Urban Dead: The Price of the Oath

[Caz]

Melanie chuckled. Good to see some fresh faces 'round these parts. Fresh smiling ones, that is. Dorian wandered back in with a few more bottles of water as well as a pill bottle. He tossed it to Melanie, who caught it with her left hand.

"Multivitamins!" she said to Lasko. "You lucky dog!"

[Caz]

"You're right," she said, "more than that. Remember what I said about my mum's boyfriends?" she asked. "How none of 'em were worth their weight in bricks? She married one. I shot him."

She lit the cigarette. Now who was the chain-smoking whackjob?

"And I don't feel much the worse for it either." Simply put.

[Josh]

He shrugged. "You can talk to me about anything," he said. "You know that. But we left all that behind. You're an Irregular now, and part of this community, and that's all I keep score on."

[Caz]

She leaned on him, then shrugged. "Really, it's... not an issue with me anymore. Guilt is for acts you know are wrong. What I did was right."

[Josh]

He nodded. "Same way I feel about a couple of... situations like that," he said. "Do what's got to be done, and move on." He wrapped an arm around her. "We get out of all this shit, we'll figure out how to get you out of the country. Or a pardon, or some shit. Figure you earned it, one way or another."

[Hedgecore]

"oh, woo hoo" he said flatly, "who needs hundred-year-old brandy when you've got Centrum?"
Complaints aside, he dutifully downned the vitamins, and did his best to swallow more of the soup.

[Caz]

Sherry leaned on Petro's shoulder for a long few minutes, thinking about what he'd said and also what she'd said to Mike earlier that day.

"I wasn't ever convicted, you know," she said. "Was awaiting trial when all this happened. So there's still a chance..."

--

"Anything to expedice your recovery so you're back to your old, cheerful self, right?" Melanie said to Lasko.

Dorian looked to Gator, asked him if he wanted anything else. No rationing tonight. As he did so, Melanie stood and snagged him by the arm, pulling him aside for a moment.

"You shouldn't be up too long on that leg of yours," she said, referring to the injury he'd received from the attack on the mall earlier that week. The older man sighed, shook his head.

"There isn't anything I can do for just tissue damage. It hurts like hell but it'll keep, regardless of what we do--"

"--I know," she interrupted him, "but you're trying to come back full steam... And... It makes me nervous, all right? Just take a break? For me?"

He sighed, gave her an affectionate slug to the shoulder.

"Yes, mum," he said, then walked off to the stairs.

[Josh]

"Yeah, well, better safe than sorry. Anybody asks, we'll just say you're my cousin from Bulgaria." He leaned up against her. "You're not going back to jail, for damned sure."

[Caz]

"You know," she said, "jail really wasn't that bad. I lived on the streets for four or five months after shooting the bastard... That was nasty. Damn near froze to death. Lived from one picked pocket to the next, you know?"

[Josh]

"I usually enjoyed my brief visits too. Could catch up on my cartoons, and the food was... well, better than most of what I cook, other'n steak."

[Caz]

After Dorian had deposited the load of water bottles at the infirmary, his leg began to ache again. Not surprisingly, considering he was up and walking far too soon after taking three gunshots to the damn thing, but there was nothing but muscle and tissue damage. A lot of blood loss and a lot of pain, but that gunman had known it wouldn't do any permanent damage.

He twisted the cap off the one bottle he'd kept for himself, took a long sip. As he neared the stairs, someone hooted at him from the commons.

"Hey, Dor'! Where ya headed?" Gillian Sheehan asked as he trotted up.

"Rooftop smoke break," he replied. They headed upstairs together, the unspoken decision made that if the roof was a good enough smoke spot for Dorian, it was damn well good enough for Gil as well.

"You really shouldn't be walking around on that," the shorter man commented as he adjusted his hat. They selected a spot toward the northwest, away from the patrols and most of the social gatherings.

"Sitting around and letting it atrophy wouldn't help matters any more than this," Dorian countered.

