thearena | (no subject)

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Who| Julie and R!
What| Protecting her not-so-zombie-anymore bro.
Where| Fourth floor.
When| Near the end of week 1.
Warnings/Notes| idk zombies.

Julie knew the moment the parking garage was revealed that she didn't want to be there. In fact, she wanted to be as far away from it as she could. Not because of the danger -- though, honestly, there's always that -- but because of the fucking temptation. Give her enough time without an axe swinging at her head and she could hotwire it. Provided all the things were working. Provided there was anywhere to go in one.

Figured other tributes would have the same idea. So she climbs up with her bag against her back and her crossbow always in her hand. She'd lucked out on that one. Much better than a goddamn bow. This was automatic. No strings attached, so to speak. And her arm was all nice and fleshy again.

She means to keep going up, but the fourth floor. She can't help but stop. This shit was her childhood. She runs her hands over skeletons she could never touch before, reading plaques with names she couldn't pronounce. Of course she's on her guard, but. Goddamn. Give her a day in here and she'd be fine.

Plus, there's. Like. Education. Muttations and shit. That's a great excuse; so is telling herself it's easy to hide behind skeletons and signs. But the water's particularly cold and she knew she was gonna die anyway. Eventually. Might as well go among the dead.

The whole red pajama thing isn't helping her hide, either. Even if the hood's kind of nice, even if it reminds her of zombies who won't be named. Maybe not a zombie anymore.

The whale skeleton's her favorite. Once she's sure the room's clear, she looks up at it and wonders if there's some security ladder hidden in a closet. Something tall enough to get up in there. With her laser pointer, at night that could be an ace sniping spot. Not that she's ever tried sniping anyone with a fucking crossbow, but first time and everything.

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R's not doing so hot. It's taken a few days to get over the novelty of being hungry and thirsty; he's guessing he didn't ration out his water the way Howard showed him. Before he'd always shuffled by puddles without giving them a glance, let rain roll down his face. Didn't think about a gulp of it. Now it's all he can think about, from the tongue that feels swollen in his dry mouth, his stomach folding in on itself. Hungry and thirsty. His lips are chapped from licking them unconsciously. Must be almost as bad as Howard's by now.

This sucks. Maybe he should've fought that little girl harder. Bet she stole food rations.

His arm still hurts a day after he got himself stabbed. It's a lot of smaller things forming into a ball of miserable this really, really sucks as he tries to follow Howard's advice. Something about finding higher ground. Try to stay quiet and away from the elevators.

The doors open, R staggering out with his feet dragging because it seems like more effort to pick them up. That might be the sleep deprivation talking.

He wanders for a bit checking out rows and rows of skeletons, his hand clenched around a crowbar that he hasn't actually had to use it. It's pretty self-explanatory, he thinks, just point and wail away and problem solved. It seemed easier last week when he wasn't getting stabbed by little girls.

It's near the whale skeleton that R sees the red and then the blonde hair poking out. He doesn't stop to think: he walks forward, headache pushed to the side, and he doesn't even see the crossbow in her hands until she turns around. "Julie!"

It's not hard to hear the call of that elevator, the one thing that's both an asset and dangerous as hell all at the same time. She darts away out from under the skeleton, taking cover behind a half-formed muttation that might've been some sort of dog at one point in its life. She hefts the crossbow up, not aiming but high enough to do it if she needs to.

The only thing that pulls her out is the sound of dragging feet. It's not the same, but she's hoping it's him. It's not like she hasn't been obsessed with the damn idea of finding him somewhere. Human. Or close enough to show the cure is working.

She goes back to the whale, though her crossbow is up again. Problem is, she can't see. Not well. So she can follow the sound, but not the sight -- and it's enough to make her heart leap into her throat, hearing his voice first. It's instinct still to raise the weapon, finger on the hair trigger, before she drops it with a gasp. Brain cutting in after hunting instincts.

"R, goddammit. Learn some stealth!" She moves in closer and practically drops the crossbow completely when she sees it. It. All of it. Her eyes wide, she might be gaping a little bit. "R?" she repeats, incredulous. That's not a zombie. Not anymore. (She was right. Blue.) Her pulse rolls up into her throat, and for the first time Julie has trouble getting words out. "You look. You look good."

He freezes. It's too dark to see that she'd had a bead on him, the crossbow hanging in her hands as she stares. Even tired, hungry and thirsty, R feels himself stand up as straight as he can, his shoulders up instead of slouched down. He likes to think this is the real him, the R he wishes he could've shown Julie before he ate her ex.

"Thanks. Was worried I'd get killed before I'd see you again," R says before he remembers he sucks at joking according to Julie. Right, right. Not so great on comedic timing. He smiles anyway, flashing teeth he isn't ashamed of. "So I guess it worked."

