His head snaps upwards at the sound of her voice and the soft rustle-hiss of footsteps, eyes jerking towards her, searching her face. His own is a pale, shiny mask already, the sort of someone freshly bitten and out of luck -- only he's been out of luck for a long time, the infection already swimming through his veins. He watches her moving lips with black, glassy eyes, his pupils blown.
"I, I don' know what got me..." He rasps out, looking down at himself and expecting to find a chewed-up mess. Bloodied holes torn into him. But his skin has bubbled up with boils that have swollen in size from grapes to ping-pong balls in seconds, ripe with blood or pus or god-knows-what. A boyhood spent on a farm and a tireless, adventurous spirit (which often went hand in hand with landing himself into all sorts of trouble) made bug stings and the odd non-venomous snakebite no unfamiliar thing. But he's never seen anything like this. Never felt anything like it either.
It has taken no time at all for the pain to hit a near-blinding pitch, so all-consuming that he can't remember a time it wasn't like this, when his nerves weren't spitting fire. It pushes and pulls his thoughts to crazy places and suddenly it doesn't seem so nuts, the idea of clawing at himself, digging and digging, until he's dug all the hurt out of him. Dug out the burning thing burrowing deeper into his body.
He clutches his arm fiercely, knuckles white.
"Mighta been a bug or...nnghfuck, I don’ know…" He shakes his head, glancing to the hand on his elbow. "We need to --" A beat. His eyebrows go up. "...oh shit..."
There they are: small dashes gouged into her arm just past the wrist, ones very different from the scars she had shown him before. The flesh around them blackening fast. His breath comes harder and faster, thoughts racing in dizzying circles. Wasn't she supposed to be immune? What if it were only to the corpses of her own world?
The implications sink in.
Oh. No.
nonono
He tears his gaze away, looking up at her. His lips parting before he knows what to say. Maybe he's wrong. It could be something else. An animal bite or one from an uninfected tribute. Maybe his people are okay too. "Your arm..." He's blinking again like he's gotten sand in his eyes, rubbing at them.
no subject
"I, I don' know what got me..." He rasps out, looking down at himself and expecting to find a chewed-up mess. Bloodied holes torn into him. But his skin has bubbled up with boils that have swollen in size from grapes to ping-pong balls in seconds, ripe with blood or pus or god-knows-what. A boyhood spent on a farm and a tireless, adventurous spirit (which often went hand in hand with landing himself into all sorts of trouble) made bug stings and the odd non-venomous snakebite no unfamiliar thing. But he's never seen anything like this. Never felt anything like it either.
It has taken no time at all for the pain to hit a near-blinding pitch, so all-consuming that he can't remember a time it wasn't like this, when his nerves weren't spitting fire. It pushes and pulls his thoughts to crazy places and suddenly it doesn't seem so nuts, the idea of clawing at himself, digging and digging, until he's dug all the hurt out of him. Dug out the burning thing burrowing deeper into his body.
He clutches his arm fiercely, knuckles white.
"Mighta been a bug or...nnghfuck, I don’ know…" He shakes his head, glancing to the hand on his elbow. "We need to --" A beat. His eyebrows go up. "...oh shit..."
There they are: small dashes gouged into her arm just past the wrist, ones very different from the scars she had shown him before. The flesh around them blackening fast. His breath comes harder and faster, thoughts racing in dizzying circles. Wasn't she supposed to be immune? What if it were only to the corpses of her own world?
The implications sink in.
Oh. No.
nonono
He tears his gaze away, looking up at her. His lips parting before he knows what to say. Maybe he's wrong. It could be something else. An animal bite or one from an uninfected tribute. Maybe his people are okay too. "Your arm..." He's blinking again like he's gotten sand in his eyes, rubbing at them.