post-allpocalypse - location: unknown

[27_53]

There is a flash.

And then they are no longer gone.


The shift disorients him, but not as much as the shift into Milliways-space did. The air is breathable, here; the gravity familiar, like the comforting weight of an old quilt that you've slept with for years.

it does not taste of death on his tongue

He does not crash-land this time, either - though they hit the earth with a soft thwump.

Skellig feels grief ripple through his veins as his feet bruise and break the stems of a small patch of wildflowers upon touchdown. (They did not deserve it. Not like the lobsters.) The scent of ozone clings to the both of them, but the gentle, warm breeze helps to begin to wash it away.

He walks them into the barn, still carrying her (by this point, he has her cradled to his chest, her arms wound tightly around his neck) and the familiar shadows and dust motes of home are there to greet them.

There is a pile of comfortable blankets up above in the hayloft. He gets them there.

And only then does he let her go.

(Gently. So gently. She is so tired, and so is he. They have earned a rest.)

Comments

[katyafeline]

She still feels like she should be back there. As if, at any moment, the phone she isn't carrying will ring and it will be Gesar, demanding to know why she cried off before he told her to stop.

This feels...

Indulgent.

Overly indulgent.

Soft.

Undeserved.

Unfortunately for her feelings about it, she's simply too worn to get up and do anything about it. Nothing except keep a hand tangled in his coat as the blankets try to swallow her whole.

[27_53]

They will need food, eventually. He has water (two plastic gallon jugs sit near the wall) and beer (five brown bottles sit beside the water) but no food. It is okay - because he doesn't feel like eating.

(The taste of blood and death is still in his mouth.)

"We will be okay, here."

There aren't any outright wards that she would recognize the feeling of, but it is safe, in a way that will keep them protected for the time being.

Skellig grunts quietly as they get settled on the blankets. He is going to be aching all over whenever they wake up. He is too tired to care.

He curls up beside her, shifting his wings to keep them out of the way - between the blankets, his coat, and the feathers, there is a muffled stillness to every ever-so-slight (because damn he hurts) movement he makes.

[katyafeline]

Once upon a time, a girl stumbled into the Gloom, and if left to her own devices, she would have become a fairly decent healer, who just happened to have a fondness for tigers.



Katya frowns, and she flattens her hands against his chest. For Olya, this is easy. For Seymon, for Ilya, this is not a challenge. She still finds it tricky on the best of days.

But she's still, with a stubbornness fueled by 'it's not right yet', sends what comfort she can into abused muscles and cranky bones.

[27_53]

It helps to heal the physical wounds. The mental and emotional ones will heal with time.

Time, which until a moment ago, they did not have very much of.

He mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like another round of poorly-accented Russian, that can be equated to 'thank you'.

It is only polite.

[katyafeline]

She nods, a very spare sort of motion, but her efforts do not last long beyond that. She just doesn't have much to give, and unless a parade of the optimists club marches by while singing 'The Sun'll Come Out Tomorrow' and carrying yellow happy-face balloons, there isn't going to be a substantial recharge for while.

So she sighs, a very defeated-sounding sigh, and her hands drop back against the blankets.

[27_53]

She has helped. It is not that she did not - but the waves upon waves of destruction and death have left his senses somewhat over-reaching. Hypersensitive, if you will.

But here it is quiet. The sun filtering through the cracks in the walls is warm.

"Tomorrow we will have all the lobster."

[katyafeline]

"Good." Katya still holds that this is a very excellent plan. And it is true - the blankets are comfortable, and the sun is warm, and here, the world feels right, if not familiar.

She's about to comment about the amount of butter that's going to need, but between one thought and the next, she's drifted off.

[27_53]

The gravity is not broken. That is important.

Not long after she drifts off, Skellig shifts beside her and rests his head on his arm, closing his eyes.

Sleep comes quickly, and thankfully, today it is dreamless.

[katyafeline]

She sleeps the sun down, but she has been patrolling the night for longer than many humans live. When the last light leaves the peaceful sky, Katya is awake, staring blankly into the dark.

A lot of her time is spent trying to figure out where she is.

She's still trying to figure out when she decides it's a good idea to get up to get a look at the sky.

Her... well. Everything, disagrees. Violently.

[27_53]

His body wakes up a few minutes before his mind; by the time he realizes she's trying to get up, he's already half-rolled out of her way without knowing quite how he managed to move.

"I have..." he fights for the word. "Aspirin."

It might help.

[katyafeline]

"Yes, please." She's ended up almost exactly as she started. She hasn't felt this sore since the Mirror flattened her into the somewhat grimy Russian snow.

At least this time there's no crazy American doctors with restraints. That was a bit much.

[27_53]

Skellig grits his teeth as he shoves himself up off of the blanket pile to sit completely upright.

Once he's no longer dizzy, he scoots over to the 'pantry' and picks up a wholesale-sized bottle of the painkiller and turns to look at her.