He tries to act casual but his heart is thudding away in his chest, his cheeks seem to have blood rushing to them and he can't take his eyes off Julie. It's always been that way, even that first second he saw her in the lab with a shotgun that seemed almost too big for her. She's wide-eyed and staring and not in I'm going to get eaten by a corpse way. Different. Nicer, he thinks. R catches himself wondering if she'd have the same reaction if she saw Perry and shoves that to the side. They can get to that later.

Glancing around, he takes in the shadows cast by the skeletons. R's intimate with bone structure. The human one, anyway. But some of these he doesn't recognize and knows he should and he wonders if Julie might be able to put names to them. R turns back to Julie, only distantly aware of the throbbing from his arm.

"Mind if we get out of the open?" R asks. It's a little cold up here and after the run in with Pruna, he's a little worried he'll get stabbed again before he gets to show Julie the pulse running down his wrist.

And yeah, he's so making her touch it. She was the first person to give him a chance despite the blood on his face, after all.

Okay.

She feels winded. Good way to put it. She can't -- look, it's hard to crush on a corpse, all right? Like. Really fucking hard. And now he's not so corpsey and her head's going haywire, nevermind the whole Arena thing. Julie's never had R throw so many words at her. For a second, it's like she's the zombie, too slow to process all of it.

It takes her a minute to get that was a joke. She's way too slow to make an appropriate sound of annoyance. Still sucks at jokes. At least that's the same.

"I--yeah. Let's go." Her eyes drop to the crowbar, but she doesn't say a thing. Living, breathing, trusting company. Been a while since that happened. Julie leads the way back to a little hallway that cuts off from the main exhibit where she's found a bathroom (working, miraculously) and a couple of water fountains. She almost lost it, seeing that one of them was lower than the other. So kids could reach it. Made her think of all the kids in the stadium, with their stupid field trips to the gardens.

She's not now. Her mouth's all of a sudden parched and she's more than eager to share her meager supplies. With their little niche secured, she leans the crossbow against the window, where light falls inside, giving her a better look.

Julie peers at him, tracing the differences with her eyes. They're small, but they're there. Mostly, he's totally the same. Just splashes of live blood in his cheeks and those eyes. "I can't believe it worked." Then she lights up with a smile, easy as ever. "Say something else. No groans in between."

Julie's picked a good hiding spot. With zombies you want a good escape route because of numbers, but she's dealing with humans, and he can see she opted for sturdy walls and one way in and out. She's flexible like that. Clearly she's put more thought into her hiding spots than he did.

R stops at the water fountain, glad that between vague muscle memory and Howard reminding him about them that he can figure out what button to press. His fingers fumble out of unfamiliarity instead of rotting motor control. Bending down, he sticks his face where the water stream trickles, gulping it up greedily. The human body requires more water than he remembers and for a few long seconds he almost forgets Julie's there as he drinks until it feels like his stomach is a cold weight. As he stands up, water still dribbling down his chin, he feels a little bit better and ready to face today and tomorrow.

He turns toward Julie and wipes the water off his mouth with the back of his hand. She's studying him, looking him up and down and he's pretty sure she likes what he sees. (And that's not just him hoping).

"You're getting a kick out of this, aren't you?" R obliges. For Julie, he'd always oblige. The smile lights up the bathroom, R so dazzled he's grinning all over again. "Yeah, it really worked. Really really."

He stoops to put his crowbar down and then rolls up his sleeve, wincing as the stab wound tugs with the movement. Smiling at Julie, he dips his chin toward his exposed skin, just as pink and soft as hers.

"Check it out. Touch my wrist."

It's more than a kick. She's loving the hell out of this. Julie lets her eyes roam pretty shamelessly. The whole water drinking thing -- and it takes some wrapping around her brain, seeing how weird that is -- it's a great excuse.

"Can you blame me? This is totally unreal." She laughs, half delight and half complete disbelief. The invitation to touch him's taken up immediately, her fingers curling around his wrist. It's not just the give of his skin or the heat of it, but that. The soft little beat underneath muscle and flesh.

An honest to god heartbeat.

"Shit." She pulls away just enough to take it all in. It's taking a lot. At least she still has the brain to get a little sly, looking at that fountain. "You look like you're taking it a little rough." She takes a drink herself, wetting her fingers. Then she's reaching up and pulling him down a bit, fluffing that hair. She doesn't have an excuse for it. Doesn't bother with one. It's not dry and brittle anymore, though going a week without a shower's not done him any favors. But it's human. Human and she revels in it.

"Try some of that. It'll wake you up."

Julie's laugh is a breath of fresh air. R loves the sound of it, loves he can listen to her voice and not hear that grumbling tug of the new hunger, annoyed it can't just eat her already.

She feels his pulse and her face goes from pretty to beautiful.

He blinks she sums it up with "shit" (eloquent, Julie) and glances at the water fountain. Really? Sure, he hasn't been feeling that well the past couple of days but the last thing on his mind was the whole body cleanliness thing. He'd been wondering about the difference in smell, though. Sweat, probably, general build-up; all stuff he hadn't ever put much thought into when he'd been a zombie. Julie doesn't give him time to ask.