"You're the doctor." Gillian lit a cigarette for himself, then lit another and passed it over. "I just figured you'd want to take it easy for a few days and soak up some of that attention from Melanie."

Laughing, Dorian brushed his grey bangs from his eyes as he shook his head. "She's got a new wayward soul to tend to," he said of the man the Scotsman had carried to their little establishment. "And even if I were interested--which I'm not--she's off-limits."

"So you've thought this over?" Gil said with a laugh that shook his whole body. That laugh was then cut short as Dorian thumped his chest.

"Have not," he said.

"Have so!" Gil retorted.

Dorian shook his head again, this time vehemently. "No, really," he said, "not only is she off-limits because of the whole good-natured-student-teacher relationship that we seem to have adopted, but because she's kind of fucking the guy who runs this place who could snap me in half over his knee."

Gillian took a long drag from his cigarette and chuckled, watching the cherry glow in the evening light.

"You sure do a lot of rationlising for someone who isn't interested," he commented.

Exasperated, Dorian let his hands drop to his sides.

"Trust me," he said, most of the humour gone from his voice, "I am not entertaining any thoughts of her. Because she's taken, because she's Melanie, because she's female..." he trailed off.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Gil rasped with another hearty laugh, "because she's female? So you're gonna cut out a whole god damn gender because the one woman you met after the outbreak hasn't worked out?"

Dorian blinked. "No... ehm... I'm serious. I don't like women. Never have."

They stared at one another for what was quite possibly the longest minute in Dorian's life.

Sheehan burst into more laughter.

"What do you expect me to do? Give you a fuckin' medal?" he said.

"You're not... surprised?"

He paused to consider it. "Surprised? Well, I'm surprised," and then eloquently concluded: "but I don't exactly give a shit." Noticing that the grey-haired man still appeared rather shocked, he added: "Who you've fucked doesn't change the fact that you're a damn fine doctor that's stitched my guts back in on more than one occasion, that you're a good guy to share a good beer with, and that you're right difficult sometimes..."

Dorian was staring at him, open mouthed, and then said: "You pile of shit, I did nothing to deserve that last part!"

"You're the one who's in his thirties and having a sexual identity crisis while the city is pouring over with the fucking undead! I don't know how you could possibly make it harder on yourself!"

He wouldn't even dignify that with a reply. Just an indignant 'hmph!'

Look at him, Gilllian mused, he's thirty... one, right? Four years older than you, acting like a goddamn teenager!

"Look," he said, clapping a hand on Dorian's shoulder. "All that shit's Ex-Malton. I'm no longer Gil Sheehan the Heterosexual. We're all mates her 'cause we all fuckin' survived, right? 'Sides, I'm sure Mel or Freeman or that other doctor fellow wouldn't give a shit either." He chuckled, then pulled his flask from his jacket pocket and took a swig, offering it afterward.

"Mm, thanks, Gil," Dorian said, taking a sip and sitting down upon the gravel rooftop. The Irishman plunked down beside him.

They finished with their smokes and sat in companionable silence, listening to the chatter of the roof's various gatherings. It was where people came to escape, after all. Somewhere on the expanse of gravel and concrete, someone was playing a guitar. Nothing fancy, just a few chords and a lilting melody. But it was pleasant; nobody ever really heard music much anymore and they'd all forgotten what solace it brought.

"So, ehm, you have a boyfriend 'fore everything went ripshit or...?"

Dorian exhaled a long sigh.

"Is there something in the water? Why do you suddenly fucking need to know all this, huh?" he said with a sly grin.

"Back off, testy! I was just curious as to whether or not my brave friend here had endured years of social stigma or if he was just born an ill-tempered tortured soul!"

Dorian's eyebrows shot up. "You cocksucker!" he cried.

"No," Gil said, "that'd be you."

Another open-mouthed gape. "Tactless git!" Dorian squeaked, thunking Gil on the temple with the back of his hand. "Someone could hear!"