"I have water. And beer, too."

He'll deal with his wings in a minute.

[katyafeline]

"Water. Spasiba." Somewhere, back there, she lost her packet of cigarettes. She supposes that it's all for the best - at the moment, she probably couldn't put out a fire if one started, and she doesn't feel like burning.

There are ley lines running through this world. She is continuously distracted by them. The ones that managed to hit Milliways were always just a little (lot) odd.

[27_53]

It takes considerable effort to lift one of the gallon containers and hand it over, but he manages. The bottle of painkillers is easier.

He is making a running grocery list in his head:

lobsters
butter
cigarettes

He then flares one wing out - slowly, like the creaking of an old tattered screen door - and stretches the ligaments and muscle.

[katyafeline]

She's managed to sit up, but she looks less substantial than the dust motes. She chews the asprin dry, making a face at the bitter taste.

Then she starts in on the water.

Right now, it tastes better than any vodka she's ever had.

Don't tell Bear she even thought that.

[27_53]

Skellig will keep his mouth shut. He knows when it is wise.

He stretches the other wing out. This is the one that got caught by the blast of a fire-breathing antelopony.

It is more sore than the other. Once he gets his hands on the aspirin, he also chews up a few, but doesn't grimace. He's used to the taste. Sometimes he doesn't have water.

[katyafeline]

She sucks air through her teeth, squinting at the damaged wing. But a quick check of her own reserves shows that she's barely put a dent in her deficit - if she even tries to help that, she'd be in danger of abandoning herself to the Gloom.

And then Olya really would kill her.

[27_53]

"They've been worse," he says, like this is supposed to be a good thing. "I just need a few days. It will help."

At least he is not bleeding.

Anymore, anyway.

It is a considerable effort to pull himself to his feet, but like her earlier desire to look outside, he feels drawn to the night sky. The stars at Milliways are always different than the ones he is used to.

He pauses in his slow shuffle towards the open 'window' - really the old door to the hayloft - at her side, offering her his hand.

[katyafeline]

She accepts the offered hand, struggling to force abused muscles to behave and get her away from the seductive blankets.

It's a bit of a battle, but in the end, she's found her feet again.

[27_53]

They will not have to be on their feet for long, if it is any consolation. Only for the short trip to the opening in the wall.

The night air is warm but not sticky-hot, and the sky is crystal clear.

(And decidedly NOT blood-red and crackling with lightning.)

"Here," he says, sitting down and offering her assistance. His legs are dangling over the edge and he's leaning against one side of the frame.

[katyafeline]

Her legs are shaking, and she takes whatever assistance he can give without shame.

Maybe she'll bother to feel it later.

"The stars are so beautiful." She observes, quietly, after settling in. She'd forgotten, a little, in the last few days of degenerating surroundings.

[27_53]

"They are normal, here. Not like at the Bar."

He wonders if the Bar is even still there. He thinks it will be - after all, these things happen. Sometimes. But even so, if it isn't...they will deal with it later.

His arm comes to rest around her as she settles in against his side.

"I like it."

[katyafeline]

Katya is content - she knows William was not part of it, and she did not feel Olya take part. She is free from its confines.

Other than not being in Moscow, things are decidedly looking up.

She huffs, as her hand falls on her rather empty coat pocket again.
"I am going to be utterly useless for weeks." She grumbles, because...

Well.

Its what one does.

[27_53]

"I will get cigarettes in the morning," he says, a low-lying hint of amusement in his voice.

Skellig looks down at her.

"And you are not completely useless."

She is here, and that means that they are not alone in this.

[katyafeline]

"Close enough." She huffs, though there's a side-long look acknowledging his amusement - she knows she doesn't need them, but the comforting motion of it would be good.

"Will we see them again, do you think?"

[27_53]

"I..."

Skellig closes his eyes and contemplates this; in his mind, he reaches out --


he can't find them, at first - it is nothing but static and flickers and fragments across his connections ; that is more an operator error than a transmission one, because he is so damn tired ; and just when he thinks he might have a grip, it all goes black



"...can't tell."

Maybe later. He's still too exhausted.

"Completely useless, too."

[katyafeline]

She pokes him, frowning. It's her job to be the crazily reckless one. She pulls her legs up and curls against him, getting comfortable again.

Though it's best to stay away from those blankets.

They're just ridiculous.


Somewhere out in the dark, an owl hoots. She wonders if he'll get cognac for it.

[27_53]

He is comfortable here, too, with her beside him and the dark sky above. There is a mouse skittering through the tall grass a few dozen yards from the tree that sits beside the barn, but for the first time in a long time, he has no desire to hunt; no desire to kill.

He has had enough of that for awhile, thank you.



And the only way that owl is getting any cognac is if it flies into the barn with a bottle and pours a glass for itself, because Skellig is not moving again until he absolutely has to.

(Sorry, owl.)