Julie testing out his new hair feels a little bit like that time with Howard, only with less puking his guts and more butterflies in his stomach. Her fingers are less claw-like than Howard's, for starters.

"Okay, sure," he shrugs.

R doesn't think to argue. He just goes and does it, ducking his head under the running water, scrubbing it in, and leaning back as he shakes his hand through his wet hair. His hair and nails had started growing since the Cure finished its work, his bangs hanging in his eyes as he grins at Julie. It's the wet sheep-dog look. On a zombie it'd look pretty horrifying. On the new, improved R, he likes to think it's not so bad. Water's still dripping in his face as he reaches up to brush the hair out of his eyes, not sure if it's the adrenaline from seeing Julie or maybe she's right about getting a little cleaned up. Either way, he feels good.

"How's that?" R asks.

So she might be playing him a little. She'd feel bad if it wasn't totally worth it. It's like a damn shampoo commercial, except his hair's a little more tangled and greasy than they'd probably have, but. Damn. Compared to the gore-ridden zombie she's used to, he's looking like a model.

Nice cheekbones, too. Never really noticed those. Probably because he ends up losing parts of his jaw sometimes.

"Way better." For a second, he looks like one of those kids she'd babysit. All bright eyes and wide smiles like they still don't know what's outside the walls. And maybe they didn't sometimes. Hard to believe. "Too bad I'm meeting you in pajamas and not a muscleshirt." She grins. Nah. Totally rocking the pajamas. It's more humiliating for her and her red onsie, all right.

"Are you, uh..." Still a sensitive topic after getting eaten alive by Howard, but. He's human. Honest to god heartbeat. Hers is going wild. "You hungry?" She opens her bag and offers it over, the carefully arranged packets of food and bottles of water weighing it down. "We'll picnic."

R's smile quirks. "I'd love to."

In other words, he's starving, and not for human meat for once. He's too new to living to understand the difference between fresh and stale, and the idea of eating with Julie is too good to pass up. He hesitates for a spit second before he takes the bag from her, their fingers brushing - she's warm; he's just as warm - and his cheek flushes as he opens it peek inside. Water bottles he recognizes. The food ranges from chips to granola bars to those gas station pastries that look like someone sat on them. It's better than he's eaten all week.

For a second he's worried he'll still dribbling black drool everywhere. Resisting the urge to touch his mouth and check, R looks up at Julie as he sits there with his back to the wall and plucks out one of the granola bars.

"Thanks." He can't remember the last time he had a picnic, to be totally honest, and he sits there peeling the plastic wrapper off the granola bar as he sneaks a few peeks at Julie. He chews in silence. The texture is all wrong compared to what he's used to. (He doesn't tell Julie that). "So, uh. You haven't run into anyone yet, have you?"

If she's killed anyone, she looks clean from here. R bets she could've taken that little girl on, no problem. Probably wouldn't have gotten her stuff stolen out from under her.

Some part of her's still waiting for an awkward groan about how he isn't eating people food yet. The real stuff. And as much as she'd kill to share a good ol' pad thai between the two of them, even granola bars are like bricks of gold around here.

Julie sits close, legs crossed under her, tipping her head back against the wall. Their little corner is cut off from the rest of the room, providing terrible cover but good protection. It's much more likely they'll hear someone coming before anyone else hears them first.

She isn't up to the whole sneaking looks thing. She blatantly watches him eat like it's the most fascinating show in the world, and maybe it is to her. Considering it's the Arena, it's not like she has a lot of entertainment or a lot to feel good about.

"Nope." Her lips pop on the p. "Meeting people tends to go south." And she was hoping to find him first. Make sure he wasn't doing something stupid. He might've found her in turn, but he was still doing stupid things. Not a strategic bone in his body. "Three Arenas and not a single kill. I have to have the shittiest record around."

It's almost like they're back in the 747 again - he's sitting with his knees up awkwardly like he doesn't know what to do with them, Julie cross-legged because she's flexible like that. With the way she's staring at him, R's suddenly self-conscious about how he eats. Is he chewing too much (too little?). Mouth open? Maybe he's grunting or dropping too many crumbs.

He polishes off the granola bar, licking his fingers as his eyes flutter up to Julie. There's the weird hope that he ate it the right way, he didn't eat like a - well, like a starving corpse.

"I don't know. I, um, I mean..." This might be weird coming from a zombie - ex-zombie, R reminds himself - but he feels like he should say something about the whole murdering thing. He bites his lip, frowning. "I'm glad you haven't had to kill anyone."

Maybe he's old-fashioned like that.

He fiddles with the empty wrapper, crinkling it between his fingers out of some nervous gesture he didn't even realize he still had post-post-death. Logically she's killed, and not just a zombie here or there. Not all survivors are one big happy family. At the same time, it's hard to look at Julie across their little Arena-picnic and picture her with fresh blood splattered across her face, in strings staining her hair red. It's a little scary, actually. When he gets down to it, it's thinking about Hyperion and that...look in his eyes. That dead-eyed look, flat. Soulless. Then transplanting it into Julie's eyes.