Gillian shrugged. "Ain't anyone that's gonna give a damn." He hopped to his feet, yanking Dorian up by a wrist and lifting his hand like a referee might with a prizefighter. "Everyone, listen up! My friend here snogs blokes!"

There was some mumbling, some shrugging, and several, 'who gives a fuck?' and 'he's pissed, just ignore him,' remarks. He sat and once again pulled Dorian along.

"See?" he said with an impish grin. "You're one of us. Or we're all one of you. Or summat."

[Caz]

Bjorn pulled Jared along behind him, tail wagging as he sniffed at the ground. The boy held onto the gigantic husky's collar as they walked through the mall's hallways, pausing here and there to inspect something and then wandering off again.

"Find Uncle Punt, boy," Jared said, scratching Bjorn behind the ears. The dog made a tiny 'wuff!' of approval before taking to sniffing at the tiles once more.

[Pcm979]

Punt was in his 'room', a small cubbyhole hidden at the back of the mall's third floor where he'd laid out his sleeping bag and effects. He heard Jared and Bjorn coming from some way off and nodded when they came near him, remembering a moment later that the boy couldn't see.

"Hey, kid." He patted the sleeping bag. "Take a seat."

[Caz]

"Hey," Jared said in his usual quiet tone, plopping himself down upon the bedroll with a smile. "Your eye stopped hurtin'?" he asked. The dog laid down beside them, and he patted the scruff of his neck affectionately. Bjorn laid his chin on Jared's leg.

[Pcm979]

"Doesn't bleed anymore." Punt confirmed. "Waters instead. Still a step up."

He put his hand out for Bjorn to sniff.

"What's up?" He asked finally.

[Caz]

The dog shoved his wet nose into Punt's palm, sniffing excitedly, and then gave his sign of approval: a series of wet, slobbering licks all up and down the man's arm. Wuff, again.

"Bjorn likes you!" Jared said with a grin, flopping over and resting his head on the dog's side. "He likes Mr. Petro, too," he said as though the fact was important. But the smile on Jared's face seemed to fade a bit after a few moments.

Finally, he said:

"... The smilin' man... you done killed him."

[Pcm979]

Punt ruffled the dog's massive head and scratched him behind the ears.

"Mmm hmm. Ain't smilin' no more. Made sure of that." No pride in his voice, but no distaste either. A job, completed.

[Hedgecore]

"old and cheerful, right." Lasko chuckled. Then looked down at his now-scrawny body. "God damn, I look like Estelle."

He glanced back and forth realizing nobody had any idea what he was talking about.

[Caz]

"Estelle?" Melanie asked, taking the dishes from the two men and stacking them on the nightstand. "Friend of yours?"

She glanced over to Gator, as if to say, 'Any idea what he's talking about?'

--

Jared nodded, then in a moment of untethered childlike innocence, he launched himself at Punt and wrapped his arms around him.

"Thanks," he whispered. "Back 'fore I met you all... he's the one that killed me... took my eyes away."

[Pcm979]

"S fine." Punt said awkwardly, patting the boy on the head. Was that what you were supposed to do? Who the fuck knew. "Wish I could say it was just a job, but..." He paused. "I liked it. Bit too much."

[Caz]

"I woulda liked it too," he said with a sigh. His voice was strained, like he was holding back a snarl. Odd to hear from someone so small and usually so reserved.

"An' a part of me was wishin' that somehow it might bring my eyes back."

[Pcm979]

"Well." Punt paused. "Some 'a the time, life sucks." Not really the man to go to for moral support.

[Caz]

Jared smiled. "I like you. You don't talk as much as Mr. Petro and the others."

[Pcm979]

Punt shrugged. "I don't say somethin' 'less I think it needs sayin'. 'S what most people don't like about me."

[Caz]

"What's wrong with that?" Jared asked. He let his head slump against Punt's bicep as the dog shifted, curling into a ball of grey and white hair.