conversations with dead people, 2011 -- post for trudy

[one_man_army]

When he wakes, the images from his dream are still fresh enough in his mind to recall all the details. As he sits upright, he rubs at his hands to ward off the feeling of asphalt digging into his palms without even noticing, and he can taste a strange hint of copper in his mouth

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[hallelujahpilot]

Trudy hadn't gone back to sleep, her mind still tumbling over the conversation-dream-whatever it was ( hey there, sister, long time no see) she'd had earlier.

(But at least she already knew Ing was dead.)

When Carl sits up, she turns her head from where she has it on her folded arms so she can try and see him in the darkness, but she doesn't say anything. Not yet.

Then he curses, quietly. "Carl?" she asks softly, shifting and lifting her head and shoulders.

[one_man_army]

With his fingers pressed against one temple, he tilts his head in her direction and nods.

"Yeah, love?"

His voice is thick with sleep, and he rubs at his eyes, trying to clear his head. He can still hear a faint ringing in his eardrums and it's throwing him off balance.

[hallelujahpilot]

"You okay?" She's sounds...awake. Keeping her voice quiet, but awake.

[one_man_army]

"I think so."

Carl presses his tongue against the back of his teeth, checking for any more blood. (There was never any in the first place -- or was there?)

[hallelujahpilot]

"...ah-huh," she says, twisting and pushing herself up so she's sitting. "Want me to turn on the light?"

[one_man_army]

"No, don't need to do that."

He shakes his head lightly.

"I just had one'a the stranger dreams I've had in some time."

[hallelujahpilot]

"That time of year here, ain't it?"

[one_man_army]

"...it is, now that you mention it."

[hallelujahpilot]

"Last year, my brother showed up to tell me he was dead. This year was my co-pilot wanting a chat. I hate this time of year." Trudy's voice is almost cheerful.

Almost.

Sighing a little, she moves forward, drops her forehead onto his shoulder. It's a gesture of affection, less claustrophobic than a hug, depending on his mood. She can't really pinpoint his mood.

Then she pauses, lifts her head.

"...you smell of cigarettes."

[one_man_army]

He was about to say something else, until her last remark. Instead, he grows very still, and leans back ever so slightly to look her in the face, a hint of confusion on his features.

"Of cigarettes?

He lifts the fabric of his t-shirt to his nose, inhaling -- and yes, he does.

"...that's fuckin' creepy."

[hallelujahpilot]

"Happy Halloween, babe."

[one_man_army]

"Halloween was so much better when I was six and got to dress up as a mummy."

Also, there was candy involved.

[hallelujahpilot]

"We painted skulls on our faces."

Beat.

"Maybe if I paint my face as a skull with rose in my hair next year, and you roll yourself up in bandages, no one will want to talk to us."

[one_man_army]

"I like that idea," he agrees.

He slowly reaches out and traces the outline of a skull's eye socket around her eye.

"I bet you were cute."

[hallelujahpilot]

"Freaking adorable."

Modesty, what modesty?

"...you know, that's what adult Halloween lacks. Candy."

[one_man_army]

"We could always get candy from the bar tonight and hide out upstairs to save ourselves from any completely embarrassing costume incidents?"