No thanks.

Not like a starving corpse. Of course, she's not really thinking about starving corpses. She's just watching how his fingers shine from the saliva. Not because of the gore caked on them.

Julie snorts more from the irony than anything. Of course R has more kills than her; he eats people. It's just stupidly funny to think that he's a bigger contender in these Games than her. That under that genuine niceness, he's still got more notches in his belt. The thing is, she's not envious. She doesn't know what she is.

"You would say that." Her smile is wry. She picks up one of her extra crossbow bolts, turning it around in her fingers, pressing the point to one of her fingertips. They both have their idle tics. Hers are usually just weapon-oriented. She hasn't been without a gun in her hand or at her hip since she was ten. "I mean, despite the whole sponsors thing and whatever, I don't want to." She shrugs. It's obvious, duh, but she wants to say it. "It used to be about survival. But this is like... what's the point? I've failed at it. I'm not the survivor I was raised to be. And I know I'm gonna be alive tomorrow."

The truth is he's never seen a crossbow bolt up close. They're quiet, sure, but they take longer to reload than a gun and if you're surrounded by groaning corpses, those few seconds of difference can kill you. Most survivors he's seen - eaten - tend to lean toward the gun option even if it didn't save them in the end. R leans forward despite himself, curious to see what it looks like up close. From the way Julie's holding the bolt, he'll guess she knows how to use one.

He's frowning at Julie now, the plastic wrapper forgotten in his hands. She's frank about her chances but at least she's being more optimistic than Perry was - is.

"What if they don't bring you back, though?" He's heard it happening before. It's unclear if the person's dead-dead or they got chucked back to wherever they came from. "I mean..."

R trails off, staring down at his hands, his eyebrows drawing together. He'd meant to go into some kind of inspiring pep-talk but the words don't seem to come and everything just seems so much more...complicated now that they're both Living. He realizes he doesn't really want to talk about Julie dying or going home. It's selfish but it's true. He just wants to sit in this moment and share food and not think about the nitty-gritty details of survival that she's only all too familiar with.

"We'll talk about what to do next in the morning, okay?" R shrugs, looking up at Julie. "Take it a day at a time."

R's aware he's borrowing a page from the Survivor Handbook - he hopes he's not sounding too much like Perry or Julie's dad - but still. Aware he's playing with the wrapper again, R puts it down, elbows resting on his knees, fresh blood seeping through his sleeve. He'd like to reach out and hold Julie's hand some more, he thinks. Probably need to work up to it.

Her only answer to that is really just a shrug. As much as she hates shrugging, there's just -- she knows better. She's gotta hope that when (if) she gets home, Nora's still in the stadium. Dad's still in charge, and maybe he's worried about her. (Yeah, right. Because he was that worried the first time, wasn't he, Jules? Five seconds where he almost seemed human and then he was back to being the general.)

Instead of a shrug, though, she holds it back. She snorts. She sits up straighter and holds her hand out to offer the bolt -- she's not blind to the way he looks at it, like one of the kids at the stadium would watch her when she was cleaning one of her Remingtons.

She drops it between them instead, moving with the lightning quickness of a cornered rabbit -- or a girl who's used to seeing gangrene tear people apart. "What's that?" Julie's not blind. It's blood. Blood doesn't go through clothes like water or oil or mud. Thoughtlessly she rolls R's shirt up, peeling it off his skin. The half-dried blood's like glue, still moist underneath. She wipes it away to find the wound; obvious the damn thing doesn't hurt that much. "Are you kidding? Where is this from?"

He's in the middle of reaching for it when Julie grabs his arm, shoving his sleeve up. Oh, it hurts alright. R's surprised it does when she scrubs away at the knife wound to find the gash cut into the meat of his arm. His eyes water on their own. Involuntary reaction. Howard had warned him about that happening: you could be hurt or even just upset, mad, and sometimes your eyes would start tearing up whether you were in a crying mood or not.

R grits his teeth. Okay, okay, so don't cry in front of Julie. Just...don't.

"Um," he says. "I kinda got stabbed. By a little girl," he adds and then wants to take that back.

Probably should've stopped before he brought that up. He's sure if he was Perry, he wouldn't have gotten his stuff stolen and his arm shish-kabobed by some kid. R glances down at the wound as Julie turns his arm over to check the extent of the damage. It's turning weird colors at the edges, the skin peeling back and glistening.

The thing is he knows Julie's seen worse. She's grown up in the post-apocalypse - how could she not?

If she wasn't survival-trained, she might've taken a half second out to sock him in the face out of sheer disbelief and anger.

"Who? Pruna?" she bites back, dragging her bag over to shovel through it. Pruna's the only little girl she's met here and the girl's not completely there. Not to mention it'd only make sense if someone in her own damn district tried to kill the one friend she has from home. It'd be wicked irony, wouldn't it?

