(no subject)
His name was Peter Vasily; they'd been next-door neighbors freshman year, suitemates the year after that. When they were drunk they'd call each other P-Vas 1 and 2.
Neither of them was drunk now.
"Look, man -"
Preston took a step forward; Peter took a hasty step back, maintaining the distance between them, eyeing the door warily.
In disgust: "What, you think I'm gonna bite you? For Christ's sake -"
"I know you wouldn't mean to, man," said Peter, miserably. "You wouldn't be able to help yourself, maybe."
"Fucking hell, Pete, I'm not a goddamn zombie -"
He saw Peter flinch; got his voice back under control, with an effort.
"Man - there's wolves and vamps everywhere these days, you can't just refuse to see anyone who's infected. What're you gonna do, barricade yourself in like those idiots in the chem lab? Tell me if I'm misquoting, but you were the one who said they were fucking morons who'd starve themselves out."
"No," Peter said, low. "I'm going to try to make it to Canada. There's a rumor going around they weren't badly hit. Mark's going with me. We thought someone should tell you, say goodbye -"
"With a big friendly Not Welcome on the Voyage, right?" Preston took a step back, holding up his hands, palms flat. "No, it's okay, I get it. I might eat you in your sleep or something."
"Pres -"
"It's okay," Preston repeated. "I wish you luck, amigo. Honestly. Hope you find your unmutated Canadian paradise."
He could feel his bones starting to creak.
"You'll be okay, man." Peter couldn't seem to decide whether to avoid his eyes, or meet them square; his gaze jerked around, door to Preston to feet and back. "I mean - you've got the weapons and all, vamps aren't gonna drink from you - you'll be okay."
"Yeah," Preston said, and shifted position. "Sure."
He tried his hardest to eliminate the sarcasm from his voice; told himself that Peter's wild-goose-chase was going to be hard enough without a guilt complex, too. If he wanted to think of Preston wandering around the campus all King of the Jungle, then so be it.
"You might," he added, his voice a little strained, "wanna go now, though."
They'd all learned to recognize the signs, by this point.
Peter nodded; gave Preston one last, unhappy glance.
"Mark's gonna leave you the dorm keys. We'll hang them on on your whiteboard," he said - one final offering - and then he backed out the door, and was gone.
Neither of them was drunk now.
"Look, man -"
Preston took a step forward; Peter took a hasty step back, maintaining the distance between them, eyeing the door warily.
In disgust: "What, you think I'm gonna bite you? For Christ's sake -"
"I know you wouldn't mean to, man," said Peter, miserably. "You wouldn't be able to help yourself, maybe."
"Fucking hell, Pete, I'm not a goddamn zombie -"
He saw Peter flinch; got his voice back under control, with an effort.
"Man - there's wolves and vamps everywhere these days, you can't just refuse to see anyone who's infected. What're you gonna do, barricade yourself in like those idiots in the chem lab? Tell me if I'm misquoting, but you were the one who said they were fucking morons who'd starve themselves out."
"No," Peter said, low. "I'm going to try to make it to Canada. There's a rumor going around they weren't badly hit. Mark's going with me. We thought someone should tell you, say goodbye -"
"With a big friendly Not Welcome on the Voyage, right?" Preston took a step back, holding up his hands, palms flat. "No, it's okay, I get it. I might eat you in your sleep or something."
"Pres -"
"It's okay," Preston repeated. "I wish you luck, amigo. Honestly. Hope you find your unmutated Canadian paradise."
He could feel his bones starting to creak.
"You'll be okay, man." Peter couldn't seem to decide whether to avoid his eyes, or meet them square; his gaze jerked around, door to Preston to feet and back. "I mean - you've got the weapons and all, vamps aren't gonna drink from you - you'll be okay."
"Yeah," Preston said, and shifted position. "Sure."
He tried his hardest to eliminate the sarcasm from his voice; told himself that Peter's wild-goose-chase was going to be hard enough without a guilt complex, too. If he wanted to think of Preston wandering around the campus all King of the Jungle, then so be it.
"You might," he added, his voice a little strained, "wanna go now, though."
They'd all learned to recognize the signs, by this point.
Peter nodded; gave Preston one last, unhappy glance.
"Mark's gonna leave you the dorm keys. We'll hang them on on your whiteboard," he said - one final offering - and then he backed out the door, and was gone.