmy-Emmy???"

When Ebony finishes interrogating talking, she gives a wide grin and flips her long black hair back, behind her shoulder, unaware that Emmy-Emmy was probably going full lock-down right now.

WORDS-- 733
NOTES

-- EMMY EMMY.
TAGS

[/color]-- KARINA/EMMY<3
MUSE[/color]-- FLOWING
STATUS[/color]-- DONE!!! LOLYAY.
CREDIT[/color]-- RACHEL<3

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[emory siinfel]

AND WHEN HER EDGES SOFTEN,

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_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx her body is my coffin[/color]
I KNOW SHE DRAINS ME SLOWLY[/color]
xxxxxshe wears me down to BONES in BED.[/color]
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W HEN EMORY SAYS “THANK YOU” IT’S LIKE HEARING MEAT GO THROUGH A GRINDER. The sound is horrible. Steel gritting against steel. Politeness makes his teeth grind and emit the sound of a car crash. There is no metaphor horrible enough to describe the sound of Emory’s defeat. Emorys were never meant to be nice, simple as that. C’est la vie.

Without the gas masks there’s something almost beautiful in her wild smile. The necessary evil spins on the floor, and he’s not sure if he should tell her to take better care of the damned thing, seeing as it is her lifeline. Silence wins him over, though, because it requires absolutely no effort. It’s her life--if she wants to endanger it by throwing around her gas mask, he might as well let her. He’s not ready to take another kid under his wing. There is no room left in the heart of this beast--and even if that’s a lie, he’s promised himself otherwise. Any and all of his humane emotions have been channeled into caring for Mars--leaving no room for anyone / anything else.

About the same time her smile turns nearly kind, the pleading look takes a turn for the dangereux. About the time she gives in to the silent question, his lips rise in a victorious smirk.

YOU THOUGHT EYELASH-BATTING ONLY WORKED FOR GIRLS.

He complies to her demands with a swift nod of his head, and assures her, “we wouldn’t be staying if not for this lug.” The voice hits a tender note--easily identified by that meat grinder cadence--that would make it appear that they are both playing the parts of wounded soldiers here. The fact that she’s sticking out her neck for them again hits that uneasy note in his stomach and he makes a mental promise not to fall prey to sleep in here, because that would be weakness (and for Mars’s sake, intolerable.) He pats the chicken down plastered to the guy’s forehead and assures her, wordlessly but for a grunt (sacred Emory tactic) that he agrees to be snuck out again, as soon as light permits it. And his interest is again captured by the introduction of something scaly, something reptilic--

yes, other than Ebony.

he wants it. Parental instinct kicks into overdrive; telling him to have and hold, but he enforces a ‘look but don’t touch’ policy as soon as she plunks herself down on the neighboring mattress. A faint (ever-so-faint, but it’s what keeps him human) sympathetic pang emerges from the beast’s innermost depths, because scraped knees is a language he speaks pretty damn well. From the corners of his eyes he dares to look (somehow, even during this massive loss of humanity, it would be overkill to be caught gawking over someone) but he decides there’s something to her that he can tolerate, if not quite ‘like’.

If only so that he can get closer to the snake because ohmygodsnakesarecool.

He’s so intent on not getting caught staring that he doesn’t realize he’s been eyed up. And he’s in such deep concentration that her voice (“so it’s Emory, hm?”) startles him; makes his head leap up and bump against the uppermost bunkbed. He curses (in a tongue pretty far from English) and shines the latest bump on his braincase with the back of his hand. He doesn’t utter a sound, just turns accusing slate eyes on her as if to ask, why you do that?

“Yeah, the name’s Emory.” He creaks, suddenly finding himself drowning in a flood of questions. Between the aching head and the word vomit it’s almost impossible to comprehend all of this. His efforts are valiant, though.“Older than you could imagine. Um. Er. The accent’s from Israel. Parents’s fault.” He pauses at the question about Mars. They are on complete different sides of the spectrum; physically and mentally, but he supposes his overprotectiveness has exposed him as the kid’s brother and there’s not much he can do about it. “Y-yeah, I guess. I picked up this little growth--” It’s a term of affection, Mars,

[/i] he swears! [/color]“--nineteen years ago and it’s hard to imagine --”[/b][/color]

Emory. Why are you still talking?

What is this? Socializing? So much as attempting to? The realization makes him flinch. Usually the act of spewing out more than one syllable at a time is a sign that something is internally wrong. He thinks there’s been one occasion in which he spoke more than two words (“piss” and “off”), but that’s an entirely different bag, yo. He skips the alliance question completely, because it feels like a trap and he’s talked too damned much already. Suddenly, though, he’s being asked for permission to be called “Emmy-Emmy” and something in him absolutely snapped. His moral compass shuts down. Warning sirens wail in the back of his skull.

“...that depends. How often do you plan on living?”

His fists curl inwardly and apparently he finds this offensive enough to so much as consider leaving the sleeping Mars’s side. He treads to her bed and stares her down, forehead-to-forehead, breathing through his nostrils like an enraged bull.

Call him Emmy-Emmy again?

He dares her to.
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M U S T B E T H E S I G N O N M Y H E A D .

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THAT SAYS, "OH, LOVE ME DEAD!"[/color]
LOVE ME DEAD.[/center]

________
CHANGING LYRICS TOMORROW I CBA NOW.