At the very least, she doesn't snap about how R himself is like a fucking child (not his fault, right?) but Jesus, he's bleeding all over the place, wouldn't that seem like a bad thing? She pulls the cording out she snatched from the Arena, tying it just above the wound to hopefully slow a little bleeding while she takes care of it.

Of course, not much around here to take care of it with. At least the water fountain's right here.

"You are seriously useless." The insult has an affectionate note. She stands and shoves the ex-zombie in front of the fountain, taking hold of his arm and washing the blood from it. Another reason to be thankful the damn water works for once. "You know this is bad, right? This could rot." She scrubs at the wound, half to clean it and half to see ii there's any reaction. "You're squishy like the rest of us. You can't just ignore this anymore."

Edited 2014-02-02 06:53 (UTC)

"I think so," R shrugs. Julie's suddenly bursting into action, practically frog-marching him to the water fountain. "Hey, what're you - "

He cuts himself off with a hiss as she starts cleaning out the stab wound. A little bit of puss comes out with the blood, dribbling out to swirl at the drain cover. The blood that comes out now is more red than before, more watery. It smarts when her skin touches the entrance point. Wincing, he glances up at Julie and watches her work. She's done this before. The way she moves, it's sure, business-like. It's basic to her and everyone from the City. No wonder she's fixing him with that look.

"Sorry. I keep forgetting," R manages a sheepish grin that's a little strained at the edges as Julie cleans up the wound. He could point out she'd stabbed him their first meeting. "Does it look that bad? I mean, I was still able to use it."

R's not a good judge himself. He's seen rot before, but it's different on corpse and on humans, he'd eaten it anyway, rot and gangrene and everything in between. Didn't even bother eating around the edges. R didn't have to like it but when you were starving and Dead, you choked down anything after a point.

If he did point that out, Julie would be happy to point out he was part of an entire troupe of zombies planning on eating her and her friends, so. Even steven.

As it is, she's got business to do, whether or not she's a little pissed that she wants to be happy about this and little things -- like, you know, reality -- keep ruining it for her. She snorts, slinging water off her hands.

"Don't move." She drops her first aid kit on the side of the fountain, digging through it. Pruna. Should've known. It's not like she can give R shit just because Pruna's a young girl. God knows she could've killed R in two seconds flat when she was twelve herself. "You're gonna find out wounds're usually worse than they look."

But his was relatively clean. Ish. He was lucky as hell this wasn't the shitty dollar store kind of first-aid kit; should've opened it before now. There's a little antibacterial tube of cream in here, and she smears it carefully around the edges. Hydrogen peroxide after. She's not classically trained as a medic, and what she has now is purely meager supplies and desperation. A bandage comes next, then the gauze. wrapped around it. She makes sure it's tighter than it needs to be so it hurts. So he won't forget.

"There." She cleans her own hands as well as she can. The threat is twofold in case he's got something that -- shit, now that she thinks about it, what if he's still volatile? She scrubs her fingers red. "Try not to use the arm or you'll rip it open. It needs to scab over." It makes her want to laugh, the way she almost sounds like a teacher.

And it kind of awkwardly hits her how much she just touched him. God. What is she, ten all over again? "Try not to get stabbed again, okay? I'm not always gonna be around."

Survivors from her group probably would've manned up or joked around while they were getting patched up. R doesn't do that. He seems like he's doing fine, he's coping, until she starts attacking his arm with creams:

"Ow! Christ, Julie!" R would've jerked his arm back if she didn't have a tight hold on it. Maybe she was expecting him to be a bad patient.

The look on her face shuts him up. R meekly snaps his mouth closed and settles for biting his lip. Okay, okay, so trying this again. This was bad but not you-got-shot-in-the-lung-bad. What was it the Living called it? Oh, yeah - "sucking it up". He needs to do that. R thinks he's doing a fantastic job sucking it up until she starts wrapping the gauze around his arm and it's tighter than it probably has to be. He can't help it: he flinches, grimaces and almost starts to rub at his arm until he catches that Julie Grigio stare.

Better not. R makes a conscious effort to put his hands down. It still hurts but between the bandage and the gauze and whatever that goo was she smeared on it, it's not as bad as before. Just feels different.

R manages a smile. "I wasn't ready that time. She won't nail me again."

He's bluffing but he hopes his poker face is better as a human than a zombie. The idea of Julie not being there makes his smile falter, though. She could be on another floor, scavenging; bring a productive survivor, eking it out day by day. But she could also be dead and that thought weighs on him. A silence falls again, weird, uncomfortable, R not sure what to make of it as he searches her face and wonders.

He reaches out and takes her hand, squeezing it as if to reassure himself.

Edited 2014-02-02 07:49 (UTC)

She might feel a little pity for him; it's like a little kid getting a skinned knee for the first time. If she was a little more vindictive, she would've laughed. He's seriously pathetic. (He's absolute dead weight.) But when he takes her hand, it doesn't really matter. Not that it did in the first place.

She shrugs. The grin that crosses her face is sly and doesn't believe him for a second. "I'll give you some lessons one day, maybe. Teach you to use that height for an advantage."

Not to mention the long arms and legs. R could probably be a good fighter if he had, like, an ounce of training. Or ability to use his limbs in a non-gangly zombie way.

The quiet's a little awkward. She slips her hand away and clears her throat, going back to her bag. Julie leads the way a little further into her nook, pulling out the sleeping bag. She has to wonder if it's big enough for two for a reason. "You gotta be tired. Human body and all." She glances up at him through her lashes, really sly this time. "Should get some sleep while it's quiet, R. I can keep watch."

R snorts at the idea. Yeah. Considering how his archery lessons went, he's convinced Julie has her work cut out for her.

He turns to watch as she drags out the sleeping bag, not surprised she'd found one. He blinks at her for a moment, not reading that double meaning laced in there, the invitation. For a second he just stares blankly.

"Well, yeah, I noticed I need to..." R trails off, suddenly realizing he missed something.

He takes in the way Julie's got a little half-smile tugging at her lips, how he's somehow missed how long her eyelashes are. Even though her hair's too long to be zombie-sensible, it looks nice (not exactly romantic, but it does. He'd liked touching it). She's offering him the sleeping bag and there's something he's still stumbling around, not cluing into. The frustrating part is he's not sure if he's always been this clueless or this is still a leftover from being a zombie for so long.

He tries to stall for time, shaking his head stubbornly. "I wouldn't want to hog your sleeping bag. It's yours."

So close but no cigar says that inner voice, almost smugly.

So maybe subtlety isn't her thing. But subtlety sure as hell isn't R's thing, either. Her brows raise up at him, watching him as he stumbles through that slow, dawning understanding and then -- wow. Rejection.

Not gonna lie, that kinda stings. Give a guy one human day and he doesn't want to even do anything with it.

After a beat, she rolls her eyes with a click of her tongue. She wasn't planning on molesting the guy, thanks, and there is genuine concern for him. If he forgot to eat and take care of a goddamn stab wound, it wouldn't exactly be shocking if he didn't know sleep was a thing now.

"Get in the fucking bag, R. You look like shit and you need to give the arm a rest." Let the wound set or something. Besides, neither of them were gonna get anything done in this Arena, not on her watch. He wasn't gonna go around eating people and making them a personal army. Not that that worked out last time, either, but it sure trimmed down on the Tributes. "What're you afraid of?"

Did he say the wrong thing? Judging by the eye roll there, he's guessing he did.

He ogles Julie, stunned when she takes the reins and asks all the hard questions. He hadn't thought he was afraid but there's a little part of him that is. The cynic who whispers he's not cured, not really, because it's just too good to be true. The thing is dead or alive, R's still apparently a follower and he jumps when Julie says jump - he shoots her a startled look and hustles to the sleeping bag. If he was wittier, he would've said something like yes ma'am or saluted or something.

R slides inside after fumbling with the zipper (he thinks back to all the times he wished he could master zippers), feeling the sleeping bag's soft down trapping his body heat. It feels weird, actually, being cocooned. Having bare feet when he had years scrapping away at the soles of the same shoes, day in and day out. There's probably some half-forgotten urge to snuggle deeper into the sleeping bag trying to resurface. Mostly he just looks lost inside it as he gazes up at Julie.

From here, she looks taller. Her hair's piled over her shoulders and she's leaning forward, watching him like she had back on the 747, her blue eyes studying him and trying to work something out only she knows. It's that look that made him change his mind about the brain-eating thing. Why he broke all the unspoken rules at the airport.

Plus she'd looked damn good holding a shotgun.

"Are you sure there's room?" R asks.

There. She'd been all ready for even more of a fight, but he kind of folds and she feels a little bad for snapping. But seriously. She's starting to think Dad would hate him less for being a zombie (for once being a zombie) and more because he'd be a really shitty soldier. Can't have General Grigio's daughter dating anything less than the best of the best. Or deadest of the living.

He's seriously lost. It's kind of sad. So she does him a favor and leans over, zipping it up behind him. Then she goes back to propping her head up on a hand, looking at him from. Too close. The scars on his face are more obvious than ever because they're not blanched out from the dead flesh. She's been wondering since she got over the gonna-eat-me phase where they came from. Zombies don't really fight zombies, so it only leaves one source left.

She smiles. This time it's soft and a little touched; for a guy, he's weirdly conscientious. Polite, even. More than what she's used to.

"There's room." Not exactly a very polite space between them, and when she shifts her knee brushes his leg. But it's worth trying once, and the warmth in here doubles with him inside. Very human. "You look like you're about to sweat it and bolt."

She's right - there's room. Technically. It's a tight fit and no matter what he does, he keeps bumping into Julie. She's everywhere: elbows, knees, what feels like a shoulder. It's like a little world with just the two of them. The sleeping bag forces R to lie on his side to fit, bringing him face to face with Julie and close enough to practically feel her checking him about again. Sometimes he wonders how she does it. How she can look at him and see him for him instead of what he's done. The blood on his hands that isn't just Perry.

Would she have liked the old R? The one that had a name and goals and wasn't cut out for the apocalypse? Or does she prefer the ex-dead boy with a name's fragment? The ghost that was inside the corpse?

R feels his heart quiver as Julie smiles at him, gentle around the edges like a dawn sun. The Arena seems far away with the sleeping bag around them and - and....

Her knee is caressing his thigh.

Surprise flickers across R's face as his eyes jump down as if he can see what she's doing. What's even more surprising is he can feel it, really feel it. It's not just tactile sensation telling him about the ruined city around him. There's opinions now. R actually realizes he likes it. Hesitantly he shifts his own leg, copying both distant memories and Julie and touching her back with his ankle. He entangles his fingers with hers, his other hand wanting to cup her cheek again.

"Just adjusting," R says. He'd shrug, except the sleeping bag. Plus Julie's right there. "I've never done this. Sharing a...space like this."

She can't help the laugh that bubbles out. Adjusting. He's interested as he is scared, and he's got the look like a deer in headlights. It's definitely something else. For a victim of the apocalypse, he has a remarkably... sunny disposition. And she doesn't just say that about anyone.

His hand is warm as hell. No cold feet. Definitely a winner.

"Sure you have. You're a pro." Better than, you know, trying to wiggle out or avoid any contact or staring at the ceiling. It's obvious now more than ever how big he is compared to her. Gangly legs and he's taking up more space. His shoulders are pretty small, though. She's used to something broader.

She shrugs for him. "And it's now or never, right?" Just in case the Cure is... temporary. Like everything else. So like her old trips out of the stadium, she has to put a little risk in it to make it worth it. Keeping his hand in hers, she shimmies closer and kisses him. Way better than the wet, cold thing of a zombie, like making out with a dead fish.

Infinitely better.

Maybe it's the laugh or the way her hands seem to fit in his or it's just that he's daydreamed about kissing her. All R knows is he doesn't jerk away.

Julie's lips brush against his. Warm, soft. She's too new in the Arena for them to get chapped. Tentatively he kisses back, hoping in the back of his mind his technique isn't too rotted from his stint as a zombie. Is he a good kisser? Bad? Dry mouth or too much saliva? Whatever he is, Julie doesn't seem to mind. Their noses bump, R wondering about that in the back of his head that's not entirely focused on all things Julie Grigio. It's supposed to do right, isn't it? A kiss from Julie is another beast entirely from the one Howard sprung on him, R realizing he likes this one much more and he wants more like it.

His hand shifts so he's cupping her hand to his chest, almost as if he wants to cradle it to his heart as he returns the kiss.

When R pulls back, he finds himself blinking rapidly. A smile creeps onto his face, shy, hopeful.

So it's probably a goddamn miracle that she isn't comparing it to Perry or going beyond into comparisons of living vs. dead vs. maybe-dead; in fact, she's putting a hell of a lot of effort into shoving everything to the side to get, like, one selfish moment. Which is incredibly stupid idea in the Arena, but hey, she's gonna die eventually, right?

Bummer. She's gone all pessimist now.

The kiss is good. Good. Grade-A stuff. She gives a little huff when it's over, then a laugh of disbelief, because this is more than enough to get high off of. What's she need pot for anymore? There's a Cure. And it's working pretty well, if she says so herself.

"So." She's putting a lot of effort into seeming suave, here. Her heart's going wild and she's glad their hands are on his instead. "That wasn't terrible, right?"

That was supposed to be rhetorical, but. She's totally worried.

She's doing a way better job at the whole suave thing than he is: his heart seems like it's trying to escape out of his chest as it hammers away under their hands. (He wonders if Julie's is doing the same).

"I liked it," R says. "I really liked it."

His feet brush up against hers again as he shifts closer in the sleeping bag, so close he can't help but almost bump noses with Julie. She's so close she seems impossible. So real he can hardly believe it. Those moments back in the airport, back in the Capitol where he'd steal glances at her and wonder what it would be like to kiss her. It's better than he thought. Different, but better. Perry's memories didn't do it justice. They'd always been colored by all the people Perry lost and the way it started to feel like going through the motions. How her lips just felt lips like lips in the end.

Smiling, R goes for it this time, a little bit braver than before. He kisses Julie back, touching his lips to hers and he's not sure if it's the joy bubbling up that he's Alive and kissing her. Or maybe it's because suddenly things seem like they can change.

All R knows is he giggles in the middle of the kiss as he reaches out and hugs Julie to him.

"Yeah?" Her eyebrows raise, intrigue and a little surprise and real pleasure in it, all mixed up. This is. Wild. Wild as hell. Slinking it up with an ex-zombie and swapping spit like there's not a chance he might still infect her. If there is, well. Let it happen. Worth it for a good kiss.

And a second one, which is a little more bruising against her nose. Clear that R's not sure what to do with his teeth or his tongue, but Julie loves it anyway. It's so him. It reeks of the guy who collected snowglobes and records simply out of being a purist. Only makes sense a guy like that should fumble during his first sleeping bag experience.

It's going pretty good until he laughs. Or. It's not even a laugh. It's too high-pitched and it shakes his shoulders, and somehow she ends up laughing into his shoulder anyway, hooking a foot around his. This is seriously gonna get them killed. She tries shushing him but it's interrupted by her laughs.

"Shh! Come on. You can't get us killed this early."

Oh no, he’s set her off: he feels Julie burying her face into his shoulder and giggling too, her lips pressed against him as she tries to muffle it. It’s not really a funny joke but he finds himself cracking up anyway, unable to control himself, wondering if this is what it’s really like to be alive. He’d wondered before what it would feel like to laugh. To open his mouth and have it come out instead of his pathetic attempts at croaking. Now he knows.

And it feels damn good.

“No I won’t,” R whispers back, only it’s not even really a whisper. “We’ll stay right here and wait out the whole Arena, easy.”

Somehow in the process he’s gotten more tangled up with Julie and he realizes he likes it that way too. Her feet are tangled in his, warm, her toes tickling against him as he hugs her to him. When he looks are her, he thinks of sunshine and dawn and every word he knows to describe the sun. Words he’s surprised he can dredge up after years wandering in the decay and the fog of undeath. Saying them out loud wouldn’t do her justice. He could go for another kiss, but instead he burrows his face against the hollow of her neck. It’s nice, actually. To be able to press his mouth against the soft skin of her throat and not feel an instinct to rip it out.

If you ask him, today’s the best day of his life. Tomorrow can only get better.

It's a terrible joke. It's not even a joke! She's really concerned about their safety here. There's, like, guys with lances and Howard around, though the latter's so damn small and skinny and -- she's really not thinking about that, not right now. Says a lot something like this can drive the darkness of that memory away.

She laughs so hard she snorts, which makes it seriously worse. It's all she can do to cover her mouth while her shoulders shake.

"You're seriously the only guy I know who's laughed through a kiss with me. I'm too good. That's the problem." Too good. Yeah. Nora would say she was probably worse than a zombie, but too bad she's never had the chance to attempt that. Besides, Nora's definitely not making out with this one.

This is. Yeah. You know, this is better than the Capital's lights and their mountains of food and the luxury of people, people who haven't given a single thought their entire lives of how to survive the day, just how to waste the twelve or so hours before they sleep again. She thought she missed people, and she does. But not like them. Not that overindulgent, selfish greed of... of the rich, she guesses. The rich she never met herself.

The press of his mouth to her throat feels significantly more intimate than the kiss, and it's the first thing to successfully quiet her. She awkwardly pulls an arm from between them to pull through his hair, which is pretty tangled and a little oily, but still slick from the fountain and a hell of a lot softer than a corpse's would be. "Yeah. You stay in this sleeping bag and we're guaranteed to survive. We'll win couple-style. Be the next Katniss and Peeta."

That is a very un-ladylike laugh there, Julie, and he loves that too.

R’s not sure if “too good” could ever be a problem. If you ask him, Julie’s this side of perfect and she had it right with the sleeping bag idea. He knows logically it’s just cloth and polyster and stuffing and that none of that would stop a gun or a knife from sliding in, if a Tribute were to jump them. But it’s hard to care when he’s hugging Julie and she has her hands tangled in his hair. She runs her fingers across his scalp. It feels not just nice, but great. He’s capable of forming an opinion about it either way and the novelty of it shocks him.

“Sounds like a plan,” R says. His mouth brushes against her throat as he speaks, wondering if he should pull back. Eye contact is one of those things he was particular about as a corpse, all because he couldn’t really manage it most of the time and neither could the other Dead. Now, though. Now he wants to stay right where he is. “Fool-proof.”

When she says “couple-style”, does that mean what he thinks it means? He dares to hope it does, between the kiss and the sleeping bag and still being there for a zombie. It seems comfortable instead of awkward to lapse into silence again. He imagines he can hear her pulse through her neck, knows that with the Cure he doesn’t have that zombie-sixth sense going on anymore. Sometimes he wonders what it would’ve been like if she’d been a survivor and he’d been one too. If they would’ve passed each other by.

R’s hand moves up from her hand to touch her wrist, feeling his way up her arm. Exploring in a way he’s never tried before. When he was a zombie, all that mattered was eating and feeding that need. Desperation, basically. Now it’s different. It’s gentle in a way he’s longed for, R aware of Julie’s fingers brushing through his hair.

“Thanks,” R suddenly says. “For being there. For asking questions back home.”

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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Let's do the wound cleaning so we can get to the sleeping bag time :D

awwright

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